Today's thoughts: I want to have a child. That sentiment exists, and I have to acknowledge it independently of the fact that I don't relish the trials of the first few years: financial strain, exhaustion, mindless chores chores chores, and loss of time to myself, to run, to swim laps, to write and read, and watch movies inappropriate for young children.
I asked A~ (my husband) if maybe, deep down, he really doesn't want to be a parent. He says he can't know, because he's never done it. He can only go on what others say about the burden and reward. "Seventy-thirty," he says, which is his assessment, from all he's been told, that the rewards outweigh the hardship. Even so, he could just as easily skip the whole project.
Sometimes his intellectual detachment bothers me, but I have to admit, seventy-thirty sounds about where I'm at on the question right now, too. So I guess that means we're going for it.
Of course, this is all assuming that my somewhat lesser chances of a successful pregnancy after two consecutive miscarriages will also fall into the Babies rather than the Not category.