I wrote this yesterday:

“I told Brock the other night that I wanted a baby.  His answer to me was, “Mandy… a baby wont make you happy.”

It
was brutally honest, and it hurt to the core, but it made me realize
something.  Why would he tell me something that I want so badly
wouldn’t make me happy?  Didn’t that have to mean that I’m unhappy in
the first place?  This leads oh-so-obviously to the question that
doesn’t want to be answered:  Why am I unhappy?”

I feel the need to expand on this, because of the concern it has caused in some circles.

Brock was not telling me, “No, Mandy, you cannot have child.”  He wasn’t saying to me that having a baby around wouldn’t cheer me up or make me happy.

His point was simply that a baby would do the same thing I have tried with every other material thing in my life – fill a hole that I’m not entirely sure of the reason that it’s there.  Sure, a baby would cheer me up.  Sure it would make me smile, and make me laugh.  But when the baby’s not around?  When Brock’s not there?  I would still be sad, still be down, still be unsure of what my life is missing – or what I perceive as something missing.  I need to make sure I’m happy, that I can be happy and live happy before I bring another life into mine. 

To bring a baby into the world for the sole purpose of cheering me up would be wrong.  It would be unfair to the child.  And it would be shallow and low of me to do so.  Those are my words, not Brock’s, but he couldn’t be more right.