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I am a forty two year old woman with a seven year old son.

Between October of 2002 and December of 2004, I had 4 (or 5) miscarriages, 3 of which were D and Cs. These are popularly known as missed abortions. Those that know what this expression means, know how wretched the experience can be. Bad luck, age, and a very mild case of PCOS seem to have been the major factors.

I have been married for 11 years to my husband, who was alternately supportive and driven insane by my/our quest to have another child.

After close to three years of thinking, obsessing and wringing our hands in sadness about having another child, my husband said, "enough." The grief, the stress, the sturm and drang. He just couldn't take it anymore. I can't say as I blamed him.

It's been almost two years since we made the decision to stop trying. If it had been my decision alone to make, I would have kept trying and/or adopted. But there's no compromising on kids. You're in or you're out. (Have I been watching too much Project Runway?)

In the last six months we have discussed adoption again, but it is still very much in the theoretical stages. We'll see. In the last six months my husband lost his mother and I lost my father. So everything seems more complicated.

Sometimes, life just doesn't turn out the way you plan. In fact, it almost never turns out the way you plan. And that is the lesson that I'm grappling with.