Maybe it’s the fact that my “baby” will be three this year and isn’t really considered a baby anymore.
Maybe it’s because when her brother was that age I was pregnant with her and my body thinks it’s time to have another baby.
Maybe it’s the fact I haven’t been able to cuddle any of my friends or family’s new babies in my arms {thanks, COVID}.
Or maybe it’s the fact I keep dreaming of another child.
Whatever the reason, I want another baby. The problem is that, at the same time, I don’t want another baby.
So why the conundrum you might ask?
I had easy pregnancies with both my kids and relatively normal deliveries. So my body could theoretically handle one more. The ticking of my biological clock is also growing louder and louder. In fact, this year I will celebrate my 35th birthday, the age where having a non-complicated birth starts to significantly decrease.
At the same time, I’ve been working out for months trying to get back into better shape since having my kids {but let’s face it there is no way to get back the body you had before babies}. So do I really want to go ahead and gain another 40lbs now?
I also miss those newborn baby snuggles and knowing that little one is entirely dependent on you for everything in life.
At the same time, my youngest is potty training and I swear I can see the light at the end of the tunnel after having at least one kid in diapers for the last six years.
I miss carrying around a little one in a baby wrap, snuggled in tight, and sleeping on your chest, but I don’t miss carrying around that heavy bulky car seat – no joke it strained my arm so bad I had to go to physical therapy.
I miss seeing the milk coma they’d have after eating too much. I don’t miss the middle of the night feedings and swollen breasts. I’m already longing for the day when my cupboard shelves aren’t overrun with plastic sippy cups.
Oh and sleep. I miss sleep. I am finally starting to get some much-needed rest again. Do I really want to give that up? Honestly, I don’t know if I’d have the energy for a third.
I’m ready to get rid of all the excess baby clothes, toys, and gear in my basement. But, at the same time, I can’t bring myself to part with them quite yet because then it means this phase of life, the phase where you literally bring life into the world is over.
Seriously this last decade and a half has gone by way too fast. It seems like just yesterday I was saying “I want kids but I’m not ready not ready”. Then “I want to have a kid so bad, when will it happen,” to “we’re already done having kids?”
I’d always said two kids was my number. That way they would always have someone to lean on and no one was ever the odd man {or woman} out. When they got older, parents could split up and each go to a sports event or competition so they always had someone on the sidelines cheering them on.
Ask my husband and he’d say our family is complete. In fact, literally, as we were walking out of our hospital room just days after baby #2 was born he said “we’re not coming back here again right?”
Part of me agrees with him. This is our family!
