I should not be allowed near newborns until I am safely past my childbearing years. Sunday this was painfully reinforced when I interacted with my adorable 4-month-old nephew.
Arguably, of course, I am past the “safe” part of the childbearing years. As with my last pregnancy, I will be termed of “advanced maternal age” and tested accordingly (if I agree to undergo the testing, of course). And, frankly, I don’t have the safest of pregnancies for my babies anyway. The last trimester is always quite dicey.
So why does my entire body cry out when I come near a newborn? Holding J this weekend made me ache — my arms, my womb, my breasts.
I want a baby. Which makes me certifiable, I know. I have a hard enough time with the two I have. A number of things are barely limping along as it is because I’m a WOTHM.
But I want another baby. I want the way a baby’s head smells under my nose, I want sleepy night-time feedings and bonding, I want that warm weight in my arms, I want toothless grins and fat chins, and thigh rolls (on the baby’s legs, not mine).
Just one more, I think to myself. Yes, it sets back plans I had for my family, for myself. It will even set back simple things like not having to buy and change diapers any more, and being tied to the house for nap time. Plus, having a baby with two older siblings will be challenging, no doubt. But it could be great too. Monkey and Bun can help with entertaining and fetching diapers. It will set back what I envision as “free time” as my girls grow more independent every day.
It will mean buying a bigger car.
But just one more.
I also realize that this may be denial in some form, the urge to put “the rest of my life” on hold, to not deal with things, by getting pregnant again, by having another baby. I recognize this.
My mom always says — even today, with three 30-something children, with six grandchildren and two granddogs — “I always wanted to have one more.” I don’t want to do that. I want to at least say, “Well we tried for another, but it just didn’t happen.”
I know DearDR thinks about it too. I also think that he looks at me in my anxious states, in my overwhelmed, freaked out, tired states, and thinks, “No way am I doing that again.” We have a lot of misgivings, a lot of “what ifs”.
I want another sibling for my girls. I think Bun would be much better off as a middle child than as a baby. (I have no scientific evidence for this.) She couldn’t get enough of J on Sunday. Monkey was supremely indifferent; she had her older cousins to worship.
Of course, we also want to try for another boy. Only this time it’d be nice to have him stick around and grow up with the girls.
It’s not the easiest thing, carrying a kid (getting knocked up has not been a problem — knock… oh, wood, bad pun, moving along), having a newborn. I know; or I think I know.
Still. One more.