I just got home from book club. In between drinking wine, eating dill havarti, and actually discussing this month's book (Eat, Pray, Love), the discussion turned, predictably, to babies. Everyone in the group is a mom and we all feel fairly comfortable with one another - comfortable enough, I guess, that we were just polling the group: "Are you done?" Having babies, that is. A few people definitely are. The rest of us are in a weird limbo, throwing out percentages and feeling "75% sure" we're done, but not knowing what to do with that niggling doubt, the one that asks if you'll regret your little family of four later in life. Wondering just how you'd fit another person into your already-chaotic life. Wondering how it would feel to shut that door completely.
It's funny; I've been thinking about this very question since this weekend, when I packed away the most recent round of outgrown/wrong season clothes. I can think of better things to do with a Saturday night than spend an hour or so sorting clothes into one of six Rubbermaid bins, but I just can't quite give them away yet.
I was going along merrily, spending most of my time in the 12-18 month and 3T area with clothes that the girls have just outgrown. Then I got down to the part of the pile I just got back from loaning out to a new-ish niece. There in front of me was a little pink fleece snowsuit that both girls wore in their first few months; the orange knit hat Jemma wore home from the hospital, knit by a L&D nurse; the "big sister" t-shirt we gave Annie when she came to meet Jemma in the hospital. All of a sudden, instead of efficiently packing things away, I was sort of stroking various newborn items, wondering if, truly, no baby of mine would ever wear them again.
Let me say that I love my life right now, that I am really not a person who deals well with everything that goes along with birthing and raising and feeding a small baby - the sleep deprivation, the lack of free time, the inability to be alone for even a second without someone needing something from you. I feel like having a baby is like falling down a very deep hole, and it takes me a full year to dig myself back out again. Right now, I am relishing the balance that is emerging in my life. There's time, really, for exercise, date nights, lunch with friends, reading, writing - all the things that keep me sane. And when we're with the kids (which is still most of the time, mind you), they're actually fun to be around. They DO things. They interact with us and with each other. Not only am I not in the hole, but I am beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel-like existence I have been in since Annie was born, the one where my life revolves around the next naptime or nursing or bedtime. At the end of the tunnel is a place where I get to be just me for a few hours every day (when they're both in school) and a better, more engaged mom when they're home. There are a lot of days when I look around and I'm fairly sure we're done.
But then . . . the hats. The snowsuit. Who knows if having another baby would be the right thing for our family or the development that finally put Mommy over the edge (because some days, she's pretty close). I think I am destined to live in the weird limbo for a while longer, pondering, questioning, wondering What If. I wonder how you finally make that call, if there is a moment when you just know what's right for you. I marked this quote in Eat, Pray, Love: "That's the thing about a human life - there's no control group, no way to ever know how any of us would have turned out if any variables had been changed." I'll ponder that, I guess, as I sit up here with my Rubbermaid bins of pink clothes.
3 comments:
Steph, I think you speak for nearly every mom I know. I've been thinking about blogging about this very same topic, but I haven't wanted to put my thoughts into words for fear I'll become pregnant by just writing about it.
I think being in limbo is good...too many people make a quick decision (either way) too early in the game. Your gut will tell you. As you know, my gut told me one late evening last January, and I listened. But I will miss those darn fuzzy buntings. :)
p.s. Thanks for the door treat. It almost made me cry. So glad we're friends.
I'm with you on this one. And that is the one quote in the book that is going to stick with me. Lance and I (okay, really just me) are currently on the "If we have another one, it will be through the miracle of adoption" kick.
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