About eight months ago, I went through the most scary, intimate, stressful, exciting, happy, ecstatic, nerve-wrecking, painful, thrilling experience in my life: giving birth to my daughter Emma.
You may expect a post like this around Emma’s first birthday. But I’m sure by then I’ll be writing posts about planning and decorating her first birthday bash and more importantly how insanely fast my baby grew up to be a toddler. Yes, they do tell you that. Yes, you hear and read it everywhere: “Cherish those baby months, they go by too fast and before you know it they want to be independent, push you away when you want to cuddle and pick their own outfits.” And you as a rookie mom are like: “Yeah, I know.”
No, you don’t! You have no idea how fast they really grow up. I mean, all of your mommy girlfriends have told you. But there is no way to truly grasp what it really means. Until you see it for yourself.
When you finally take a break from cleaning the house, preparing dinner, folding laundry, planning the next party and blogging about all this, and you’re actually getting down on the floor to play with your baby it is too late. You realize that she has learned to roll over, sit up, crawl, pull herself up and get back down, cruise around, eat solids. She has grown not one or two but six teeth. She makes these sounds that have significantly evolved from just cooing and making bubbles. Her face has several expressions that just crack you up. A million times over and over again. Instead of onesies and rompers, she suddenly wears jeans, jackets and shoes. Nursing feels like wrestling because she’s way too antsy to get back down and explore stuff. The car seat adapter has long been retired and she doesn’t look ‘lost’ in her stroller seat anymore. Even crawling is not exciting anymore. Instead, she just wants you to help her walk.
As proud as I am, it hurts to watch her grow up like that. Of course, I’m grateful that she is healthy and develops so fast but, come on, give her (and me) a break!
Yesterday, for the first time since that day I birthed my baby, I actually started to consider getting pregnant again. There it is! I said it out loud. I even confessed it publicly. And I’m totally sober.
A few weeks ago, while we test drove an SUV to make space for our uebertall baby, large stroller and restless puppy, I wanted to strangle my DH when he kept talking about how the car had enough space for “Emma and her two brothers on the backseat”. We’ve had that conversation a gazillion times – I did not want to go through another pregnancy. Never ever ever never. All that pain, discomfort, nausea, lack of sleep, dietary restrictions, the swollen feet, swollen face, swollen everything. Thanks but no thanks.
Despite the warnings in our hospital birthing class, Mr Thrasher showed suicidal tendencies when suggesting to make another baby only 48 hours after Emma was born. Seriously? Thankfully, I was still drowsy from the Epidural and thus unable to take him down.
Did I give you a pretty good idea of how strongly I felt against having another baby? I was ready to have my tubes tied.
But the other day all that changed. I was in the process of taking Emma out of her stroller to move her into the car seat when I suddenly realized that a) we will have to upgrade her infant car seat very soon, b) she looks like a toddler in her jeans (size 12-18 months) and c) my back aches from lifting her up.
What happened? Where did that fragile newborn go that was 100% dependent on me? That tiny human that was too small to fit into her newborn sized pajamas? That little baby girl that wanted to nurse all day and later just lay content on her activity gym and play with dangling toys and rattles?
I was thunderstruck. I wanted to have those moments back. And the only way of getting them back would be to get pregnant again. (We are hoping to adopt a baby eventually but that wouldn’t allow me to nurse again. Well, that’s a story for another day…)
I’m not saying that I will get pregnant again. I’m just saying that I’m open to reconsider.
I suppose Mr Thrasher was glad to hear that he is not playing with his life every time he mentioned the ‘P-word’ (as in Pregnancy) in my presence.
Let me close by quoting the great Justin Bieber – “Never Say Never.”