Mark is going in for The Procedure on Monday. Getting The Snip.
It’s something we’d been thinking and talking about for some time: Should we, or should we not have a third child?
Very very very rarely I catch myself wondering who that potential third person could be. I can’t imagine a world without Sarah’s guffaw, or Emma’s hugs. What, or should I say who, are we missing?
Also: baby gear. I love baby stuff. The clothes, strollers, the linens, the toys … where were they 11 years ago, when all the diaper bags looked like diaper bags?
Also: maternity clothes. When the girls were born it wasn’t quite socially acceptable to embrace the bump. I wore tents made to look something like clothes. And here we are, in 2010, with outfits like this. I would sooo rock it.
Also: I see parents holding their babies and I think, wow, that’s so special and beautiful. Babies are so cute. And so new. And SO soft and they smell great. Wouldn’t it be nice to visit that place again?
But here’s the thing, having a baby isn’t VISITING, it’s MOVING IN. The harsh reality is that although babies can be wickedly wickedly cute at times, they are also a lot of work. Mark and I are too old to parent a newborn. Heck, newborns are easy, it’s the other ages/stages that are hard.
I remember times when seemingly mundane things such as TAKING A SHOWER and getting out of the house without a stained shirt were considered small victories. I remember following toddlers around while they learned how to walk, worried about them falling and crashing. I remember the screeching and the tantrums. The oatmeal hardening on the floor. The tears – mine and theirs.
But you know what really killed me the first two times? Sleep deprivation. I lost precious brain cells and never truly got them back again.
Piper sealed the deal for us. She had a gastro issue a few months ago and I found myself out on the front lawn with her several times during the night. It was awful, for her and for me. I was a train wreck the next day. Bleary-eyed and stupid from lack of sleep; practically unable to function.
Can I afford to do that to myself? No. Can Mark afford it, double no. He’s pushing 50. (!)
(Oh man, I see that in print and I can hardly believe it. If we had a baby now he’d eventually be a retired parent of a teenager. Gadzooks.)
If we had a third child I don’t think I’d be able to be a very good parent.
I like my life, a lot. It’s mine again. My body is mine, and it’s taken awhile but my time is becoming mine again too. The girls are old enough and incredibly self-sufficient. I don’t have to watch them while they’re playing outside. I don’t have to wake when they do. They are making their own breakfasts and paddling the family canoe. Maybe this will be the year we take up skiing.
Monday is coming up fast. In the meantime I will quietly count my blessings and at the same time, mourn the fact that this stage of parenthood is over.
