When my husband and I first met, we each already had kids. One of the first things we talked about when we started getting serious was the fact that neither of us wanted any more children. Coming into this new relationship with three kids between the two of us (ages 4, 3, and 2 — how does THAT grab ya?), bringing another baby into the mix was definitely not something either of us wanted.
Fast forward a few months, and there’s nothing like a surprise pregnancy to make you change your entire life. Even though I knew we had decided we weren’t having any more children, I was over the moon to think that this amazing man and I had created a child together. I knew already that he was a great father, and I wasn’t too shabby in the mothering department, and I just knew that, while unplanned, this was RIGHT.
I mean, I can’t imagine what our lives would have been like had we not created this completely awesome little girl.
Fast forward to NOW. We are preparing our oldest kids for high school, and our youngest is now nine. NINE, people. Husband had his vasectomy years ago, and we both were completely 100% sure we were done having chilren. We are *supposed* to be done having children, right? With him being 40, and me almost 37, we are past the worries of finding good quality childcare, getting our kids into the right preschool, and changing diapers. Oh god, the diapers! No more diapers, no more formula, no more baby wipes, no more chasing a crazy toddler around the house. No more toting diaper bags and car seats with us everywhere we go.
We’re done. At least that’s what I have been saying all along. I can be honest in saying I meant what I said back then, when I admitted I have never really gotten all giggly over people’s babies. I don’t rush to hold them, I don’t talk about how much I’d love to have another. I never felt those pangs in my uterus telling me how bad my body wanted to cradle another baby. I would cringe at the thought of having to pay for daycare again, shopping for diapers…
There’s always been an exception to this decision. We’d have more only if we adopted, and only if it was an older child. No more babies, we proclaimed!
So those pangs in my uterus? The ones I never felt? What if thats changed? What if my uterus is starting to complain? Years after our decision to be done with our family, now what do I do?
I was in Kohl’s the other day exchanging some Christmas gifts. I got done at the Customer Service desk, and started walking back to meet my husband and youngest daughter in the Housewares department, as we were going to pick out some dishcloths and towels for the kitchen. On my way back there, I pass the baby department. For some reason, my eyes stopped on this one particular outfit. It was a fleece baby sleeper. Dark chocolate, with a cute blue and green design on it. I just stared at it for a few moments, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it it.
And that’s when it happened. For the first time in over nine years, my uterus felt like it gave me one big kick. I felt those pangs of wanting a baby again. Remembering what it was like to hold a tiny baby in my arms, and rock them to sleep. Remembering the snuggling in the middle of the night. I had never experienced that ache in my body like that. EVER.
When I mentioned it to my husband, he looked at me like I had suddenly grown a second head. I laughed it off, and we finished up our shopping. But on our way to the checkout, I had to stop and show him that little fleece outfit that caused such a reaction in me. He kept asking me all afternoon “Do you really want another baby? Are you serious?”
I kept shaking my head, telling him no. I was just kidding – I wasn’t being serious. I don’t want to be pregnant again. I don’t want the maternity clothes, the swollen ankles. Good lord, I am already overweight, why add to the problem, right? I know we cannot have another one.
I know that.
I accept that.
I am afraid to even post this, because it will mean validating the fact that maybe I *do* want another baby. Maybe our family isn’t complete like we thought it was. Maybe this is a sign, maybe it’s not. Our kids are growing up, and having another baby would really throw a monkey wrench into our hectic and busy lives.
So why is my uterus arguing that decision so badly?
