I know the last thing you probably want to read is another post from a woman nearing the ridiculously determined “advanced maternal age” crying about wanting more babies, and if that’s the case you should probably turn away now. Because WAAAAAAAAAHHHH! I have me some baby fever.
It started last weekend when Ian had a fancy business trip that I crashed. Despite traveling 3000 miles for 48 hours, I had a great time. My kids were home safe and sound with their grandparents and Ian and I enjoyed ourselves. What’s two glorious well-rested nights away from your own kids likely to do? Make you want some more.
I romanticize every stage from pregnancy to first foods to walking and talking. I completely forget about the sleep deprivation and the hazy first year, and lament how it all goes so fast. When I first raised this with Ian, he mentioned I might just be hungry (low blood sugar does make me loopy) so we went to In ‘N Out Burger and never discussed my need for two additional children again that weekend.
Less than a week later the feeling is creeping up again. I was holding a friend’s five-week-old baby, cradling and rocking her in one arm while I poured juice and gave out snacks with my other. I felt like a mommy machine (in case you aren’t sure, that was a good thing). Suddenly I didn’t care at all about waking up every 3 hours for months on end, I simply wanted to procreate. Twice. Because I have a weird thing with odd numbers. And I haven’t yet decided if twins would be the perfect package or too much, but I’m willing to roll the dice. They even have names: Sloane and Grayson.
Ian, who prefers such superficial things as sleep, money, and freedom, is not on board with this baby train. He enjoys pointing out that since we have a son and a daughter and they don’t make any other kind, it’s nature’s way of saying “you’ve got all I have to give.” But I don’t care. It’s biological, this need to procreate, and I swear it multiplies with each child. One friend who made the wise choice to stop at two suggested I go out and buy myself a fabulous new purse to cure my baby fever. It sounds like a really great idea, but I’m worried I would buy the purse and still want more kids and then I’d have to figure out how to use the purse as a sling because I will have spent our budgeted baby gear money on a chic new hobo style bag. Might as well skip it and go straight to procreating. I’m all about efficiency.
Whatever it is I have to tell you, my friends, I LOVE my kids. That’s right – this is big news. Everything they say and do is adorable. For four days straight!
On Friday I let Gavin eat a popsicle with his dinner. And you know what? He ate the popsicle first AND finished all his dinner. Then he got another one.
We went shopping and I scored this:
We spent Saturday at the park and I actually RAN when my son asked me to run. That’s right. I didn’t fake start to run and then just walk behind him. Like Forrest Gump, I was RUN-NING.
No tantrums, messes or incessant requests to “hold me mommy” could get me down last week.
I have infinite amounts of energy, patience and time for them. And it seems they have infinite amounts of love and hugs for me.
What is going on??? Can anyone explain? Surely my rose colored view of our time will darken, probably at the same instant I hit publish on this post. But until then I just want time to stop so I can soak up every amazing minute with my babies.
I simply cannot get enough of them right now.
Ladies (and the three men that are obligated to read this by marriage or blood) — listen up! I am in desperate need of your help. You see, it’s May!
[you nod in confused agreement].
What’s so special about May? You mean, you don’t know??
May is THE month I get pregnant. Every other year.
May 2008 – after nearly a year of trying, May was the magic month. That year I
shocked the hell out of surprised my husband on Father’s Day by making him breakfast and breaking the news (no, I’m not sure which shocked him more).
May 2010 – armed with the confusion that it took nearly a year to conceive our first, we decided to let nature take its course when I stopped nursing just a few short weeks before. And a few short weeks later my 15 month old had the positive pregnancy test in his mouth (I was too shocked to grab it away after it dropped from my stunned hand).
So here we are, May 2012. The kids are sleeping wonderfully (finally). Ian and I are going on a Caribbean vacation. Alone (as in no kids). And I just held the 7 day old baby of one of my best friends (I loved every second of it). My uterus is feeling kinda lonely…
WAIT, WAIT. This is craziness! We cannot have any more children! Why? you ask. Well for starters:
1. I suffer from hyperemesis gravidarum. Which might just sound like the worst morning sickness ever, but in reality it involves vomiting that scares small children, hospital stays, IVs, threat of miscarriage and generally complete incapacitation.
2. We live in NYC and are not in the 1%. Which means the third child will have to sleep in the sink until it’s old enough to move out.
3. I love sleep.
4. I need sleep.
5. I finally get to sleep.
What’s that? Those aren’t good enough reasons? The joys of motherhood far outweigh these minor details?
Ok, well here are my top five reasons that we should have another child (ranked in order from the most important to the most shallow):
3. No periods for another two years.
5. We have one kid that is my mini-me and another that is my husband’s clone. What would the in between mix look like?
As you can see, I’m not fit to be a parent to the two I already have, so we can all agree a third is out. Right?
[please say RIGHT loud enough for my ovaries to hear you]