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Archive for May, 2014

My husband told me on Mother’s Day that he’s been considering when we’d start trying for baby #2 (providing that I want to try for another at all). And that, if we do decide to have another child, he’d be ready to start trying as early as this upcoming fall.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

There’s a huge part of me that would love to give Alexander a sibling. He’s such a sweet and affectionate little boy that I’m sure he’d be a amazing big brother. At play group, he’s forever bringing me abandoned baby dolls that have been forgotten in strollers – I’m assuming he doesn’t want them left alone, because he doesn’t want to play with them, he just wants me to hold them. And he’s always sure to fix their hats and give them a kiss before handing them off to me. He also loves to help with the dog – feed her, give her a treat when she does something good, and smooth her down saying “good girl, sissy”. So there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d be a wonderful big brother. And incredibly helpful.

Plus there’s the newborn cuddles with that new baby smell. And that feeling of constantly being needed, which is becoming less and less as my big boy becomes more independent. 😦

And all the firsts. First time holding that precious little being. First time seeing my husband hold him, and falling absolutely in love with them both a million times over. First smile. And laugh. And the first time he said “mama”. And those first wobbly baby steps. So many firsts that can never be had again. But I could experience them all over again watching a new person develop and learn and grow. And I’m sure the second firsts would be just as precious and amazing.

But then there’s the 8 months of round-the-clock sickness I endured when I was pregnant with Alexander. I’d be such a crappy mom to him if I had to go through that again.

And labour / delivery / recovery scare me. Not because I had it bad last time. But because I had it so good. From “here’s your IV” to “here’s your baby” was less than seven and a half hours. I wasn’t ridiculously uncomfortable for weeks leading up to going into labour. My water broke, I spent a couple of nights at the hospital, I had a (relatively) uneventful labouring experience with minimal tearing, and was able to get up around by myself the next day. I didn’t have to take anything more than Tylenol for my postpartum pain. I’m pretty sure I fluked into something lucky there. Maybe my body’s apology for eight months of pregnant vomiting? Either way, I hate to think about how differently it could go if I decide to do it again.

Plus we’re not in the financial place I imagined us being to have another child. I’m still not working in my chosen field. I’m working part time in a minimum wage retail job. There are times when I feel like we’re barely keeping our heads above water. (I know that isn’t true – we live a lot more luxuriously than many people our age, and our son already has a nice little college fund started. But some days it feels that way.) I want to be able to provide our child(ren) with many of the opportunities I couldn’t have growing up – to be part of any kind of team or take any lesson, to go on family vacations, to have money set aside for post-secondary and hopefully not have to get a student loan. I didn’t have those things. I saw my parents struggle. I knew, even from an early age, that my mom sacrificed and went without so that we could always have the basics to be “normal”. I don’t ever want my child(ren) to feel they way. Don’t get me wrong – we were always provided for, and there was no shortage of love, but don’t most parents wish to give their kids more?

And… and this is huge for me, because I’ve never written or said what I’m about to say… I’m pretty certain that I suffered from some degree of PPD/PPA during Alexander’s first year. It wasn’t terrible. I never dreamed of hurting him or myself. I never wished I hadn’t had him. But there were certainly days when I questioned if I should be a mother. And days when I resented his neediness (and my husband’s general inability to help) with every ounce of my being. And I certainly didn’t really enjoy much of his first year. Looking back on it, the signs were there. I was just too afraid to admit it. And I’m sure my husband probably saw it too. But feared for his life and/or his testicles if he ever imagined bringing it up to me. And that scares me. If I do decide to have a second child, I want to enjoy the newborn phase. I don’t want to become an irritable, cranky version of myself that even I can’t stand to be around. But I worry that, if I were to find myself in a similar situation again, I’d be too deep inside it to realize what was going on until I was looking back on it later. That terrifies me.

So, I’m torn.

My husband is an amazing man – he has already acknowledged that the decision is ultimately mine. It’s my body that has to carry and deliver any additional members of our family. And he’d never pressure me to do anything I don’t want to. But the problem is, I have no idea what it is that I want to do.

Honestly, part of me would be perfectly happy for it to just be the three of us forever. We’ve got a pretty good thing going. But there’s part of me that wonders if I’ll regret the decision to not have another if that’s the decision I make. Some day, when it’s too late, will I look back and wish I had decided to have my second baby?

How do you know?

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Whoa! It has been forever since I wrote here! And, in that time, my wobbly little one-year-old has turned into a crazy little toddler. He’s almost 20 months old now. *insert jaw drop here!* He’s definitely a handful and an awesome source of entertainment. Not a day goes by that I don’t laugh and shake my head at the shenanigans he gets into.

Take earlier this week for example. We’ve been trying to get him to eat spinach. And he’s finally starting to like it. Woohoo, parents of the year – our toddler eats spinach. Look out, Popeye, Alexander is coming through! Anyway, I digress. He was finally starting to eat spinach. He’d even ask for it off our plates at supper. Then he was outside playing with daddy one afternoon and decided to rustle up some “spinach” himself in the front yard. One minute, he was laughing and playing. The next, grinning through a mouthful of rhododendron leaves. Priceless.

And today? He has decided to talk to me like he talks to the dog. “More water please?” … “Sure thing, my sweet boy, you asked politely. Here’s more water.” … “Good girl, mommy!” I kid you not.

So that’s just a little glimpse into the goings-on around here. Hopefully I’ll be more disciplined and writers often. But we all know that’s not going to happen. Haha.

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