I’ve been thinking about having another baby.
Okay, relax. I said thinking about, not I’m taking my temperature daily and purchasing a giant bottle of pre-natal vitamins and new lingerie (sorry, honey). And when I say thinking about, what I really mean is, Oh my God, look at that adorable baby! Oh, look at that sweet little toddler. Oh, that chubby cheeked smile. Oh, that little-kid voice. Oh, they’re all so darn adorable when they’re somewhere between utterly and completely helpless and, say, middle school.
Let’s be real here, though. As much as I try to deny it, the cold, hard reality is, I’ve passed my fortieth birthday. More than a year ago. More than a couple years ago. Hell, I don’t even know if my ovaries still work. I didn’t ovulate often when I was in my prime, and I’m pretty sure I’m peri-menopausal.
I also have a love affair with wine that I’m not keen on breaking off, even for what would amount to a short period of time. And if wine and I are calling it quits, I’d better be shedding pounds, not growing a basketball in my belly. Because let’s face it, the only reason I can’t let go of those extra ten has everything to do with that giant bottle of red on my counter. Well, actually, it’s the ones in the recycle bin that are to blame, but that one on my counter will be added to the ranks soon enough.
And let’s get even more real… I once had two kids. Now I have one. And one is so much easier than two. So much. Compound that with the fact that my husband and I feel this need to put our remaining child in a bubble, to bestow upon her all the love and attention and focus that perhaps we had not given enough of to my son.
She seems to be thriving as a result. So far, she isn’t turning into a spoiled little princess, which I admit, was a fear. Not that we’d do it consciously, of course, but I worried we would put her on a pedestal in an attempt to keep her from doubting her own self-worth, and then she’d develop an attitude or personality to match the attention showered upon her.
Lucky for us, she’s simply becoming more confident, trying a little bit harder, suffering the spotlight more than she probably ever thought she’d have to. Once upon a time, she hovered in her brother’s shadow, and she swears she was happy there. Now there is no shadow, and she’s figuring it out, one day at a time, helped along by one hundred percent of mine and my husband’s focus and love. No more sharing our time, no more hiding behind the bigger personality.
Six months after we were forced into this new, smaller family unit, I’d say we’re doing okay. We still have some lows, and actually, they feel really, really low when they hit, because there are longer periods of normalcy, even highs, in between. But we’re working through them, figuring it out, living our lives. We’ve found a comfortable place for the moment, and given the obscene amount of change that’s occurred in my life this year, I’m not overly keen on shaking things up again any time soon. Not even nine months down the road.
So yeah, when I say I’m thinking about having another baby, what I really mean is… Can I hold yours? Just for a minute? I’m more than happy to give him/her back when I’m done.
Tami Lund is an author, wine drinker, and adorer of other people’s kids. She’s written a few books, if you’re interested in checking them out HERE.