Wordy Wednesday: Throwing Baby out with the Bathwater
Today I started a project I’ve been putting off for a long time. I went up into the loft and got down bag after bag after bag of baby clothes, nappies, toys and other paraphernalia. A friend is organising a children’s nearly new sale for the beginning of April, so I thought this was a good time to start going through the mass of baby bits we’ve accumulated across the last 4 years.
And there really was a lot! I’ve tidied the mass into piles of sized items, baby-gros, sleepsuits, tops, trousers, dresses, rompers. And then there’s a bag of socks and hats and bibs. And two more with cardigans and jumpers that I’m yet to size.
There’s nothing so amazing about this, I’m sure nearly everyone that’s ever had a baby has done this at some point. Yet, this is such a major move for me.
Making the decision to get rid of the baby clothes and my maternity clothes, and the TENS machine and so on. Well, it’s drawing a line under my decision not to have any more children. And that is hard to accept really. I am one of three and just always assumed that I’d have three children too. And that they’d be girls of course! So far, so good on that front at least.
Yet, here I am, fast approaching my 38th birthday (luckily, I haven’t had to think about it too much as Bunny has hers first!) and my biological clock is starting to sound a bit weary. I have a bad time in pregnancy, with constant nausea from almost day one, crippling SPD (which is supposed to get worse with subsequent pregnancies), I go off all food and drink and find the exhaustion beyond manageable. I don’t like being pregnant. Yet I don’t know if I’m satisfied with the thought of never being pregnant again. It’s a big step to take.
Of course, getting pregnant isn’t a barrel of laughs either. For anyone that’s been interested enough to read deeper into my blog, there are a series of posts I wrote while undergoing fertility treatment for Bunny. It is not fun. At all. And it’s bloody expensive. Money we just don’t have anymore.
The universe is screaming at me to give it up. I can’t afford to get pregnant, I don’t enjoy getting pregnant, I don’t enjoy being pregnant. Yet, here I am, still wondering if I am being a bit rash in getting rid of these items. I remind myself of the potential for another 2-3 years of sleepless nights that would lie ahead (and that’s not including the sleeplessness that accompanies uncomfortable pregnancies), the hassle of a newborn and then a crawling and toddling child. We’d need a bigger car. Probably a bigger house eventually. And I still hope to get a dog and chickens soon. That couldn’t happen. The world is geared up to two children. Three children just make things difficult.
I am committed to breastfeeding. So another 2-3 years in nursing bras and having to think about what I wear every day to make sure they’re always easily accessible!
Then I look at my two babies sleeping. And they’re so perfect and so edible, I just want to fill the house with little people. The tantrums drive me insane, but the giggles and laughter and the parroted words that Bear is attempting now just make my heart want to burst from my chest, I feel so much love for them both. We have so many exciting times ahead as they get older and a little more independent. So why would I want to add a third into the mix that would set us back 2 or 3 years again? We’re almost rid of nappies, of pushchairs of beakers. We’re almost at that point where we can downsize the amount of “stuff” we cart around everywhere. But that also means, no more nappy bottoms running around the house, no more nursing and milky smiles, no more carrying a sleepy baby in the Kari-Me sling.
There is something so wonderful about a newborn, their smell, their wonder at the world. Even today, my 19 month old Bear was jumping around in excitement as thick snowflakes fell on our garden. It was something she’d not experienced before and she seemed to love it.
Am I done? Do I sound like it? How did you decide it was time to stop?