Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Having three...

Baby boy stop growing. Wearing 6 mo clothes today at 6 weeks old. Tear**

It's officially been 6 weeks since I became the mother of three boys.

The first time I saw Elliott, though I couldn't hold him, I knew that he was going to be THE BIG BROTHER.  I knew that there were children to follow him and that he would pave the way (poor boy!) for them.

No joking, the first time I held Wyatt, smelled his little baby head, wrapped his fingers around mine and looked at his giant monkey feet I thought to myself, "You my boy, are the middle."

Hopefully I am not the only crazy person who, the moment she first spies her newborn babe starts thinking about the next one.  Or, maybe I am.  But, I am a planner and a nerd and crazy so it just made sense to me to be thinking forward.

The first time I held my little Quinner six weeks ago I thought, "I love you, baby!  Thank you for getting here safely."

On Monday, at my appointment with my OB he asked me if I was planning any more babies.  I said, "No, I don't think so."  He asked how sure I was and I said that I was 80% sure.  He agreed that 80% was pretty sure. (My husband however, when I shared the conversation with him said he felt my answer should have been 95% sure.)

In the last few weeks, I've had hundreds of hours pinned in a chair holding a sleeping baby.  Feeding a hungry baby.  Soothing a crying baby.  Burping a baby that refuses to burp.  Yes, may of those hours have been spent playing on my phone with a free hand, but even more have been spent in deep reflection.  What better time to think about your family and your future than when you are nestled into a comfy chair, smelling the sweet head of a brand new baby?

So yes, been thinking a lot about whether or not my family is complete.  If we are all here.  Or, if at least all of us that are supposed to get here through me.  I  am 34 after all.  If I were to think about another baby, it wouldn't be for at least two years, when I could mentally handle it.  That means I'd be having a 4th baby when I'm 37 or older.  It's something to think about.  My grandma, I believe was 42 when she had her 8th.  My mom was 40 when my brother was born.  My aunt was 40 (right?) when she had her third two years after my brother.

And what have I decided?  I have decided that I love my children and my husband.  I have decided that I am tired.  That I love babies, but not car seats.  That my body needs a long time to get fixed and better (blood sugars, blood pressure, weight, general health).  That I can already see ahead to the day when the 5 of us go to Disneyland and the four of them all get up for early entry and ride everything together before I even wake up and then I wander the gift shops with a diet coke and a Dole pineapple whip with some grilled asparagus wrapped in bacon for dessert.

Realizing that I don't know what the future holds, and that the plan isn't mine, but my Heavenly Fathers, at this moment I feel safe in saying, "Yeah, I'm done having babies."  As easy as it is for me to type that, and to think that, and to say it to someone, it's still sort of hard to come to terms with such a definite response.  I feel a little guilty and sad at the thought and I suppose I could change my mind.

But, I think instead, I'll be gratefully for what I've got.  Enjoy the life I've been blessed with and  I'll just ignore the questions until I'm too old to do anything about it.

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