I feel like I’m not here enough, and when I am it’s just to give you a boring rundown of my child’s sleep and poop. I’m real sorry about that. I don’t want to be that blogger. I really do want to be more. I went back and read some of my old posts and I think maybe I used to be funny?
Anyway, tonight’s post is not funny. Because I’ve been sitting here crying while looking at pictures of Charlie as a newborn. I went back and looked at those first pictures, read the comments of congratulations, tried to feel that hazy glow of happiness again. When Charlie woke up (after only being asleep for three hours-UGH SLEEP REGRESSION) to nurse I rushed in with teary eyes and picked up my squirming almost ten month old. She rarely curls into me like she did back then. She has her own agenda these days. I nursed her for 4.5 minutes (we’re starting the slow process of night weaning) and then got her to sort of doze on my chest. She’s changed so much even in the last month or so. Now she doesn’t want to cuddle me after nursing-she just wants to get back in bed. The girl likes her space-I can respect that.
I can count on one hand the amount of times she’s fallen asleep nursing in the last month-twice, and once just barely. This is good. she’s growing, she’s developing. She’s learning to be a bit independent. Do you know what she’s doing now? She’s trying to stand. She started crawling at exactly nine months, and about a week later she was learning how to get on her feet. She does it all day long in a downward facing dog sort of way, but I know it’s only a matter of time before she’s upright.
I love my child so much. I love my child so. much. I always thought that when people said they would die for someone they were just being dramatic, but I would die for my child. I would give her any body part she needed to survive. I worry about her constantly. I worry about everything she puts in her body. I worry about if she’s being ruined by having the TV on in the background.
I worry about what climate change is going to do to her future. I worry about what the state of American colleges will be in 18 years. I worry about the public schools she’ll be going to in just a few years. I worry about how I will handle discipline when it comes time. I worry about her because I love her. She is my most cherished gift, followed closely by her father.
And something I find myself worrying about with increasing intensity and frequency is the thought of having another baby.
For the sake of this post, let’s pretend like I don’t have major infertility issues and I’ll be able to get pregnant fairly quickly when/if we so choose to try again. To a certain extent, it makes sense to try soonish, because I’m already not working full time, so I could have another baby, stay out of work just one extra year or so, and then go back to my career like I planned. If we wait to try again then I’ll probably go back to work and have to make the decision that either a) I’m going to quit working again or b) the second kid just has to go to daycare.
I don’t even HAVE this second kid, and I already hate option b), if only because I want for second kid to have everything Charlie has had. But also then there’s the issue of raising two YOUNG children. Close together. That’s scary. Having a baby as Charlie is entering terrible twos and threenager stages? That’s really scary.
And what’s downright terrifying is the extreme fear I have of a) not being able to love a child as much as I have loved Charlie. I know that people say love is not finite, and that it just expands in a new and amazing way when you have a second child. But my heart just doesn’t feel that. Charlie is the most amazing child. I know we all feel that way about our kids, and I’ll tell you this-I look at all your kids and I smile, and I think they’re precious, and sweet, and I LOVE seeing their pictures. But you know I don’t think your kid is the best, I think MY kid is the best. I know you feel the same. That’s just the way it is.
So it’s hard for me to even conceptualize that another child of my own could be the best too. Does that make sense? Probably not? Chief and I have always wanted two kids. And in an abstract way I feel like that is still true. I’m just really terrified of the reality of it. You know my situation with my sister and mother wasn’t great growing up and very often isn’t great right now. I am terrified of screwing my kid(s) up just because I wanted a second.
I’m still nursing through the night so it’s not like this is really even a thing right now. I haven’t had a period yet, no rumblings of one either. I had some strange cramping a few months ago so I took an OPK and it was positive, but then I took one a week later and it was positive too, and then I remembered that I have PCOS and that having a baby didn’t cure me like I wish it had. This could all be moot. There’s a good chance I’ll never get pregnant again.
And maybe the fact that that makes me cry answers all of these questions and fears for me.