MY THIRD BABY MANIA
Go for Baby Three?
Although the choice has kind-of-sort-of-ok-yes-it-has-been taken out of our hands. It’s not really a decision we can make. Or should make. We could go for a third baby. But it wouldn’t be a smart decision. Or a healthy one.
But Dang. Every time I hear someone talking about going for a third. PANG. My ermagawd-I-want-a-third-baby-obsession kicks in again. Everytime I hear someone announce they are pregnant. PING. My oh-my-god-I-want-another-baby-ometer goes off. Everytime I see a pregnant women. An itty bitty baby. Itty bitty baby clothes. Or look at photos of my little ladies fresh out of the oven. POW POP KAPOWEE. I have third-baby-mania.
My heart goes cray cray. My head goes what-the-actual-feck-seriously-don’t-do-it. And my husband. Well. He just rolls his eyes. Takes a deep breath. And braces himself for another round of what-if-we-couldn’t-we-just-see-why-cant-we-maybe-we-could-have-another-baby conversation. Which always results in a few tears from me. A heck of a lot of patience from him. Phew.
Before I go into the why we wont. Why we shouldn’t. And why we can’t go in for round three. I thought I would share my pro’s and con’s list.
Another Baby. Duh. Seriously. Another little person to hang out and cuddle and play with. That oh-so glorious new baby smell.
All the firsts. First smile. First tooth. First word. First steps.
You get to do it over. I wasn’t awesome at Mum Round One. Or Mum Round Two. I would love to do it all again and nail Mum Round Three. Like totes rock the heck out of it.
Being Pregnant. I didn’t love it. But it was the only time I liked having junk in my trunk. And that first flutter. That first kick. The best. Before heartburn sets in.
More love. To give and to get.
One more kid that will look after you when you are old and grey and in adult nappies.
The other babes get a new babe to play with. More siblings. More fun. Right?
Being able to eat anything anytime. And seven meals before midday. Because the baby is hungry. Plus gaining weight, not caring and claiming it's 'all-baby'. And letting one rip. But blame the baby. But it's really you. Because you had a jar of pickles and a block of chocolate for breakfast.
Being Pregnant. The nausea. The morning sickness. The all day sickness. The swollen everything. The waddle. The heartburn. The cramps. The aches. The pains. Ugh.
Another Labour. I don’t care what the lucky people say. Labour was not fun for me. I know its natural. Beautiful. Amazing. But heck. I’ve already spent a painful puffy emotional 40 plus hours in labour. I’m not sure I could clock on for another 20 odd hours of power. Or even 2 hours. Nup. Nuff said.
Bigger car. Bigger house. Bigger bank account. Less time for you. Less time for you and your hubby. More mess. More cleaning. More washing. More more more.
Middle Child Syndrome. Or Youngest Child Syndrome. Or Eldest Child Syndrome.
Another few years of The Wiggles. Oh. No. Please. No.
Another year or so of your vagina being out of whack. Of sneaky little bits of wee sneaking out when you least expect it. Of your pelvic floor being useless and your core kaput.
So. To have more babies. Or to not have more babies. We have two little beauties. Happy. Healthy. Hilarious. Head strong. But how do you know? How do you know when you are done having babies? Like really done. For us. It wasn't an easy decision. Well it was for my husband. But not for me. I was in totes struggle town to shut the baby making down. I have I always wanted 'just one more'
My doctors say no more. My ongoing health issues say no more. Thanks preeclampsia. Hang in there Kidneys. My husband says no more. He wants sleep. And his non-stressed-out-cray-cray wife back. Oh. And my age. It says no more. I know its possible. And people do it. But I don’t want to be a 40 year old with a new born. And the risks go up.
I struggled not only physically with both pregnancies. But mentally. I was hit with PND. I ignored it with Mini. Pretended I was ok. Told myself to 'harden up'. And kept my head above water. Just. But I couldn't hide from it again with Frey. It was all consuming. And just awful. Thankfully the fog has lifted. And I'm having more good days than ugh days. Actually. I'm having awesome days. With a few shitty days in there to remind me that there are awesome days.
So. I know mentally. I couldn't cope with three. I couldn't put myself through that holy-shitballs-crazy-emotional-rollercoaster again. I couldn't put my family through it again. Mr Perfect. My girls. Even the dog. Oops.
I know physically I couldn't cope. My body would take longer to bounce back. My kidneys may not make it through another round. I know time wise. I couldn't cope. I feel like I dont have enough time in the day as it is. Time for me. Time for them. Time for housework. And I am not a calm person at the best of times. I don't like mess. I don't like clutter. More babies means more stuff. More mess. More chaos. It would tip my mild OCD into overdrive.
But. If we did have three. I totes would have got my dream car. A Delica. With a ladder. A snorkel. A mirror bubble window on the back. And that awesome two tone colour scheme. Or maroon. Oh yeah. Winning.
Until recently, I had never really felt ' done' with having babies. I felt like the decision was taken away from me. From us. I felt like it was the wrong decision. And not my decision. But a year on, after having baby two. I finally feel different. Phew. I feel like it is the right decision. I feel like it is now my decision. Our decision. Finally. I know. We know. Two. That will do.
All our days. And most of our nights... are filled with two-full-on-absolutely-amazing-little-ladies pulling us every which way. Demanding all of our time. All of our love. All of us. All of me. And I am oh-so happy to give it to them.
We are so lucky to have them. We are so blessed to have been able to have babies. For that we will forever be grateful. And thankful.
I admire all the super Mama's with three or more.
Heck. I admire all Mama's. All the Mama's to be. And everyone trying.
You go girls.
Big Baby Love
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