I just turned 30 a few weeks ago. My baby
turns 11 in June. Now, while I am still in my prime baby birthing days, I feel
like I’m too old. I have been going back and forth for years about having
another baby someday. There are days that I want nothing to do with starting
over. With getting pregnant and the exhausted and nauseous first trimester. The
never ending, waddling, praying for the end, third trimester. The
breastfeeding, the middle of the night pacing with a colicky newborn, the
diapers and the amount of belongings for this child, that we have to have, that
we really don’t need. The new body and soul to depend on you for the next
forever. Oh, and let’s not forget, the day care bill.
But then the thought of not doing that again
makes me so sad. The feelings of joy when you find out you are expecting. The
look on your partners face when they find out they are going to be a parent.
The excitement to keep it a secret for those first few weeks until you tell the
world and everyone else’s excitement when they know. Feeling those first
flutters that will soon take over your body and make people (strange people)
have the desire to touch you. A lot of people have issues with that, but I
never did the first time around. People are fascinated by pregnancy. What isn’t
there to be fascinated by? There is a person that is half you and half someone
that you love with your entire being. For the most part anyway. Seeing that
little person and spending months trying to figure out who they look like is
such a great and happy time.
See my issue? The light at the end of my
tunnel is getting brighter by the day. The day my son graduates from high
school, I will be 37 years old. If he sticks with the 4 year plan, he will be
graduating college shortly after my 41st birthday. People are still
having babies at that age! If I were to have a baby 9 months from today, I will
be almost 50 years old with a high school senior. I know that’s common place
now, but I don’t know if I want that to be my life. A kindergartener and a
high-schooler. Driving tests and ABC’s. Proms and kinderkickers soccer. That’s
a huge adjustment.
I had such a rough go at raising a child the
first time around, that now that he is older and independent and can do things
for the most part by himself, I can relax a bit. I can enjoy the adult life I have, since I
missed the college years and the young 20’s years. Being young and free. That
was my choice to continue on with my pregnancy at 18 years old that many women
choose not to. Because I knew it would be worth it in the end. While my life
has not gone how I had envisioned, I am happy. Genuinely happy with my life.
Nothing is every perfect, things go wrong, things get messed up, but all in
all, I am happy.
But then again, I don’t want any regrets. I
think the main concern is the fear of starting over. I keep telling myself that
this isn’t something I want to do because Im scared to start all over. I know
things now that terrify me. I hear stories, and know people I didn’t know the
first time. I was young and everything was sunshine and puppies.
I know
Chase would be an amazing big brother. Chris would be an amazing father. But this
is also something he bounces back and forth about as well. We are financially
sound to be able to do this as soon as we get through the process of buying a
new house. But we need to get past the fear of doing this. We have never had a
life where it was just the 2 of us. It’s always been the three of us. What’s
one more? Right?
