You know, I always said I wanted 5 kids. At least. No, I’m not joking, I’m not clinically insane and I’m deadly serious. I wanted 5 kids. It sounds incredibly mean to say it but lately that feeling has ebbed to being practically non-existent, and the reason is quite simple: Edith.
I adore my daughter, I idolise her and I wouldn’t change her for the world. She is a shining light that has been gifted to us, and I thank my lucky stars that I was blessed with her. Alongside all of the, but not negating it, she is hard work. She still doesn’t sleep and has days where physical contact is a stipulation of every waking second. Days when I can’t go into the kitchen without having to put her on the breast to sooth her. She has most nights with at least 4 wake ups, all of which take a toll on me. She is headstrong, and I struggle with that.
If I’m totally honest, I’m afraid I’d have another child like Edith. There, I said it. I’m scared that I couldn’t cope because, God knows, I haven’t coped well with this child a lot of the time and I’ve always been a mother that struggled to understand why other women had more and more children when they had suffered something like postnatal depression or didn’t enjoy their experience with their child. Aren’t you afraid that it would happen again?
Then comes the ache. That dull, overbearing ache at the thought of never having another baby. At never holding life within me again, sharing my body and watching my bump grow. At never giving life, nurturing a new life. At never watching my children fall in love with a new sibling or my husband give himself over to another child the way he has the children we have now.
That ache is difficult to describe in words. The chances are if you have decided not to have any more children you will understand what I mean and you will get the ache too.
Watching Mum’s with their new babies? That fire in their eyes while they look down at them. It doesn’t get any less with their growing, but there is something about a new baby that is so totally the mothers.
I can honestly say now that most days I don’t want any more children. Our family is so happy and in such a beautiful place. I’m finally beginning to feel like I can cope with my life, my children and my work load again. I look forward to each day as opposed to dreading it, which if I’m Frank has been an all too frequent occurrence over the last year. I’m not going to say my family is complete, no one knows what is around the corner, but at the moment I feel like changing things would upset the balancing.
I’m becoming a wife again, a friend, an entrepreneur. All things I felt I was slowly losing to motherhood. Things I felt were slipping through my fingers and out into the world of screaming, temper tantrums and over tiredness. I can feel my relationship with Adam, who for the record doesn’t want more children and only really wanted two, changing and going back to how it used to be. Regaining some of its passion, some of our friendship.
I’m becoming me again, or rather, a me that I actually really like. So in the question of whether or not to have another baby? I’m thinking I may have changed my mind and joined team not, for now at least.