The Thought of Another Child

Would I have another child? I ask myself this all the time. I see babies. Living beings full of sweetness with acceptable fat rolls in all the right places. They’re precious. Their soft skin, sweet smell, the cooing and their smiles. Why, even asleep they are spectacular!

But that’s where it stops for me. Most women my age think about their biological clock and start feeling sadness, a sense of anticipated regret, anxious even. And I completely get it! I understand! I have been exceptionally lucky, blessed, whatever to have been able to create and carry 2 fabulous boys. And now I’m raising them. How awesome!

But when I see a newborn I see sleepless nights, hate towards the father for not being able to produce breast milk and he getting to sleep through the night without waking up every two hours to feed or pump “our” child. I see money spent. More work missed. More doubting myself. More worry about their health, their well-being, how they will grow up, are they sleeping on their stomach and not their back?

I see diaper changes in the back of your SUV again because they have shit themselves something awful and there are not diaper changing stations nearby. It’s buying all these cute little clothes only to find they no longer fits the cute fucker because that baby grows as it eats.

From there they start talking. And because it took Jackson 2 years to say his first word I SWORE to myself I WOULD NEVER, EVER, EVER think to myself “I wish he had never learned how to speak”. And I don’t wish that! I just wish he could take a breath. Pause. Shut the fuck up for 5 minutes. But GOD LOVE HIM! He doesn’t, he can’t. He’s full steam from awaking at 5:30-6:30 every damn day to passing out on the couch from 7 to 8:30 every damn night. And I KNOW I’m going to miss this. But at that moment he’s going on and on (and his speech isn’t even all the great still, so I don’t even know what he’s saying 25% of the time) I’m missing my sanity. I also miss my ability to hold my shit together because after a few hours of this I have to walk away sometimes. I sometimes try, “Jackson, honey, I love you, but can you please go play with a car by yourself for 5 minutes?” Or “Go see what your brother is doing”. Well, I’ve tried that but being Jackson he takes this as an order and will return to me with a full report on what Jake is doing because Jackson is a leader, a little bossy at times and a people-pleaser.

Jackson is 7. He has Goldenhar Syndrome, pretty mild. He was premature. He has a speech impairment. He is developmentally delayed. He’s hilarious. He was recently described as “genuinely nice”. And he is! Both my boy are very nice. I’m a smart ass. I was raised that way, I still act that way. But sometimes I’m even shocked at how sweet and respectful they are to other and to each other. All the time I’m noticing them doing things for each other when my brother or I would have said, “Get/do it yourself”. Granted, they’re 7 and 4…so I’m sure shit’s gonna get real in 5 years or more.

With Jackson’s diagnosis and years of doctors, specialists, therapists, counselors, all the worry takes a toll on a person. The doctors suspected something to be wrong with Jackson in utero. Then my bitch-ass body decided to fuck with us even more and I developed preeclampsia, resulting in an early c-section. With the fear of Jake, our second child, having a hereditary tendency to develop as Jackson or the chance of my body rejecting another pregnancy, carrying Jake was the same. Worry, more ultrasounds, more specialists, more visits. So why most parents are happy and glowing and having a great joyous pregnancy, some of us don’t.

I’m not seeing anyone. I’m not even planning on seeing anyone soon and having to have a “baby” talk. While it’s glorious and sure it’s nasty at times, there is also a dark side sometimes. While the past may not repeat I’m getting older and while I’m already labeled “high risk” I’m higher now at my age.

I may hold a baby from time to time. But I’ve never been a really big baby person to begin with. So I’ll be just happy with my little men until grandchildren come along. Until then I’ll raise them and keep my full grown, house-broken, not teething dogs. But these boys will learn about sex and birth control as to NOT make me a grandmother at too young of an age.

About bourbonbreathmom

No words can describe me;)
This entry was posted in boy mom life, Single mom, Special needs. Bookmark the permalink.

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