An everyday blog

by a not-so-everyday Mama.

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

I'm okay with being "done".

I did so much blogging when I was on maternity leave with my son.  I had two blogs that I (somewhat) kept up with. Guess how much I've blogged since my daughter has been born.  You probably guessed zero, and, of course, you're right.
My son is 3.5 years old. He will be Four in July. This July. Four? Wasn't he just born? I'm pretty sure I blinked and he grew into an amazing, smart, stubborn little person. I feel like I've called him a toddler for so long but now he's not even that. He's a kid. Ouch, my heart.

His sister was born a month before he turned three. He was there (here?) for her homebirth. She came fast and has filled our lives with the drama we didn't know we needed. She was a more difficult newborn than he was. She cried a reasonable amount. She hated the car. She wouldn't nurse to sleep. She made me question everything.

She turned four months old and started getting easier. My overactive letdown evened itself out (the cause of some of the newborn fussiness and reason she'd never fall asleep nursing) and I figured out she was getting overtired and therefore cranky all the time. Finally I could enjoy her - my second and last baby.

Yes, we've decided we are "two and through". No, we haven't done anything drastic but we are sure our family is complete. I always said I wanted to be done having babies by 30. I'll be 29 this year. I had super easy pregnancies and labour/deliveries. I am overwhelmed by how incredibly lucky I am with two healthy children. 

I love having two kids. The love between them is so amazing to witness each day. My daughter's face lights up in the mornings and after naps, when she sees her brother. He can merely talk to her and she'll giggle - my husband and I practically stand on our heads to get a laugh out of her. 

I really am okay being done having babies. I thought I'd be sad as she outgrew each size of clothes and as she became a baby rather than a newborn. I figured I'd be devastated when she started crawling, pulling up to things and babbling, knowing this was the last time we'd have these "firsts". But I'm not. Yes, she's my last baby. I'm okay with that.

My son is so excited when she learns new things. He cheers for her and tells her he's proud of her. There's no way these milestones could be sad. No, I'll never have another baby who's stationary. And that sleepy newborn stage is a thing of the (very far) past for us. And that's okay.

I may be slightly sad I'll never be pregnant again. I loved being pregnant. I loved labour and birth. I had such amazing experiences and I'm considering myself very lucky.  BUT I love her being 7 (almost 8!) months old. She claps. She says mama and dada. She shrieks. She's going to be running before we know it.  But I don't miss her newborn, tiny baby days.

I guess I'm kind of grateful that she was a "hard" newborn. I know in a few years from now I won't remember it anyway, but right now it makes it easier to not dwell on her growing up so fast. Also, I'm pretty darn excited thinking about what we will do as a family of four as they get bigger. Camping, Disney World, trips to the beach - I can't wait! The baby days are hard - no sleep, trying to get on a schedule, trying to stay sane, keeping little people fed and happy AND maintaining a marriage, whew. Of course looking at their baby pictures is nostalgic and we "aww, look how tiny they were!" all the time. But no, I'm not sad my babies are growing up and I won't have another one. I know our family is absolutely complete with our boy and our girl. <3 p="">