“So, are you going to have a third?” “Try for a boy?” Once you have two girls, or even two kids, those are the usual questions everyone asks. My answer, 99.9% probably not, my husband, a 100% NO! Up until this weekend I think I still hung on to that 0.01% chance that I might convince myself (and my husband) that I really do want a third, but I realized something crucial. I do want another BABY, I don’t want another CHILD. I miss the baby sweetness, cuddles, and coos; I don’t miss the sleepless nights, witching hours, and in my case, I’ve had nightmares about when and where I would go into labor if I were to have a third! 🙂 I feel as though our family is complete, and can’t imagine it any other way at this point. I love our two girls. I love watching them grow and become friends with each other, become sisters. After Jolie was born I had an extreme sense of guilt that I couldn’t spend time like I used to, one-on-one with Alli. And now I have a little guilt that I could not partake in some of the activities with Jolie that I did with Alli. I couldn’t imagine adding a third child to the mix. For my sanity, I think I can safely and confidently handle two. I know there are parents out there with three, four, five kids, and I am in awe. How do they do it? I am utterly amazed!
As I begin to wean my youngest I often find myself staring at her in the rocking chair, astounded by how big she looks, and how she is turning into such a little person. She really isn’t a baby anymore, and I think once I finally do stop nursing it will be even more reality that she no longer is one. When I wanted to wean my oldest, and she had turned 1, I was ready, ready before she was. I couldn’t wait to throw away my nursing bras! I wanted to have my body back to myself for a bit, at least before I knew we were going to start trying for a second. This time however, I’m not so ready to give it up. I know this is because I won’t have another child to nurse ever again. Nursing has a few downsides for the mother, but overall, its such a special opportunity, and it is hard to think I will never have it again.
After my daughters’ first and third birthday party was over I was cleaning up and came across the party hat that my one-year-old wore while she devoured her first taste of cake, a pink, felt hat with a bold number 1 on it; the same hat that my older daughter wore at her first birthday. As I picked it up tears came to my eyes. I was overcome by the idea that this was the last time I would see one of my children wearing a first birthday hat! Really such a simple thing to cry over, but I wasn’t crying over the hat, I was really crying over the loss of another last, first. I remember reading a blog a long time back, and the author had written of that exact same thing, the last, first.
My oldest daughter was able to have all the joys of us witnessing a first, first; like the first time we had a child of ours born; the first holidays as our own little family, etc. Now with our youngest we experience the last, first of everything. The last time we will witness our child’s first steps, the last, first time in a big-girl bed, and so on. I am so grateful to have the opportunity to be a mother to these amazing, little beings, and I look forward to every moment of joy that I will experience as a mother of two – all the firsts and all the lasts. I guess sometimes I just wish it would last a little longer. As a good friend tells me, when raising children the days are long, the years are short. So true. So very true.