Baby Makin'

It's (nearly) Mother's Day.

If you don't have a sense of humor or have delicate sensibilities, maybe don't proceed, at this point.

It's nothing bad, but just not for the 'stick in the mud' types (I'm a little bit talking to you, Brad). Or just if you have no interest in hearing about my life. That too, would be a reason to veer off (that does not so much apply to Brad. I'd say he's at least mildly interested in me).

I mean if you're a mom, the aforementioned qualities likely don't apply to you or you wouldn't have survived this long, but for everyone else, just a heads up.

I always get nostalgic on Mother's day. Grateful. Reminiscent. But this year I feel it a little more acutely. 

Four babies later.

Now, what?

I can't be the only woman in her mid to late thirties butting up against that 'wall' of 40 feeling panicky about making this decision.

I don’t have the answer, so if someone could tell me, that’d be great.

Ever since we embarked on our parenthood journey, we’ve said we’d take it one baby at a time. People would ask us how many kids we wanted, and we’d shrug. Brad would actually say none, one, two, or three, or however many we had at the time, but believe me, was always a willing participant when we decided to try for more (although now that there are 4 he's somewhat less willing).

So now, as I said, here we are. FOUR beautiful, healthy, smart, funny, crack me up, love of my life, babes (that last one was a little bit of a crab butt for the first year but she's made big strides in the happy/funny department). 

Do we quit pushing our luck? Do we go for broke?  

I always wanted a big family, but what's "big"? What's that magic number? Four seems like the start of big, maybe, by today's standards.

I’ve examined the facts, cross-referenced the evidence, weighed the scales, pulled the sources, tested the waters, interviewed witnesses, and taken a lot of naps (I know that made no sense, but let’s just say I haven’t taken it lightly).

And I’m no closer to an answer.

There’s a lot to consider. 

Most people tell me, “you just know.” So if I don’t, does that mean I’m not? HOW do you ‘just know’? Is there clear and evident signage? Because I’m not great at subtleties.

If you’re like me and over-analyze every possible incident, scenario, incoming text, and random exchange until you’re so exhausted, you incidentally make yourself crazy (or look crazy) and then subsequently make no decision and just let life happen (hey…maybe that’s the answer), then you know my struggle.

Let’s review the data, shall we?

Conflicting Reports – Brad’s words say he doesn’t want any more children. Brad’s actions are a little less clear. You follow?

Hypertension/Shmypertension – I always get gestational hypertension/preeclampsia/fluid overload during pregnancy/postpartum. It’s never been critical and thankfully mom and babies have always ended up perfectly healthy(ish). Will that particular detail always remain? I don’t know. Is it responsible to consider another pregnancy and take on that risk? Again, I don’t know. But my moderate amount of medical knowledge, my experience with my past pregnancies, my trust in my doctor, my faith in God, and my gut feeling all tell me it would be okay. Not fool proof, but a pretty good start, I'd say? There are a lot of implications and a lot to consider for sure, but  the whole 'reviewed risks vs. benefits' schpeel, right?

“What’s one More?” -- I’ve often thought this while navigating my parenthood stint. Kids are crazy. So crazy that oft times, you really won’t notice one more. I mean that in the most loving way. Of course you would notice one more, you'd love one more, I just mean it won’t make life crazier. It won’t make you crazier. You’re already crazy, although when I make this argument to fellow parents, the looks I get might indicate they feel otherwise. One dad responded, "If someone punches you in the arm it hurts. If they punch you 4 more times, it hurts each additional time." Okay, well technically, if you were drunk (enough) that may not be the case, and I don't like to compare child rearing to a bar fight (although the similarities are striking), but point taken. 

I saw a mom at Culver’s and she had 6 littles at her table with her and her spouse. She stood up and I could see that she was very pregnant and her shirt said, “What’s One More?” 

Sames, lady. Although her children were ANGELS. All sitting quietly, politely dabbing their mouths with napkins, cleaning up the messes, and helping the younger siblings

Mine were licking chocolate ice cream off the window, having a cheese nugget fight, chugging Mountain Dew, and screaming like the lead singer of Metallica, but yeah. 

Sames. 

I've always LOVED the chaos of a big family. I love the blessings of a big family. I'll take the craziness over and over because if just fills me. 

However, the flip side, one more is also one less. One less minute that one little peanut gets you all to him/herself. One less nap. One less pedicure. One less night with the husband of steaming, hot s--. 

I digress. 

Point is, there’s not much of you to go around, Momma, and they all need and want you every minute of every day (I mean until the teen years and then they gone--unless they need money. or laundry.). Finding the familial balance to maximize and enrich everyone’s life is not an easy task. And if you find the sweet spot, or are even close, that is no small feat. We are likely not 'sweet spot'-adjacent. Maybe like a sweet and sour combo? It's delicious, for sure, but maybe not the best condiment for everyone in every situation? Does that even make sense?

Piece of Cake – My last delivery was a piece of cake. Like a big chocolate one that is sooo good, it’s got you moaning. I barely knew I was in labor. Of course the $3000 anesthesia bill, dismissed by my insurance under the guise of not covered services because it's a "local or topical anesthetic billed separately from the procedure", ironically, I felt deeply. In our pockets. And my soul too! I mean this has to be discrimination against women, doesn't it!? The semantics of that seem incredibly petty under the circumstances. I am not a feminist, but by God, to make a woman choose between 3 grand or forgoing the epidural seems a little bit like a targeted attack. Okay, off topic.

God has a way of generously making you forget the awful parts of labor and delivery (other than the insurance, he can't do anything about that). Which is why people go on to have more children. If he didn’t give us that grace, no one would ever have more than one. (Although if you wait *too* long, the toddler to teenage years might give you some pause). What chance do I have when I enjoyed every moment of it? That type of experience can make a girl addicted for life. And I CAN’T be the 40+ year old woman shucking out kids like a slot machine. 

Or in the deeply flattering terms my husband always used, 

“Hey, when are you set to calve/farrow, again?” 

Why wouldn’t a girl want endless children with a man who sweet talks like that? 

I Don’t ‘Just Know’ – I don’t feel done. In my heart of hearts, I don’t feel done. The thought of another pregnancy (I really do love it), another baby (and baby giggles), another child (and kisses and hugs and so on), another family member (more chaos), another life (another blessing)—fills me with so much joy I can hardly stand it. I watched a show and there was a woman talking about pregnancy, and she detailed how exquisitely feminine and vital she felt. How precious and miraculous. It's a connection and closeness to God that can't be described. 

I mean I'll still try. 

From the most respectful place, I feel like it's a handoff. Like a QB finding his star running back and he hands off the ball for the most glorious play. And then they go back to their still important but maybe not quite as momentous business.

Like during delivery, God is physically, spiritually right there, I mean PRESENT (he might as well gown up), and he's handing over that sweet soul and saying "Here's our beautiful little baby. Take care of her/him until I call her/him back. I love her/him so much." And I do too! 😭😭😭 I've never felt so close to God. I've never felt his presence so acutely, so intensely. It’s such a gift and I just don’t feel ready to walk away. To close that door. Sweet Jesus, after pouring that out, I may never be ready.

So then I am left to wonder, WILL I ever feel that way? I think as women we will always, to some extent, mourn the halt of our fertility, the finito to the baby makin' days, the end to the child bearing years. You hold a baby or get a whiff of the curve of their neck and your uterus quivers. This is inevitable and unavoidable, I think. But this feels like more than that to me. Am I not someone who just knows? Do I suck at closing doors (a recent home squirrel invasion would indicate so)? Will I always long for more and if that’s the case, obviously I have to be done some time. When? How? There are moral, ethical, and religious considerations at work here, as well. And NFP does not seem like something I'd be good at. So, WHEN you are ready to be done, then what?

I know no one can tell me what's right here (no matter how many times I've asked siri. And random strangers. And the priest in confession). I guess if I'm being honest, I know I'm not done. But Brad knows he's done. And since we're a little bit (or all the way) married, I think that's a little bit of a problem. 

He usually says, "not right now, can't we just wait a little bit?". I assume this is his way of putting me off, hoping I'll forget about/drop it.

Do I *ever* just forget or drop it, Brad (No. No, I do not, God bless him.)?

Last night we were very calmly and rationally discussing (we do that sometimes) the yay or nay for more babies dilemma and I pointed out that I'll be 37 this year (and when I check in at OB reception and they say "name? DOB?" and I'm all "1984" and the girl checking in next to me is all "1999", lets just say I was a little bit eye-rolly. Like 'go get your braces off or something'. To be fair, she's probably all 'Um. Gross. You're almost my mom's age.')

Not, "old", but certainly "advanced maternal age" (what a disgusting phrase) and if we are going to have another one, we really can't wait or put it off. 

His response? 

"Is that all the older you are?"

Only Brad could simultaneously offer a compliment and insult with near perfect precision. 

I suppose like all great mysteries this one is just gonna have to be up to God. Which it ultimately is (regardless), obvi. 

I'm gonna go all ostrich (that's not a position or anything, I'm just saying, "bury my head in the sand") and let God handle it. 

Inaction is my action (although technically there would have to be *some* action). 

There's a quote that says, "Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God." (I don't know who said it, but it's certainly too clever to be me). So I'm going to stop worrying about trying and start trusting (at least until next month. 😂🙈😬).

No decision is my decision. 

But God is always a good decision.

Anywho.

Sorry about your sensibilities if you proceeded.

*awkward silence*

Happy Mother's Day!

Enjoy your kiddos.

Speaking of, check out these sweet treats.

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