Squish

Porkchop turned seven months old three days ago. And the few weeks leading up to it have been sort of depressing.

I have a theory...

Hear me out. I've got one for everything, but I think there is something to this one...

Between four to eight months babies are delicious. Yummy, yummy, squishy. Lovey. Dovey. Soooo gosh. dang. cute. And the closer they get to eight months you start to panic.

"My baby is growing up."
 "My baby is getting so big."
"I. love. babies."
"I might want another one."
"I need another one."
"GIVE ME BABY!"

You begin to lose your senses and become baby crazy. One little whoops and bingo! You've got kiddos 15-18 mos apart. BUT. If you hold out, this same angel baby starts crawling and is on the move. And then... THEN there is no way you'd even consider getting near another little gremlin until they can wipe their own tush. This is my theory.

Being aware of my theory and the fact that I'm completely ruled by the whims of my hormonally deranged emotions, I felt it happen. The last few weeks I've watched my little Chopper begin eating, sitting up, try to crawl and I've been sad. Really, really sad. For the first time since his birth, I really felt angry. Almost depressed even that he was born with a cleft lip/palate. Not much to do with the cleft, just the extra that came with it. The doctors appointments, the pumping, the work. A toddler and a newborn is a lot to adjust to, but you add even just a little extra, and it's an un-needed, unappreciated amount of extra. So, it hit me like a ton of bricks that my baby is growing up. And he's getting so big. And I love my baby. And I feel like I missed half of it. I didn't get to really enjoy lots of it because of all this extra. All the bull crap everyone wishes happened to someone else, but you wouldn't wish it on someone else. There will be no whoops. History has shown that it takes us much more than a bingo. I'm no fertile myrtle, and when it comes to pregnancy, he may be our one hit wonder. Add this, my theory, and the tinge of guilt that another one would throw me over the edge and you have a recipe for a muddled, hormonal, mom mess.

Then the second ton of bricks dropped.

I sat at the table mingling with one of the wives and a girlfriend of some of the guys my husband works with. One is pregnant with twins through in vitro and another has been with her boyfriend only a few months, but they are talking kids. Not knowing either of the two of our histories, the girlfriend continued, "Yeah, we really need to get on this kid bandwagon if we're going to do it. I'm going to be 36. Maybe we should have twins. Then we could just do it once and be done with it. I'm  not getting any younger and the older I get the higher my changes of a birth defect get..."

Thwomp! And they landed. Leaving me so much more humble. So much more grateful.

Her "worst case scenario" was just about one of the greatest blessings that's happened to us.

I will take the extra. I will have to learn to love the extra. Because the alternative is that he might not have been here at all.

Happy Seven Meses Turkey-lurkey!