I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
June 25, 2006
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I can think of a million reasons why I shouldn’t get pregnant right now.
I already have a toddler and two stepdaughters. We’re out of bedrooms, with no easy sharing solution for a fourth child. We have no money. I still haven’t lost that last ten pounds of baby weight from the first pregnancy. The one-two punch of chasing a two-year-old and carpooling teenagers has left me in a permanently exhausted, semi-comatose state. My writing career is really starting to take off and freelance work is picking up as well, and surely both will take a hit if I get pregnant again. The cards, it seems, are stacked against a new addition to our family.
And yet, we’ve spoken about it many times and our gut is telling us to add one more. My gut, in particular. Honestly, it doesn’t speak to me often (not counting when I’m hungry), so when it does, I tend to listen.
I’m meant to have another child. I’m just sure of it.
But as I prepare to get pregnant again, it’s a totally different experience from the first go-round. Then, I took my prenatal vitamins religiously. I charted my body temperature every day to determine when I was ovulating. I read a hundred and one books on having a baby. I ate loads of fruits and vegetables.
Now, well, I’ve quit using birth control. Sort of. I stopped taking it about a week ago, then in a wild moment of remorse, popped two pills a couple days later. As of today, I’ve “forgotten” to take my last three pills. Is this it? I wonder to myself. Am I officially trying to get pregnant? Or will I “remember” my prescription tonight after a glass of wine and sheepishly catch up on my medication?
The truth is, I’m not looking forward to pregnancy. I wasn’t all that good at being pregnant two and a half years ago. During my first trimester, I took two naps a day. I suffered horrible, stabbing pains in my side that only dissipated when I lay down to rest. I had spotting twice while on vacation and worried the heck out of my doctors.
The second trimester offered some relief, as well as the coveted pregnancy glow, but by the third trimester, I was miserable again. My ankles and feet swelled beyond recognition. I ate everything in sight. I gained a total of 55 pounds. I felt puffy and ugly and fat. With my second pregnancy, I’m pretty sure that most of these things are going to happen again and I’m not too excited about any of them.
And here’s the most shameful secret of all. I’m looking forward to having another child in the family, but I can’t wait until we’re past the baby stage once and for all. Because having a baby is just so limiting. It’s difficult to go anywhere the first few months between nursing, nap times, and the inherent fragility of an infant. Then there are the struggles with sleeping through the night, the threat of fevers and colds and ear infections, and the inability of babies to communicate their needs.
I loved my toddler when she was a baby, but I didn’t fully enjoy myself with her until she was about 1 year old and could walk and talk well. Frankly, it’s tough to think of going through that learning curve all over again with a totally different child, particularly while also tending to the needs of a toddler.
Why am I telling you all this? I suppose it’s because I never, ever hear it from anyone else. The second-time-around moms I know and read about are all totally excited about going through the whole thing all over again. I never hear about fears or worries or regrets. Yet somehow, I can’t imagine I’m alone.
I feel like there are inherent sacrifices that come with having a child, and these next few years will be the sacrifice years for me in order to welcome what will likely be the final new member of our family. I wish I felt differently, and yet with the number of mothers out there who wistfully want their children to stay babies all of their lives, I’m glad I can offer my children heartfelt excitement that they are getting older and wiser and more all-around interesting with each passing year.
And I just hope that that’s enough.
This post originally appeared in Mamazine.
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