There are no more newborns in my house.
My babies are growing up. They run around, play together, and (thank the Lord) sleep through the night now. When I had my second son, another beautiful, absolutely perfect child, I decided this was it for me. My husband wasn’t totally convinced, but I was adamant: I was done having kids.
But…there are no more newborns in my house. No more. Not…ever?
I came across a poem last week about your childrens’ “lasts” and I cried my eyes out. Then I read it again. And cried my eyes out again. I don’t remember the last time I breast-fed, or gave my sons a bath in that little plastic tub, or squeezed their chubby infant legs out of a Bumbo. And those events will never happen again. Well, unless…
The thoughts started bombarding my mind and I began countering all of my original reasoning: I’m not really too old to have another one, am I? We could probably afford it, right? My mother had four kids; I can surely handle three, can’t I? I even confided in my sisters and close friends: I think I want another baby! Ahh!
Then, yesterday I was at TJ Maxx on my lunch break (the only time I can shop kid-free), looking for new throw pillows for the couch. The night before, my three-year old spilled something on one of the pillows for the 137th time and I made the executive decision that it was time for new ones. I found some really cute, spring-inspired pillows, and picked up a scented candle on my way out too. On the drive back to work, I started thinking about how I would arrange the pillows and other minor changes I wanted to make to the room. I hadn’t done anything like this in a long time. Four years to be exact. I used to really enjoy making small updates to my house, redecorating, discovering cute, decorative accents at TJ Maxx or Target or Pottery Barn or Pier One….ok, you get the idea. You know, come to think of it, there are a lot of things I enjoy doing that have been ignored for the past four years.
Uh, yeah, of course they were ignored. I was consumed with pregnancy, having a newborn, having a toddler, being pregnant again, having a newborn and a toddler. My boys received – and deserved – all of my attention. But when they were getting 100% of my attention, I was barely getting in a shower, let alone doing anything “for fun.” And that’s ok. That’s the way it is when you have babies. But did I want to do it again?
After some soul searching, I knew the answer was no.
The fact that my boys are growing up has given me the opportunity to (begin) to get back to me. Remember that person who liked to host dinner parties, loved UCONN basketball (anyone remember Kemba Walker? ::swoon::), enjoyed reading, writing, fashion, decorating, socializing, shopping, cooking, photography, and music? Remember that person who had passionate conversations about subjects other than baby poop? I had forgotten about her, but she’s still there. She’s been dormant for a while but she’s beginning to re-emerge.
Let’s be honest, with a 3 ½ year old and a 1-year-old, I won’t be writing any novels or following the UCONN men’s basketball team around the country any time soon, but my trip to TJ Maxx reminded me how much I missed doing even the seemingly insignificant things just for me. And *big sigh* although I will never have a newborn again, I have two pretty amazing boys who still have many “firsts” ahead of them. So while I will mourn the “lasts,” I will celebrate all the “firsts” yet to come and at the same time, begin to reconnect with ME.