Grasshopper New Media Presents...

Today my youngest child turns 3. Last night, after the rest of my family fell asleep, I decorated the house with balloons. A movie played in my mind. I saw all 3 pregnancies. I saw the good moments of labor. I saw many many moments nursing a contented baby. I even saw the mustard seed poops of infancy and smiled. I’ll take those over toddler poop any day.

Melancholia set in.

I know that this body won’t carry another baby. This body won’t feel the flutterrings of first movements or the alien movements of later pregnancy. This body won’t nurse again. This body won’t feel the warm sleeping weight of a satiated child. OH! I don’t have to work at all to recall that warmth. That weight. Yum.

I’m not really sad. I am blessed with 3 healthy children. With a happy marriage. With good friends. I am blessed to be home with my children. This is where I am meant to be. Sitting here with a 7 year old, a 5 year old and a (gulp) 3 year old. I am meant to help my children learn to read and to swim and to listen to their laughter.

On the other hand, I am also meant to wipe too many bums, referee too many squabbles, and scrub way too many freaking toilets. I am meant to live in a bit too much chaos and I am meant to hate it. I am meant to question my decisions and wonder what my kids will discuss with their therapists in the future.

I just had a really jarring thought. At least I have grandchildren to look forward to.

[tags] no more babies, 3rd birthday, motherhood, parenting, kids, children[/tags]
Photo graciously provided by the author, through a Creative Commons license, some rights reserved