Moms Gone Wild: My Crazy, Knocked Up Friends
~By Maura Giguere
My friends are all doing something pretty crazy lately: getting knocked up with baby number two. I know, we have bigger problems in life than my friends’ growing uteruses, but allow me to elaborate.
I’m freaking out. Our kids have barely passed the one-year mark. They’re still in diapers. They still have chubby little fingers, demanding schedules, and poor communications skills. These kids (arguably babies), haven’t even reached the terrible twos and their moms, my pals, are already buying those cheesy brother and big sister t-shirts with ultrasound pictures on them.
I understand that we moms aren’t getting any younger, but surely there’s more to this than the age factor. Please, someone tell me, did I miss the memo saying we need to produce a spare within 24 months?
Let me explain why the decision to have another so quickly poses such a problem for me.
No Time for Fun Time
Sure, pregnant women are fun, but they are a distant second in the fun department to tipsy ladies spilling secrets over late-night cocktails. My friends and I soaked up tons of female bonding during the months after our babies were born. We talked nipples, vaginas, poop, sleep training, and vomit velocity for days on end. But now I’m finally enjoying some grown-up conversations, and I desperately want them to continue.
Where’s the Party?
Goodbye, spontaneous socializing. Baby girl and I are now at a point where we can leave the house at a moment’s notice with next to nothing. She eats regular food, her schedule is somewhat predictable, and she’s walking all over the place. Unfortunately, now that our buddies are popping out number two, dear daughter and I are back in the poop, eat, and sleep cycle. One by one, our outings-at-a-moment’s-notice posse is dwindling.
I HATED being pregnant. Not in the everyday “I hate being pregnant” wistful sigh sort of way. It was much more in the angry and bitter “I loathe, hate, abhor, flat-out can’t stand being pregnant” way. I love that other people love being with child, but I don’t want to go there again, with me, with you, or with anyone else in my life.
Being Pregnant Means … More Kids
Another child. Another mouth to feed, more likes/dislikes to remember, more birthday parties, more diapers, and the list goes on. More data to cram into my already sleep-deprived and overused brain. Call me lazy, call me selfish, even call me an egomaniac, but I simply can’t imagine any more kids in my life. At least not now. And maybe not ever.
It took me three years to decide whether or not to have children (and yes, in my mind it always was plural). Then I had my daughter and fell in love with her in a way I didn’t even know was possible. My cup was and is completely full. Now, as I see all of my friends pregnant with number two, I know I’m not ready to do it again. So I wonder what’s wrong with me. Am I selfish for being over-the-moon happy with one sweet little baby and with ample time to enjoy her? Almost daily, I wrestle with guilt and confusion and ponder what the heck is next for me and my family.
So, my sweet, crazy, knocked-up friends, now you know exactly where my brain wanders as I squeal – yet again – upon hearing the news that your cute little number #2 is in the oven. I am indeed very happy for you, even though I think you’re more than a little bit crazy.
[Photo credit: Papaija2008 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net]