It doesn’t get much better than the newly-minted squish of a newborn baby for broody and maternal types like me. You’ll either know exactly what I mean, or you’ll be thinking, ah, no thanks, I’ll stick to my coffee and quiet drive to work.
There I was, propped up in hospital with my pink and puffy new born baby girl, when I overheard my husband on the phone: “That’s us, All Done. Pigeon Pair, all finished, thank you.” Quite definite, would be the tone he used, and I remember thinking, that’s unusual, we’ve never had this discussion? What about the third one?
I didn’t have an easy labour or birth with my first child, and I was understandably nervous that number 2 may be difficult as well. In my head, I decided that if my second labour experience was actually ok, then I would definitely be going back for baby number 3.
But there are a few issues with my previous statement. 1. ” In my head” Oh I forgot to say it out loud, and 2. “I” “I” “I”. Oops. That should probably be “we”.
So it would seem “we” were on very different wavelengths. How did we get here?!
I am an only child, and while I loved my childhood I’ve always seen myself as the mother of handful of children; slightly more than a pair but definitely less than a football team! Three kids seemed like the perfect number to me.
I was happy to gloss over some of the finer details of a three child family: the bigger car, extra hotel rooms, financial cost. Heck even just another mouth to feed was bandied about by other mothers. But none of this phased me. I was decided.
I finally talked to my husband “We aren’t on the same page.”, I said. “Oh.”, he said. So we left it at that, both of us secretly thinking we could bring the other one around.
As time went on, our children reached milestones (wishing those milestones stretched to sleeping). I thought about more and more about how we could fit a newborn into an already busy household. Where would I shave time from to give to another baby? Who would miss out, and by how much?
Suddenly I noticed how my arms could only just manage holding my two babies (and a random sock and a bunny toy or two!). I see how my left arm holds the youngest, while the right keeps my boy from running into the road/ocean/river. Mothers of more than two, you have my respect!
I watch my children interact with each other, the eldest’s patience for the youngest growing by the day. They enjoy each other’s company, they miss each other when they are apart. The sound of their laughter brings me so much happiness. I realised my husband didn’t have to convince me of anything at all. My cup is full. This is enough.
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