Charming and I decided to stop at two. But, all of these sweet pictures tug at the heartstrings, and get the ol' biological clock ticking FOR JUST A MINUTE.
I'm going to see my friend later today, so I need to get my head on straight before I am transported into newborn euphoria. I will now take this time to reflect.
Aside from the elastic waist pants that I made excuses to wear for about 18 months, there wasn't much about pregnancy that I enjoyed. I was pukey, zit-faced, moody, and GINORMOUS. I had no qualms about using that whole "eating for 2" bit to scarf down every morsel that crossed my path. No food was off-limits. I find comfort in hearing other women's stories and learning I was not alone in this state of food whoredom during pregnancy. I have a friend that told me when she was pregnant she once went into the grocery store, bought a cherry pie, and ate it all in the car before she ever left the parking lot. Nodding sympathetically I thought, "I feel your pain, sister. But, I would've gone with lemon." Anyway, you get the picture...I was a real knock-out. And an absolute delight to be around, I'm sure.
Labor was long and intense with both of my kids. I learned my lesson the second time around to keep pushing that epidural button - even when they told me to stop. They said I needed to feel the "urge to push". Sorry, but I disagree. I vaguely remember that sensation from last time. If memory serves correctly, it's not what I would describe as pleasant. Thanks, but I'll pass. And I'm pretty confident that sucker's coming out one way or another...whether I feel it or not. Click.
I did enjoy my stay in the hospital, though. People sent me flowers, brought me presents, and I had an excuse to eat whatever I wanted. After all I was still responsible for feeding two people. We ooh-ed and aah-ed over our little miracles, and when I wanted to nap, I sent her/him to the nursery. I couldn't hear them cry in there. That was neat. If I could re-live the 30 or so hours between the actual delivery, and the hospital forcing me to sign documents saying I'd go home, I'd be all over it.
Then we did go home. And I didn't sleep for 2 years. At least with the first. The second was a little more considerate, but it was still a while before I got my 9 hours. And that wasn't a happy time for anyone.
And then there was nursing. I know many mothers consider that to be "bonding" time with their babies. Not that I hated it, but I felt like a dairy cow. I WAS a dairy cow. I went back to work full time after Tink was born and my boss was a man (single, no children). One day I was sitting in his office and he got a funny, slightly horrified look on his face. I could tell what he was looking at, so I looked down to verify. Yep. I was leaking right through my bra, nursing pad, and shirt. Oh, goody. "Yeah. That happens. Anyway...you were saying?"
Toddlers, temper-tantrums, and potty training. If you don't hit the bottle during that phase you are either (1) Superwoman, (2) heavily medicated, or (3) lying. Perhaps my children were just exceptionally difficult, but the fact that any of us lived through potty-training is a testament to how much I love them. Seriously. I was one shit-in-the-floor-after-spending-45 minutes-on-the toilet episode away from a severe mental breakdown.
There are times that I am totally jealous of people with big families. I imagine the picture perfect Christmas gathering in 25 years...mom, dad, 4 or 5 kids, all the grandkids, holding hands around the Christmas tree. Drinking eggnog and singing 'Jingle Bells' and whatnot.
Then I see those families - current day - in the grocery store. The mom with her shopping cart, baby crying in the front, toddler opening up all the food in the back, 4 year old running from aisle to aisle screaming and grabbing shit off shelves.
Meanwhile, I'm browsing leisurely...carefully and thoughtfully making my selections...and my kids are at school.
Well, whaddaya know. I'm cured.