And After 5 Years And Two Babies, We’re Done.
Bitches, I started selling our baby stuff this weekend.
And let me tell you, people are fucking crazy. I will probably never try to sell anything on Kijiji again. I had a woman who responded to my ad for the highchair who wanted me to do nothing short of using a goddamn blacklight on it, passing it through some sort of bed bug microscopic inspection and then sending her pictures of my detailed inspection via my cell phone’s camera. The Facebook pages seem to be easier and the people less idiotic.
Please, please just go fall off a cliff or something Kijiji Lady.
Anyway, the whole selling process is quite a pain in the ass and really emotionally trying.
I have spent the last almost three years nagging Husband to have one more baby. He has clearly declined, or I would likely be bitching and moaning about my fat pregnancy feet or lack of sleep or some other delightful side effect of growing a human inside my body. But here’s the truth:
I like the idea of growing a baby again. I loved all the feelings of anticipation and the new baby smell and the idea of a large family. I fantasize about how easy the third one would be after all the things I learned with the first two. I’ll just wear my baby and life will be perfect. I think about having 3 or 4 children and what that would mean for big family parties with tons of grandchildren once our kids are grown.
In reality, I am 38 years old and Husband is 45. I worry about increased risks to the baby and what that would mean to their quality of life and to the life my older children have. I worry that Husband and I would not survive that type of stress. I think about not sleeping again for two years, and feeling crazy most of the time. I think about bottles and diapers and gates and strollers.
And then I think NO.
In the last six months or so we finally feel like we have a little bit of freedom. Our kids take really well to babysitters and have a few favourites that aren’t just named Grandma or Gago. I can finally take the kids to the library or store and not have to put Buddy in a stroller or leash him to keep him contained. I can let them play at the park without crawling up their ass or worrying that one of them is going to bolt just to be a total fucker.
I finally feel like we are catching our breath after 5 years of almost dying.
But the hardest thing out of all of this is being able to let go of this time in our lives. I just can’t fathom that the baby years are coming to an end and I now have two children, rather than two babies. Having two babies has been the single most defining thing about me for five years, and now I have to let go of that and find a new identity. It’s really, really sad.
And so I think all the nagging and longing has been just a resistance to the change I know is inevitable coming, and I am desperately trying to hang on to a thing that desperately needs to evolve.
So I started selling all the shit to help myself close that door.
And also because it was starting to take up a lot of space in our fucking house. And Buddy was using it all to climb up into trouble. He doesn’t always run away in public anymore, but he finds other ways to be a total fucker. So I guess not everything is changing.
How did you say goodbye to the baby years, Bitches? Did you feel conflicted about it? Or were you just “done” and that was that?