The "V" Word

And no, I’m not talking vagina.  Vasectomy.  If you’re a guy, you’re probably wincing in imagined pain right now, and I feel you.  If you’re a woman that’s been through childbirth you’re probably thinking something along the lines of, “Hell yes.  Let him have a taste of the pain…” 

But I digress.

Vinny opted for this procedure since we are done having kids.  At least, we say we’re done having kids.  Vinny has always said we’ll have two and that’s it.  I’ve always said we’d take it on a case-by-case basis.  I never had a specific number of children in mind.  What if I had a baby and then decided I didn’t love being a mom as much as I thought I would, or if the baby was particularly demanding, or we didn’t have the money, or…  It never seemed right to put any kind of parameters on the potential size of our family.

Vinny’s stance has never changed.  As for me… it’s not as simple.

Almost immediately after Sophie’s birth I said, “I’m done.”  My children seem to have a harrowing (to me) way of arriving into this world, and there is a part of me that does not want to press my luck.  We’ve all come through unscathed so far and I am thankful each and every day that Eli, Sophie and myself came through those experiences in good health.

So there’s that.

Then there’s the part of me that longs to be younger and richer so we could have more kids.  At this point we’re comfortable with two so it seems a bit impractical to push things that way. 

And then there’s the matter of actually caring for these children.  They’re exhausting.  I already feel guilt on some days because I rarely get to spend any one-on-one time with each child and feel as though my attention is usually in ten different places.  I’ve had several people say to me, “After two kids it doesn’t matter, it’s all really the same,” but I can’t get behind that statement. 

When I think of my attention being divided further by another child I wonder how I would actually do it.  Check that.  I know I could do it, but whether or not I would do it happily is another question.

So there are all these reasons not to have another child.  And they are good, solid reasons.  To be honest, there is no further justification needed beyond Vinny not wanting more children because, really, we both need to be on board for a decision of that magnitude.

And yet…

When I think about not having that moment of learning I am pregnant again, I get sad.

When I think about not feeling a little babe kick/move/punch/roll around in my belly again, I get sad.

When I look at my maternity clothes and remember being pregnant with Eli and Sophie, I get sad (and nostalgic).

When I think about how awesome our kids are, how good we are at making kick-ass babies, and then realize we aren’t going to do it again, I get really, really sad.

For some crazy reason I like being pregnant and having babies.  Nevermind the insomnia, morning sickness, insane heartburn, carpal tunnel, massive weight gain, general aches and pains, etc.  I love it.  And I have to add that I do have easy pregnancies, despite those ailments.  Really.  I am lucky.

In spite of all these things I know the best decision for us is to not have more babies. 

It doesn’t mean I still can’t be sad about it.

I never anticipated being the one leaving the urologist’s office in tears (and for those of you that know Vinny, you will appreciate that statement to the fullest ... and for the record he did fine).  But there you go.  As we drove home from Vinny’s procedure last week I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my face.  It was a bittersweet moment for both of us.  Then Vinny managed to lighten it with a joke: “I’m not sure if I just did that because I don’t want more kids, or because of the ones we already have.” 

It didn’t stop my tears, but it did put a smile on my face.

Sharing is Starting to Suck: Or, How Quickly We Forget

Well, okay, fair enough to say that not much time elapsed between one pregnancy and the next.  Eli was eight months old when I became pregnant again. 

So I hadn’t truly forgotten all the ailments and frustrations of pregnancy (although those memories did recede quickly).  And now, here we are again.

I have to say, for the most part I love being pregnant.  It’s an amazing process and I am no less in awe the second time around.  To grow another person inside your body in 40-ish weeks?  How can you not sit and stare at your belly in wonder?  There is so much happening every second of every day…

Sure, the beginning of this pregnancy was rough.  I had morning sickness almost immediately and it lasted nearly 3x longer than with Eli.  But then I coasted into the second trimester, my favorite stretch of pregnancy.  One day you wake up and, voila!  You simply feel better, almost like yourself.  There is energy, again, and you do not feel nauseated at the sight/smell/thought of certain foods.  It’s a grand time. 

Your belly is starting to poke out and maybe, just maybe, people are starting to think you are pregnant and not developing some kind of beer gut.  This is what being pregnant is all about. 

It goes on like this for some time.  You coast along, looking “cute” (or as cute as you can manage) in your maternity clothes, you feel the baby kick for the first time, you start to contemplate names, you daydream about how wonderful it is going to be to meet this mysterious little person hanging out in your belly.

And then, somewhere just inside the third trimester, it all goes downhill.

Suddenly, food is the enemy, again.  Except this time it doesn’t make you nauseous, it insists on burning your belly and results in acid reflux. 

You wanted to sleep?  Well, between the acid racing up your throat, your stiff hips and lower back, the Charlie horses that send you bolting upright out of sleep, the many trips to the bathroom each night to pee, the sudden onset of carpal tunnel, and your babe’s new boxing skills, you are managing an hour stretch at a time, maybe two if you’re lucky.  You wake up each day looking a little worse for wear.

And if that wasn’t enough, now that you’re tired and saddled with all-day long indigestion, good luck trying to tie your own shoes, bend over without grunting, or breathing without sounding like Darth Vader.  You’ve officially become a spectacle.

Then there’s the little guy living outside your body to contend with each day. 

Most of the time I can get through the day reasonably well.  Eli is getting heavy, and on his “fussy” days likes me to hold him and walk him around.  That is getting difficult.

So, at 31 ½ weeks pregnant, I set my sights on that 36-week mark and say, “Anytime after that, little one.  Come on down.” 

Eli was born just shy of 38 ½ weeks.  I hope like no other that this babe is on a similar schedule. 

I know all the ailments, minor inconveniences, and extreme exhaustion will end.  Of course, the exhaustion will extend beyond the pregnancy, but I welcome those first few months, where at least I can enjoy her outside my body and be exhausted.  Somehow, that is more manageable than her keeping me up all night when I can’t even hold her, yet.

After she’s born, probably not too long after she’s born, there will come a time when I will miss being pregnant.  I was astonished at how quickly after having Eli that I missed it.  “What am I, crazy?” I thought.  Here I was, acid reflux-free, able to eat anything I wanted, able to sleep (when babe would allow) without stiffness and pain, and I wanted to go back and do it all again?  Surely there was/is something wrong with me.

Right now it’s tough to fathom that I will miss all this again.

There comes a point, say like now, when I get tired of sharing my body.  I’m not even sure “sharing” is an appropriate term.  It’s nicer than saying she has completely taken over and invaded my body and I have no control over anything (which is the truth).  But I like to think of it as a sharing relationship.  However, I am tired of sharing and have started to long for my body back, so I can eat, sleep, exercise, bend over, and breathe without having someone make so many indirect objections to everything I do.  

All that said, I cannot wait to finish “cooking” this kid and to meet the little face that is waiting ever so patiently to join us on the outside.  It won’t be long now… and then, before you know it, I will forget all my complaints and look back at my pregnancy with nothing but fondness.  Sometimes, forgetting is a good thing.