How I have loved having my babies and seeing them grow in those glorious first years of life.
And how tired I have been.
Since Anna’s birth, I have been someone I don’t know…someone who is anal and crabby and can’t handle any amount of stress whatsoever. Someone who gets depressed at the drop of a hat and has crazy thoughts running through her mind, someone who just can’t seem to be the person she used to be before baby #2 came around. Someone who gets irritated, so very irritated–at her kids and husband whom she loves most in the world.
I hate that.
But I love that I’ve come this far. I love that in the scope of things, it is getting better. The light is getting closer and brighter. Anna’s nights are better, and though I still find myself fantasizing about Cry-It-Out in my weakest moments, I have been able to persevere and not go there.
I’ve learned a lot about myself in these almost-two-years of craziness and hardship; mostly I’ve learned that I have limits. Sleep is absolutely crucial to my well being. And not just *any* sleep, but unbroken stretches of sleep preferably between the hours of 12 and 4am. Since that almost never happens, I’ve learned that I can forgive myself. I really am only human, and humans can only do so much.
As much as I have loved being pregnant, giving birth, and having babies, I think it’s time for me to let that go now. I think (with a little pain in my heart) that I am done with this baby business. And not because I haven’t loved it all, even with its darkest days–but because I think another baby will tilt the scale against my favor and send me into insanity.
I will choose quality over quantity, even though if I were a stronger person with a more stable brain I would probably choose one or two more babies. But I don’t think that’s the hand I’ve been dealt, and I have slowly come to terms with that. I will wrap up that delightful box of baby memories and put it away, sell my baby paraphernalia, and lavish in the present.
Life is grand, isn’t it?