I laid in bed last night thinking about A’Dell’s post about time and starting the school years. I only have three weeks before I lose Margaret for 7 hours a day. (SEVEN. Does this not seem crazy to anyone else?)
I’m not out of the baby stage – thank goodness, because I’m loving every minute of this sweet, squishy, smiley girl – but I am done with pregnancy and birth forever.
Sometimes I want to throw a big party celebrating the fact I’ll never again have to deal with pregnancy puking for months on end. I made it through! THREE TIMES! I’ve earned my permanent reprieve.
On the other hand, I’ll never again feel a baby kicking inside of me. Or give birth – something I strangely came to really enjoy.
The family-growing years are over and I’ve met all of my children. Doesn’t that sound crazy? There are no more unknowns. Or who knows – maybe there are. But for the first time I’m not periodically sitting down and wondering who might come next. Boy or girl? Wild or reserved? Goofy or serious?
There’s a little baby kick-kick-kicking as she sleeps in the bassinet at the foot of our bed and when she outgrows it, it will go. The infant carseat will follow, and our “baby gear closet” will slowly (finally!) empty.
I’m surprised to be pretty much OK with it right now, if a little melancholy. I wonder if I’ll feel sadder when Eleanor isn’t a baby anymore. I love having babies. But as soon as she was born, I felt…complete. Like everyone was here. A feeling I worried I’d never have. It feels nice.