This is it.

The other day I gave away my baby's bed, and it made me really sad.
Okay, so it was a hand-me-down that I had agreed months ago that I'd pass down to my sister in law who is pregnant with her first. And we did have a perfectly good crib sitting in the basement that hasn't been used since our second kid. I was never particularly attached to the crib itself. Sure it was from Pottery Barn, but if you've ever seen the inside of my house you know I don't care about that either.

It was the symbolism that hit me hard. My last baby. Sure, he's still a "baby" at fifteen months. He cries all the damn time, and drools, and is teething and poops in his diaper. He still needs me for everything. He's headstrong, and stubborn, and fussy, and  throws himself dramatically on the ground when he doesn't get what he wants, but doesn't have the words to express himself either. Sometimes I think I am going to lose my mind, or what's left of it after all these dormant motherhood years. After nine years of full-time parenting, I'm just so tired. I just want an HOUR of peace a day so I can write, or read, or have coffee with my friends, remember (or more likely rediscover) who I am.

But this is it.

My last baby.

Now that my bigger ones are school-aged, I know (and tell people very matter-of-factly) which ages and stages I prefer. I definitely do NOT care for ages 1 and 2. I consider myself a "big kid mom". Just when I think I will never bond with my toddler, they turn three and suddenly I love them oh so very much...often I wish I could just fast forward until then.

Sometimes I fast forward in my head 5, 10, 20 years. How "great" my life will be when my kids are older, more independent. When no one howls in the middle of the night because they had a bad dream, or can't find their blanket, or are teething. When Joe and I can finally go on an overnight trip without the kids. When I can go back to work and think about something other than taking care of my family, something I haven't done since 2006. It's so funny how much I'm looking forward to retirement these days...I'm 32 years old for fuck's sake. 

But then I remember, this is it.

This is the last squirmy baby I'll have to balance on my hip while I am doing 20 other things while waiting in line at Starbucks. 

I never loved (or even liked) being pregnant, but this last time was the worst. We were so indecisive about getting pregnant with #4 in the first place. When I did, I was told very early on in my pregnancy that he had potential "syndromes" and "defects" and "abnormalities". I resented having to go back to the hospital for so many tests and scans, so finally, I told the doctors, enough. "Aint nobody got time for that!", I'd say to my friends after a skipped non-stress test appointment.  But secretly, I was scared, and worried that I would never love him if he came out with some type of anomaly. It's embarrassing to think about those days now, because now I know I would have loved him no matter what.

I hate pregnancy.
But that was it. No more feeling those kicks at 2 am.

Having a newborn for the fourth time around is underwhelming. It's hard to find anything special about a routine that you've done so many times before. He didn't "need" anything, I have more hand-me-downs in my basement than a decent sized consignment store. He was an easy baby, luckily, because he didn't get much attention in the same house as a melodramatic 7 year old, a sneaky 4 year old and a reckless two year old. I never spent more than a few minutes looking into his eyes, or noticing his little fingers and toes, his sweet belly or his full Mautner lips that remind me of my dad. The whole time, his whole infancy, I was fast forwarding.

My friends were moving on. Many of them went back to work, or touching up their resumes. Most of them had their youngest child around the same time I had my second, so they had free time during the day to exercise and shower and put on makeup and read and have coffee. What I wouldn't have given in those first few months to have a thirty minute uninterrupted coffee date with my friends without exposing my boobs or having to keep my two year old away from danger and breakable items. I fantasized about wearing something other than yoga pants and having an intellectual conversation. I hated breastfeeding this time, it was such a burden. I hated changing diapers. I hated waking up in the middle of the night to nurse him. I wanted intelligent conversations about adult things, if one more person tried to talk to me about sleep schedules or strollers or Sophie le Girafe I thought I'd go off the deep end.

But in the moment, I didn't stop to think that this was it.
The last newborn smell. The last time I'd buy those tiny onesies, or size N diapers.

Recently, my six year old girl has gotten very religious. Every night she prays for a baby sister (and a cat), and often I find pictures she draws at school of "Gisis" putting a new baby (who she calls "Alice")in my "bele".

 It's adorable, and I love seeing them. But I don't know how realistic it would be for Gisis to bless us with another little one. For starters, I would NEVER finish my Master's degree. Secondly, I fear that I won't have any shred of sanity left intact if I become a member of the #fivekidsclub. Still, the girl kneels every night beside statues of baby Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and an angel (the nuns at my old Catholic school would be so proud!). And who knows. It is certainly not my place to question the will of Gisis!


In my experience as a member of the #fourkidsclub, it's hard to say that I've permanently closed that door. Having forfeited my sanity by choosing to have a larger brood than that is generally considered typical- and sometimes manageable- and having been a mom to newborns and young toddlers for 9 straight years (that's nine years of diapers!), it's tough to change gears. It will be so strange to not have a baby in diapers, or a child in an infant car seat, or having a kid at home with me all day driving me crazy when I'm trying to write my blog. I haven't yet decided whether this is a good strange, or a bad strange. Divine intervention or not, I reserve the right to take my time with this one!

Thanks for reading!
xo