I turned around to half-acknowledge the remark, almost spilling my French press as I flashed the most phony smile I could muster in the direction of the 50-something woman standing behind me.
I was having coffee with a friend on the patio of my favorite shop, trying to carry on a conversation as my wild towheaded toddler made continuous attempts to run into the parking lot, and my preschooler whined in the chair next to me after accidentally closing the You Tube app on my phone. You know, a typical September morning in the #fourkidsclub.
Yeaaahh, I know. Haha. Kids are pretty great. Have a good day! I mumbled, through clenched teeth.
Every day it seems I receive some variation of this comment.
"Enjoy every minute"
"They grow so fast. Blink and you'll miss it"
"The days are long but the years are short" (my personal fave)
I know people generally mean well, but these types of cliche remarks are annoying and frankly a little smug. I know I am CRAZY to occasionally drag my kids places that do not offer chicken nuggets, petting zoos and inflatable bouncy castles. However, I selfishly insist on having a life outside of momhood sometimes. On most weekdays, my two boys are my reluctant companions, having to suffer through errands and my boring social life while their sisters are at school.
At that particular moment outside Cafe Sofia, I couldn't fathom the possibility of someday "missing this". I am a self-professed hater of the toddler years, who admits openly to not truly enjoying my kids' company until after they are three. The thought of all four kids being in school full time seems mind-blowingly glorious right now. Until that day comes, all I want is the occasional walk or coffee date with my friends (most of whom don't have preschoolers anymore and probably take pity on me) for an hour so I can feel like a human being again. Is that too much to ask?
Kind of, yeah.
September is the busiest month on the calendar, and this year we dove in head first. After the longest, most intense, action-packed and memorable #fourkidsclub summer in the books, I shipped the oldest two off to school within 18 hours of returning from vacation, and Brendan started pre K the next day. With a new school year also comes the mandatory frenzy of extracurriculars; soccer, swimming, piano, dance, music together and library class. As hectic as back-to-school time can be, getting a break after nearly 3 months of 24/7 Mommy Camp is downright wonderful.
September can also be kind of lonely, though. I mean,
I've been at this stay at home mom game for almost ten years now. In the nine and a half years since I had Fiona, I have seen trends and friends come and go, and have had to deal with what feels like every challenge a parent of young children can possibly face. In that time, the entire landscape has changed, not only in parenting trends but more significantly in my personal life. I have gone back to school. I am starting to look forward instead of back down that diaper aisle at Target. Many times I feel isolated and OLD staying home with my active 1 year old, when my eldest is an articulate and sassy "tween" that almost basically (but not quite) needs to go bra shopping.
Despite my stay-at-home-mom angst, thoughts of having a fifth child have started to creep in once more. Why not, right? I already have mountains of newborn clothes in pink, blue, and every other color of the rainbow. I have a brand new eight passenger minivan. My basement is a veritable Goodwill Store stocked with every toy, stroller, carrier and accessory needed for an army of children under ten. Plus, I am feeling kind of emotional after the recent acquisition of a "big boy bed" by my 22 month old, who moved into his brother's room last week. The crib is gone and the old nursery is empty (well, except for the graveyard of age-inappropriate Fisher Price infant toys that remain scattered on the floor). Why am I keeping all this crap--that I constantly trip over and claim to hate-- in my house unless my subconscious is trying to tell me something?
Our baby is almost 2. After each of the other kids, I have consistently gotten pregnant again between 19-23 months. I am not currently pregnant. This is uncharted territory!
Some days I want to go down to the basement and break out all the stretchy pants and nursing tank tops again. Part of me really wants to want to have a fifth baby, as baffling as that is. Those who are closest to me know how tough my fourth pregnancy and birth was, physically and emotionally. The first weeks with my son were overwhelming, and I feel guilty about not enjoying that squishy newborn as much as I should have. Having a fourth baby rocked my world and threw me out of balance without warning. Some days I was fine, but other days I felt like I was swimming in deep scary water, afraid that if I looked below the surface, I would be pulled down into darkness. In my mind, starting fresh with a new baby would be like pressing the "reset" button, and I can transition out of my childbearing years with a final, positive experience.
If I were to get pregnant again, I told myself, I would do it "right" this time. I'd buy the latest state of the art baby gear and things I couldn't afford with the older kids (except a pacifier sterilizer and a wipe warmer, because I am still not a tool). I would actually design a nursery and paint a mural on the wall, even though this is something I frequently make fun of Millennials for doing. Everything would be monogrammed. Professional pictures would be taken and posted all over the internet ad nauseam. Baby book would be updated regularly, which I haven't done for any of my kids so far (gasp!).
But every time I let my mind go to that place, another part of me is fighting the urge to procreate with every fiber of my being. Over the last year, I have been slowly working on my MSW, and trying to dust off the shreds of what were once my professional ambitions. I've been doing more non-PTO volunteer work, and making connections with new people. I am starting to envision what my post-childbearing life will eventually look like. Out of a chrysalis of Mom jeans and ill-fitting black T-shirts, someday I will emerge again. And at 33, I am smarter, more mature, and have a clearer picture of the person I want to be than I did when I was 21 and still part of the working world.
So maybe I'll just listen to my friends who were lovingly chanting "IUD" at me during book club last week. Maybe I should listen to the little voice inside that is telling me that i am so done, so ready to move forward with my life. Listen to the part of me that has a visceral reaction when I recall how much I hate being pregnant. Yes, having babies is familiar and comfortable for me, but it's also a cop-out. I know myself well enough to realize that running away is my first instinct when faced with something difficult. It is time to get over the fear of moving past the stay at home mom phase and cross the bridge to the other side.
And even though I wanted to punch that well-meaning lady in Cafe Sofia the other day, the truth is that I know she is right. I WILL miss these days, as much as I am sick of them now. As much as I am fed up with parenting toddlers, and stressed out, and lonely, I know I will miss the matchbox cars in my purse, my trusty double jogger, and those tiny little newborn socks. I know I am not ready to throw all that stuff away either, and I decided that's okay for now. I also know, despite my constant denial of this fact, that I will be sad and maybe even cry when my youngest goes off to preschool next Fall.
But having that first kid-free coffee date after I drop him off? Well, I am most certainly looking forward to that.
