I went to a Christmas party last night, and made sure my champagne glass was never empty for more than a nanosecond. Which means I found myself wide awake at 5:30 in the morning, suffering heartburn and playing with the pregnancy app on my phone. It is just about to be 2012, and assuming that the Mayans were just out of room on their calendar and we are going to live to see 2013, it's time to start thinking about the dreaded Second Baby.
To say "dreaded" is to be a tad dramatic. Of course I want a new little baby every time I see one, or hear one squeak, or see my 18 month-old daughter try to get the attention of eight year old boys all night long at said Christmas party (for instance). She's growing up fast and will be screaming at me and slamming doors in my face before I know it.
I've been looking at all of my pictures of her lately and, while totally missing that tiny baby she used to be, I've also been reminded of how much my life used to SUCK when she was new. The random crying jags. The breastfeeding every three hours all through the night. The milk coming in and flowing unbidden all over the couch. Hanging out topless with super engorged breasts. Being fat and wearing maternity clothes well-post-partum and/or never getting dressed. The gigantic production of leaving the house. The lack of independent play ability. Carrying that effing car seat everywhere.
I love that kid and I have loved her every step of the way, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that the infant stage is not something that I enjoy. Sure, they are cute and snuggly. But they are also tiny little leeches that suck every ounce of your life force for their own benefit. I'm not real excited to go there again. But they say it's easier the second time, right? Right?
So I'm torn. I can wait to space them three years and buy myself a mostly independent, non-pregnant summer now, but be stuck with a brand new baby next summer and have six years to wait before both my kids are over three. OR I can be pregnant this summer and have them more like 30 months apart. Opinions? I'd love to hear them.
4 comments:
I'm for closer spacing, myself. Here's why: infanthood and toddlerhood and much of young childhood are hell here on earth, and I like it consolidated. They are going to be the worst of enemies no matter what, but when they're close enough to share interests they can also be the best of friends.
I love that my oldest (of four kids) is eleven and my youngest is four. They get bearable at about five, and after that it just gets better, so I'm home free in just a little while, until the teens. Those will be rough, I'm sure, but see above, re: consolidation. I don't need to drag it out any more than necessary.
You obviously know where I stand, but I'll just throw out the therapist's sage advice again: Fifteen years of leading mothering groups and she said she never saw mothers more stressed out/depressed/on medication than the ones who had 2 kids 2.5 and younger. I still think we should stick with the 3 years. Have a preggo-free summer with me. We'll spin and drink all summer long to our hearts' content!
I wouldn't dare presume to know what's best for your family, but in weighing the decision for myself (I am SO not ready for another), the thought of having to send 2 kids to college simultaneously pushes me even farther in the direction of spacing them out.
I think three years turned out perfectly :)
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