As soon as we found out Pipsqueak was going to be joining the family, we knew he would be it for us. Hubby had been done long before and four was all I ever wanted. We both knew he was the last, even if for some reason he never made it to our world.
Just a few months before, I broached the subject of another baby with hubby during dinner out just the two of us. I explained how I felt ready to be done with babies and all that entails, but I still had the desire for four kids. I still wanted one more baby and didn’t want to wait, I wanted to just get on with life as our forever family instead of dragging it out.
I fully expected to spend this past year and a half sobbing over my last baby’s growing and changing, knowing there would be no more because I’m a baby person. I love everything about babies, the tiny little snuggles and way they fit so cozy in your arms. I often joke that I could have a thousand babies but I don’t want any more kids.
But I haven’t had time to mourn the end of my baby days. I haven’t had the energy to dwell on the fact that my last baby is growing up. I’m barely surviving.
So when I was out running an errand, alone, (Sugarplum was at gymnastics, Honeybun was at ballet and the boys were at home napping with Grandma and Grandpa) it sort of struck me unexpectedly like speeding truck: I’m okay being done with babies.
I’m not going to miss wrestling little ones in and out of car seats every time we need to go somewhere. I’m not going to miss waking up in the middle of the night to deal with a screaming baby (who still isn’t sleeping through the night regularly.) I’m not going to miss having to chase them around and watch their every move. I’m not going to miss the diaper changing and laundry and messy hands and faces. I’m not going to miss the having to take a baby everywhere or rush to be back before the next feed or arrange alternatives.
I’m not going to miss much about having babies.
I am going to miss the snuggles and way their heads fit perfectly in the crook of my neck. I am going to miss the smiles and joy in their eyes that only exists for mommy. I am going to miss seeing all the firsts and light bulbs going on.
But it’s not enough to make me long for more.
I’ve reached a place I’m not sure I ever expected to be: I’m done having babies and I’m okay with it.
