The end of my breeding days
Last week, my husband went and had a vasectomy. We decided that if I didn't have a c-section, he was going to get fixed. After our daughter was born without a c-section, we continued with this plan. We even started joking with each other that we'd better make our birth control permanent ASAP, because we might decide to have an accident. It's easy to catch "baby fever" when your daughter is a breeze to take care of.
I'm still wrestling my emotional self to accept this decision. Logically there can be no other decision. I'm no spring chicken. 40 is fast approaching, and our bank account is always close to the zero mark. We're living hand to mouth most days, and more than once we haven't been able to pay the utility bill in full. We seem to be eating a lot more rice and pasta instead of steak and shrimp. So a third child is simply out of the question, if we want to pay for the first 2 kids college, and possibly go out to eat once a month.
But that means no more pregnancy. No more birth, no more brand new infant in my arms. My daughter rolled over just the other day. Her head control is such that she's no longer got that "bobble-head" look when she lifts her head. And tummy time means head up, staring into the playmat's mirror. She's already starting to grab at toys, too. So today, as I watched her grab for her crinkly butterfly toy hanging overhead, I willed her to stop growing and stay that beautiful little infant I gave birth to mere weeks ago. I wished I could have another, even though my mortgage payment is looming over me like a vulture circling a dying animal. It's these emotionally charged moments, the ones that yank at your heartstrings and have you praying for them never to end, that stomp my logical self into oblivion and scream for another conception. One of my email lists was discussing this, and it was suggested that this wrestling is because we love our motherhood so much, it's tough to let go of those moments. The next time I'll get to experience those moments are if I'll be blessed enough to be a grandmother. I certainly hope I will be.
I'm still wrestling my emotional self to accept this decision. Logically there can be no other decision. I'm no spring chicken. 40 is fast approaching, and our bank account is always close to the zero mark. We're living hand to mouth most days, and more than once we haven't been able to pay the utility bill in full. We seem to be eating a lot more rice and pasta instead of steak and shrimp. So a third child is simply out of the question, if we want to pay for the first 2 kids college, and possibly go out to eat once a month.
But that means no more pregnancy. No more birth, no more brand new infant in my arms. My daughter rolled over just the other day. Her head control is such that she's no longer got that "bobble-head" look when she lifts her head. And tummy time means head up, staring into the playmat's mirror. She's already starting to grab at toys, too. So today, as I watched her grab for her crinkly butterfly toy hanging overhead, I willed her to stop growing and stay that beautiful little infant I gave birth to mere weeks ago. I wished I could have another, even though my mortgage payment is looming over me like a vulture circling a dying animal. It's these emotionally charged moments, the ones that yank at your heartstrings and have you praying for them never to end, that stomp my logical self into oblivion and scream for another conception. One of my email lists was discussing this, and it was suggested that this wrestling is because we love our motherhood so much, it's tough to let go of those moments. The next time I'll get to experience those moments are if I'll be blessed enough to be a grandmother. I certainly hope I will be.
posted by Mama Padawan | 5:54 PM
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