Asking for the moon...

My sister-in-law, Terri, has accused me of being abnormally "chipper" on this blog recently. She said she missed "the honest Ellen" that I was before I realized that lots of local people that I see regulary are reading this thing. =) She knows me well, and she has a valid point. But I still contend that the main reason why I've been more chipper lately has been because there's been so much to be chipper about! I do love having a new baby, sleep deprivation notwithstanding.

But I have realized recently that I do have a complex issue to air, so why not air it? I've realized that I've already started thinking about whether or not I'll be able to have another baby. I really didn't think that this would come up at all for several months, maybe even a year. I wanted to just soak up every minute of the time with Seth and banish the thought of him possibly being the only baby for me. I'm not really thinking about it a lot, but it has come to my mind. The bad thing is that the little, wonderful things that I experience with him have the unintended consequence of occasionally making me think bittersweet thoughts. Is this the last time I'll kiss the soft cheeks of my 5-week-old? As he grows, am I experiencing lots of firsts and lots of lasts at the same time? The time is already flying by so quickly. I can hardly believe he's over a month old. I can see the changes in him. I can see the next size in diapers coming soon. He likes his swing now when he couldn't stand it two weeks ago. I think he'll be smiling soon, and I swear I'd swallow fire batons if I could get a grin from him now.

All this sad/happy mingling started when I was waiting to get prepped for my c-section. I had put on my hospital gown, and I was waiting nervously for them to come in and get me set with my IV. There was a nurse, a new baby, and a proud daddy in the room, getting all of their new baby scores recorded. I heard that child crying, and I felt Seth moving inside me, and I started to cry. I cried because in just under an hour, I wouldn't have him inside of me anymore. I would have to say goodbye to that part of our relationship, and I'd have to say goodbye to my miracle pregnancy. I loved having him that close to me, and it was going to be over so soon. And I wasn't ready in some ways. I wasn't ready to not be pregnant, knowing that it could be my last pregnancy. So the tears ran silently down my face for several minutes, until the nurses came to distract me. And I felt silly for crying over it, but that didn't change the momentary sadness.

The tears came again when I was packing up all my maternity shirts. He was a week old, and I watched him sleeping in his cradle, and I packed up the cherished garb that I'd longed for and enjoying wearing with him. And I did it, missing him inside me, and wondering if I'd ever need it again.

It could happen again. I know several women who struggled and struggled to get pregnant with their first child and then had others easily afterward. Each of their stories gives me hope. But I know of other women who've had to go through fertility treatment each time they wanted to get pregnant, and some who've only been able to succeed at that once. Three years of trying, three different kinds of medication, and one devastating miscarriage are in my past. If I act like I think I could have another, it's mainly hopeful posturing. I can't count on it. So many women speak casually about saving their baby clothes and getting unisex baby gear so they can use it on multiple children. I try to talk like that, but I'm not convinced of it. Not deep down. The Lord hasn't promised me anything more than the miracle swinging peacefully behind me. For me, asking for another pregnancy feels like asking for the moon.

So I will hungrily grab at each day with my baby. And I guess I'll be mourning his passage out of babyhood. And I'll try to remember to hold him more instead of letting him sit in his swing. The dishes can wait; he won't stay this cuddly forever. I've already joked with David that he's going to have to check up on me to make sure I start feeding him solid foods before he's a year old. That feels like the beginning of the end of babydom for me. If there's anything I'm getting from all this introspection, it's that I have to thoroughly enjoy the gifts that God gives me today. None of us can count on tomorrow, and I'm thankful for my awareness that childhood is precious and fleeting.