Dilemma

Okay, this post is definitely going to fall under the category : "Is she really publishing this for the world to see?" Before blogging, some things were private decisions made quietly between husband and wife and then announced with respectful fanfare. Not anymore, and especially not with me, the Queen of Saying Way Too Much.

No, no I'm not actually pregnant. Just debating. Actually no debate...I'm fairly certain it will be happening again soon. I'm ready and actually allowing the husband a little room to get on board. I really feel like we aren't done (and so does he), we've just had them all close and I'm willing to allow Ryan (a little) time to get really ready for the craziness that is pregnancy and that first year.

The thing is...I am going into this with my eyes open. Like, there is NO pretending I don't know what I'm getting myself into. I've had 4 pregnancies and 4 deliveries and 4 newborns and 4 years of nursing and NEVER getting your head above water. I know how hard it is. (At least for us...that stuff is just difficult and lots of work and I know there are others who just LOVE the new baby phase, but us...not so much). And so last week, as I walk into McDonalds for our weekly playdate, I think, as my kids run ahead, remove their shoes (and socks, I know HOW GROSS!, but I'm not fighting that battle) and I order their two happy meals and calmly fill their drinks and then sit them at a separate table where they eat and leave (and eat and leave and eat and leave) while I chat with my friends without a care in the world, why in the heck am I doing this all over again? Why, next year sometime, do I want to be lugging that obnoxious baby carrier, trying to balance the baby and the drinks or ask someone to watch it, nursing in public, standing and bouncing the fussy baby, loathing the post-baby body all over again??


I think it's because the end is in sight. Like, before I knew I was just slogging my way through...no hope of relief and so I just kept on it. But now, like right before your husband gets home to relieve your crazy homework/dinner/chores/hungry chaos and you think you can't possibly handle it all for 10 more minutes (even though you've been handling it all day), now...it's within my reach and I'm getting ready to leave this all behind.


But not quite. And I guess that's it, right? Not quite ready to have all the other babies in the world be NOT YOURS, not quite ready to have the last first word or step or giggle, not quite ready to give up the only thing you've done for the last 9 years, not quite ready to look at the kids in your house and know that it's complete.

I've never felt like this before...wanting and mustering up the courage all at the same time.

But because I HAVE done this before: I know it will be okay. Way more good than bad, way more joy than stress, way more cute than ugly.

I'll keep you posted.