Don’t You Wish They Were Still Babies?
If you have children, and they are growing, as is the nature of the little creatures, then you may have had this experience:
Mom A: (observing child doing something on his own) “Don’t you miss the days when Johnny was little?”
Mom B: (correct, expected response) “Yes! I loved holding Johnny and cuddling with him. Now he’s almost seven years old and is just so independent.” (Wistful sigh to follow; possible tear in eye; two moms sharing a common bond.)
However, if you are in that minority of mothers, whom like myself, feel like there might just be more to life than playing peek-a-boo with your drooling toddler for hours on end, the conversation may go something like this:
Mom A: (observing child doing something on her own) “Don’t you miss the days when Antonia was a baby?”
Me: Ha! NO! Are you KIDDING?! I don’t miss changing diapers or feeding her at all! I’m so excited that Antonia can go to the bathroom on her own, hold a fork, get dressed by herself, load a movie into the DVD player… God NO! I don’t miss those days! Ha! (Unintentional snort from me followed by complete look of horror on other mom’s face. Make futile attempt at toning down my enthusiasm.)
As I said in my first post, I am going to be brutally honest here. I don’t LOVE every moment of motherhood, and the thought of going back to the day when my daughter was totally dependent on me for everything, does not appeal to me in the least. In fact, I have a visceral reaction when I see pregnant women. Let me give you an example or two.
One Sunday morning after church, we went to brunch like we always do and happened to run into another family from our church. This lovely family has a daughter the same age as mine (at the time, about 4 and a half); another little girl about two, and on this particular Sunday, I realized that the mom was pregnant with her third child. Right there, in the middle of my omelet, I began to feel panic-stricken and almost overcome with anxiety.
“Oh no,” I said to my parents. “That woman is pregnant again. She already has a 4-year-old and a two-year-old. What is she gonna do? The little one is still in diapers. That’s crazy! Now she is going to have a newborn, too?” I could barely catch my breath as I rambled off my fears for this woman’s life. My parents stared at me. I tried to calm my muscles, which tensed as if I were hanging onto a small branch on the side of a cliff that would break at any moment if I made a sudden movement. Slowly, I released the grip on my fork and set it on the plate.
I took a deep breath and came to my senses. “It’s OK,” I said looking at my father. “I don’t have to take care of all those children. That’s HER life, not mine. It will be OK. I just freaked out for a minute.”
A similar thing happened to me just yesterday when I was dropping my nearly self-sufficient daughter off at summer camp. Again, I ran into another mom who has two boys, one about Antonia’s age and another a year younger. She was visibly pregnant. “Oh…you’re having a baby!” I said to her a bit too enthusiastically. “Yes,” she replied, smiling delightedly. “I’m due in a few months.”
“Wow, that’s great! Congratulations!” I told her while simultaneously thinking, “Why would you want to start all over again? Your boys are old enough to go to school and ride bikes and you get free time while they are at camp. Why would you want another one to take care of while they are at school this fall?”
I know. It’s crazy. I guess it’s hard for me to fully understand that some stay-at-home moms are REALLY HAPPY being stay-at-home moms, and the thought of having more than one child doesn’t scare them. I, on the other hand, break out in a cold sweat at the thought of it. For every mom out there who has more than one child, and still manages to leave the house every day with some semblance of sanity, I bow to you out of respect and admiration. Wonder Woman, please step aside; a mother of three can take it from here.