With three babes under age five, we have been on a somewhat constant cycle over the past few years. And now. Now, at least in our plans, that cycle will morph into something new. Because we have made a conscious decision that our third will be our last.
We long thought that we would love to be the parents to three or four children. That was our wish. And for some reason, we were granted that wish. Four pregnancies. Three healthy babies. How fortunate we feel. But even after meeting that milestone, I wasn’t necessarily ready to slam that door shut. To call it quits. To say the words we’re done. Even though we mentally knew it to be true.
But the decision to be done came after a post-partum doctor’s visit for me. Where we talked my health and carrying children. My ability to be as present as I can to the children we currently have. And the importance of protecting my vital organs like my heart, liver, kidneys, and brain {I mean… serious stuff, right?}. After thinking about our babies for five years straight, it felt weird to be focusing on me. To be talking about what might happen if I wasn’t around.
I’m 32. The age we’ve been racing time to. The age that was suggested to me a decade ago as my “cut-off”. But 32… really? Some of my friends are just beginning to think about kids. And I, well, I am done.
Initially, I was saddened by this. By the finality of the words. Of the thought. But now. Now I feel good knowing it. Knowing just where we stand. Knowing that, unless by some act of God, we are moving forward to a different phase with the children we already have.
And it’s made me look at things in a different light. I knew when I had Barrett and Jonah, that I would miss things. I even acknowledged those things. But this. This is different. Now, I actually feel the things I will miss. On a daily basis. Not in a melancholy manner. But rather in a way that I am taking note. I am maintaining a mental catalogue. That will stay in my heart for safe keeping.
Of course, there are things I will not miss. Ever. So don’t take this post as glamorizing parenthood. This is Baby on the Brehm, after all. In my opinion, there are some ugly parts of this parenting gig. That I just won’t miss. These include but are not limited to, pumping, washing bottles, pumping, getting three kids in the car while two are screaming bloody murder, pumping, reflux meds, pumping, nipple shields, pumping, some of the longest days of my life, pumping…
But I can feel it. As time moves ever so quickly. There are so many moments. Morsels. I will miss. And while other joys will replace where we are now, I know we won’t be back to do this all over again.
When date nights out become the norm, because our boys are off doing there own things. I think this I will miss.
Realizing that there will probably never again be a sweet babe in my belly. This. I will miss.
When Christmas morning. Or any morning. No longer illicits such pure joy. This. I will miss.
When the faces look not one bit like a baby any longer. This. I will miss.
When, instead of being spread on the US, they are all actually spread throughout the US. This. I will miss.
When there is no longer any appreciation for me wanting to take a funny photo. This. I will miss.
When our parents can no longer hold our children. This. I will miss.
And when I can’t even explain what it means to stare at this. This. I will miss.
