I struggle a lot with what I think people think and feel about me and around me. I had a weekend to really converse with my husband about moving forward with all the “pending” things in my life. When it came down to it… the root cause of my lack of fulfillment came from the fear of not having more than one kid. (yes, I’m greedy). The possible regret I’d face in the future. The possibility of turmoil in my relationship if one day he wakes up and thinks…”man, I’ve been jibbed.” The echo of Jessica Alba’s words…”you’re like a real mom when you have two kids.” Really? I think having one is harder because you aren’t just a parent… you are their entertainment, their comfort, their everything.
But I’m done. I have baby fever… but it’s something that really needs to be extinguished and I need to accept that this just might be it. I didn’t want O to walk the playground alone. I wanted her to have a sibling. (Cousins??? Sister… are you listening?). But I suppose that’s just not in my fate. God is telling me “Girl, you can’t even handle one without flying off the handle… two? Now your ass is just being greedy.” And when I truly get to the heart of the matter… I think I am totally being selfish.
I think I NEED to and WANTED to have a baby to prove to myself that I wouldn’t face postpartum again. That I would be able to embrace and love the a new baby the way I couldn’t love O when she was first born. That I too was capable of such profound love without suffering for it. I used to think I was paying the piper for all the grievances people had against me… but I think I have tortured myself enough. My suffering will come in the form of never knowing if I will be able to love someone without ever getting to know them first.
My relationship with O took work. I love her to the moon and back and then some. But I was really not well back then. And I truly crucify myself for that. But I can only hope she knows that I do love her now. More than anything and anyone. Always.