One and done?

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This is something that has been passing through my brain space fairly often lately.  The concept of CJ being an only child.  I have no idea why.  I’ve always seen myself with at least two or three kids.  The family portraits in my head are of me, my husband, and kidS.

But for some reason, the thought of CJ being our one and only child doesn’t really sound so bad.  In fact, it sounds pretty darn good.  CJ was and is a relatively easy baby.  He slept well, nursed well, and has always been very happy and friendly.  The good times have always been really good.

But the bad times.  Oh, the bad times.  I remember those times vividly.  Momnesia has not seemed to hit me yet.  I can still remember the pain in my pelvis during the third trimester of pregnancy.  I remember the heartburn.  I remember the contractions.  I remember puking after my C-section.  I remember the hellacious recovery period.  I remember the painful nipples from nursing.  I remember my eyes feeling like they were going to start bleeding from lack of sleep.  I remember the torturous day I had to go back to work.  Late night pumping sessions, thousands of bottles washed, pumping three times a day.  Ear infections, fevers, colds, doctor appointments, urgent care visits.  It is definitely wearing on a person.

Even as CJ gets older, it doesn’t become altogether easier.  Sure, some parts are so much easier.  He sleeps well, eats regular food, and while I’m still nursing him, I no longer have to pump.  He can play independently and walk.  He is not shy, rarely cries, and is very adaptable to changes in schedule.  But he also gets bored more easily, gets into everything, makes a huge mess with his food, and pitches fits sometimes.  He is clumsy and gets hurt a lot, which results in screaming.  He never wants to take naps because he doesn’t want to miss anything.  So while some things have gotten better, others have gotten worse.

And honestly, at this point in time, I’m not thrilled about the thought of pressing the reset button anytime soon.  I am enjoying my child, even the parts that aren’t so great.  I love the freedom of having a toddler as opposed to an infant.  We can go anywhere and do anything.  His schedule is more flexible now.  He can stay up later without any sleep disruption.  But he is a handful most of the time.  He is quite, um, exuberant, for lack of a better word.  A force of nature.  You cannot stop him, you can only hope to contain him.  The thought of having another child right now with the same zest for life as CJ is, in a word, terrifying.

Now, I can hope that my next child is a sweet little demure girl.  Or a meek, mild-mannered, not quite as rough-and-tumble boy.    Or we could wait a few years for CJ to be more manageable.  In the end, this is probably what we will do.  Although we aren’t necessarily preventing right now (I deem it unnecessary, considering the lengths I had to go to to get pregnant with CJ), I’m fairly confident that I am unable to get pregnant without medical intervention.  Which is somewhat nice, I guess.  If everything goes like the first time, I would be able to decide when I wanted to become pregnant again.  Of course, there’s always the possibility that the protocol that worked for us last time won’t work again, resulting in a choice: further medical intervention, or being happy with CJ being our only child.  But that is something that will have to be discussed if and when the situation arises.

But I will say that for now, I am happy.  Perfectly happy being CJ’s mother and only CJ’s mother.  If I’m meant to have more children, then I’m sure my feelings will change.

But really, how do you improve on perfection?

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