When my first child was about 2 months old, I knew I wanted another baby. Immediately. I think it took a little longer for the desire to kick in for my husband but still, we were pregnant with baby #2 by the time our daughter was 7 months old.
A week after our son was born, he had to return to the hospital and stayed in the ICU for around 10 days. Then, he ended up getting eczema (on his face) which got so bad that he developed a staph infection. The whole ordeal lasted until he was about 7 months old. After that, we realized that he couldn't swallow solids (which turned out to be psychological for him... a strange thing that's baffled my mind since we learned of it). When he finally settled into a normal life pattern, baby fever kicked back in and we got pregnant again shortly after he turned one.
Our baby turned one this past June. And I've been waiting for the insatiable baby fever to start back up, wondering when I will again be consumed with the desire to be pregnant and hold a brand new baby that I will love with an intensity bordering madness before it's even conceived. I mean, I'm no Octomom but anyone who's ever caught "the fever" knows what I'm talking about. There is something inside a woman that desperately yearns to have a baby. Not all women. But a lot of us. I've been waiting for this yearning to creep up and rock my world again.
I would like it to be noted though, that after our son, it was my husband that caught the fever. I knew I wanted another one but HE's the one that wanted one RIGHT AWAY. Yeah, blame him ;)
The first time I knew I was pregnant with our first daughter was during a movie. We were newly weds and one night had sat down to watch Knocked Up. During the movie, somewhere around the time that a discussion was going on about what the options were regarding keeping the baby, I started sobbing. Like, uncontrollable sobbing that continued throughout the entire movie. I couldn't understand why some one would even consider NOT keeping a precious little life that many of us would give our pinkie toes to have. After the movie was over, I went into the bathroom and cried some more. I mean, cried. Full on waterworks, hiccup inducing, salty, big 'ol alligator tears. And then I ran dry. When I did, I looked up into the mirror and was like, "Um... what the heck is wrong with me?!?" I laugh about it now, because I was so confused at that very moment. I'm a crier for sure. But not like that and I couldn't understand why I was SO devastated by such a stupid movie. Then it hit me. The next day, I went out and bought some pregnancy tests and sure enough, the waterworks were due to my out of control pregnancy hormones.
Last night, we watched What to Expect When You're Expecting. And I passed the test. For the record, so did my husband. Remembering the aching desire I used to get when watching movies about pregnant women and babies, I was worried that the fever would catch while we were watching it last night. Don't get me wrong, I will take as many babies as God gives me. But I'm not jumping in line. He's gonna hafta drag me kicking and screaming. During the movie, I found myself connecting most to the mom who had the uncomfortable awkward pregnancy... you know, the one with the heat flashes and the waddling, the cankles, uncontrollable bladder problems among other gross side effects of pregnancy. And it hit me... I enjoyed being pregnant but remembering all the pain and frustration that came with it... I'm just fine without ever having to go down that road again. The only time I cried during the movie was when the young girl had a miscarriage because I could relate to her pain, having been there myself. And that was it. I would look over at my husband from time to time, trying to read his face and thankfully, whether he was bored or just exhausted, there were no signs of the fever.
We both love our children fiercely. We would die for them. We sacrifice and will continue to do so for their sakes. We have poured our blood, sweat and tears into them for four years now and will for the rest of our lives. But that does not mean we feel the need to add another to the mix. Every one has their own threshold. I know some women with 6 kids. I know a woman who has 12... last I knew. She may have had more since then. I know plenty of women who only have one. And it's all they can handle. My threshold is three. I've lost my mind because of them but have just enough left to know that I don't need more. Now, if God sees fit to give us another one, so be it. But (thankfully), neither of us are going to try or plan for one. Our little family is a great size for us, the perfect size. And although lately I have been kicking myself for having them all so close in age, I know that a time will come when I'm thanking God that I did.
This Wannabe Supermom has passed yet another test, crossed over another hurdle, become immune to the fever... the baby fever...