There must be something seriously wrong with me that a big part of me can not wait to have another baby. It's just that the entire pregnancy/birth/newborn stage has been so much sweeter than I could have ever imagined. I suppose I prepared myself for the worst. I listened to everyone's horror stories about having babies and convinced myself that that would happen to me, too.
I would go two weeks past my due date.
I would have a terrible, traumatic birth experience.
My baby would have colic.
I would have postpartum depression.
Greg would distance himself emotionally from me and the baby.
My baby wouldn't latch onto me making breast feeding painful and miserable.
I would resent my baby.
I would have to stay at home all day every day because my baby wouldn't allow me to go out at all.
Sleep would cease to exist.
I wouldn't ever have time to shower or get ready. I'd never feel pretty again.
It would take me three years to lose the baby weight.
Greg and I would fight constantly.
Post birth recovery would be so bad that I wouldn't be able to do anything for weeks and weeks.
My friends would all ditch me and I'd be totally alone without any social outlets.
I would resort to talking to wildlife and playing online poker for my social interaction.
I was ready. Armed and loaded, ready to be hit with every single one of those scenarios right after birth. (This is what happens when you live in a culture where ever single person your age already has kids and every single one of those people want to share their worst experiences with you to "prepare" you.) So when I wasn't hit with those scenarios, at first I held my breath. Certainly they were coming. Four days of successful breastfeeding? That doesn't mean a thing! Two weeks of easy nights, with baby only waking twice to feed and then going right back to sleep? It won't last! Three weeks of loving everything about being a mom? It could all go wrong at any second!
Just recently have I started to allow myself to think that maybe this is what motherhood is going to be for me. Sweet. Fun. Enjoyable. Maybe all these years that I was terrified of having children what I didn't know is that I would absolutely love it?
That's not to say that there haven't been bumps in the road. The last thing I wanted was a C section and there is a part of me that still mourns that I couldn't deliver June normally. My incision will strike at a moment's notice, causing me great pain and making me instantly grumpy and frustrated. If I don't leave the house every day I start to feel lonely- like the world is passing me by. My emotions have been all of out whack. (See crying over tile back splash from yesterday's post...)
BUT. Overall, it has been a very special, almost sacred time for me. These days are incredibly sweet and tender. There is a special spirit in our home with our little five pound newborn. Greg doesn't have to start working at the high school until August 14, and I don't have to go back until mid September (yea for maternity leave!) so these winding summer days are long and lazy for us. We stay up late cuddling and cooing at June, eating nachos, watching Redboxes. We sleep in, are lucky to take a shower by noon, run to the grocery store together, and take long afternoon naps. Sometimes I take a step back and look at my family and am just overwhelmed at it all. This is my very own little family- my future, my everything. What in the world I did to deserve it, I will never know.
Next week Greg will start his job at the high school and my days will be my own. June will grow and soon she won't be the still sleeping newborn that she is now. I'll go back to work and life will go crazy again. But for these days, these long dog days of summer, everything is just about perfect.
Can you blame me for wanting to do it all again?