Anticipation

You wanna know something? A few weeks ago, when the anxiety attack was looming, I had several thoughts on my mind.

One of the many being "Ansley will be 2 in September. People are already starting to ask. When do we add another?"

I'm not saying that that one thought brought on the issue, but I am saying that one thought has plagued me. For some time.

I LOVE being a mom. More than I thought I would. I love laughing with (and, honestly, at) Ansley. I love listening in on her conversations with her lovie and toy kitchen. And I know that I have enough love to add another arrow to the quiver.  That honestly used to be a fear of mine. I was concerned that I wouldn't love a second kid as much as the first. Crazy, no?

Anywho, I think I've got this parenting thing figured out, and I would go through labor and delivery again in a heartbeat. But it's getting to that point that makes me feel like I'm gonna pee my pants.

I didn't have a rough pregnancy, per se. But I did deliver 5 weeks early. And why? My doc was concerned that I was developing preeclampsia. Are you starting to see where this is headed?

Overall, I enjoyed being pregnant. I loved the baby kicks, and when I remember what that was like, I feel almost ready to throw caution to the wind. When I hold a little baby that snuggles into my neck, and offers one of those early smiles in my direction, I melt.

But, when I remember the fear of that morning when I saw the blood, and the following panic that ensued when my water broke, it's enough to make me want to stop right here, and practice the only 100% effective prevention of pregnancy (hello? I'm an abstinence educator. Remember?) When I remember having to scrub my arms and hands before going to sit by my baby's bedside, and the time that I couldn't hold her, and the first glimpse I had of her all covered in sensors and tubes and tape and an IV in her head, I'm ready to throw in the towel.

Because that was too much for me. And, maybe that's part of why I'm experiencing all this right now. Because I don't know that I really experienced it then. I had to be strong. It was expected. I was too tired to know what the correct emotions were. But now, now I'm experiencing all of them.

And I'm not sure I can go through that again. And I know I shouldn't feel like I have to. And, I don't. Not really. But there's still part of me that knows that people are anticipating the facebook post. Or the announcement at work, or the slight little bulge around my belt line (which, honestly, right now peeps its because I recently had a date with two very old and dear friends I hadn't seen in a very long while. Remember Ben and Jerry? Yeah, we hung out a few nights ago.).

And so, I wait. With the same anticipation. I wait, hoping that eventually, I'll know the right answer. And whatever that answer is, I'll trust that others will know that it is what is right. Even if they think I should have 10 kids.

At least, my primary care doc thinks I should have 10. My OB disagreed. He thought I should probably limit it to 6.

But right now, we're good. With one.