Everybody's Doing It But Me
Everybody's having a baby but me. Ok, so that's an exaggeration. Some women are pregnant and I'm not even trying. It just seems like everywhere I look I see big, happy, baby bellies and when I look down all I see is a little, white, hairy pouch that never gets flatter no matter how many situps I do. Whether it be my friends, family, colleagues, stars on TV or strangers in the park, women are planning for the arrival of their second child and here I am planning for the arrival of my first fake tooth.
When we had Caroline, we never talked about having number two because we were so focused on number one. It seemed an unstated agreement between the two of us that we would make her a little brother or sister, we just didn't know about the timing. Last summer, I decided the timing was right and I was ready. Just as the "trying" was about to commence, all the business with my tooth started and our baby making was delayed. I am a control freak and do not like things to happen outside of my control. I also do not like change. The last eight months have been incredibly aggravating for me because my plans have been changed. A series of events have occurred outside of my control.
The months have allowed me time to think about what it means to have a second child. Maybe too much time. Between that fateful tooth removal and now, Caroline turned two. And with two years of life came temper tantrums, naptime refusals, picky eating habits and a whole lotta attitude. I'm so tired. I can barely handle one. How would I manage with two?
Every morning when it takes 25 minutes to get Caroline dressed and she slaps me because she is frustrated that her stroller is stuck in a corner, I look at the pouch and give it a little smile. A little fat doesn't need diapers. A little fat doesn't keep me up at night or puke on me. A little fat comes with me when we go out and therefore does not require a babysitter. Yes, she does need to be fed and she does like a walk now and then, but a little belly does not talk back, she is not picky and she doesn't run away from me in a parking lot.
For now, while I wait for the arrival of my fake tooth from the dental stork, I look at the pouch and try to find contentment in life's current situation. We are a happy family with a nice rhythm in place. I'm so lucky to have a healthy, beautiful, silly girl.
At night, after putting Caroline down for bed thirty minutes late because she had to watch Thomas thirty times, I watch a little TV. It is then that I rest a bowl of ice cream or a glass of wine on the belly-shelf and enjoy the anticipation of future-expectancy. Am I worried or sad that having another baby will make me lose my little pouch? No, of course not! After all, it will go away for a little while, but I know it is guaranteed to return.
When we had Caroline, we never talked about having number two because we were so focused on number one. It seemed an unstated agreement between the two of us that we would make her a little brother or sister, we just didn't know about the timing. Last summer, I decided the timing was right and I was ready. Just as the "trying" was about to commence, all the business with my tooth started and our baby making was delayed. I am a control freak and do not like things to happen outside of my control. I also do not like change. The last eight months have been incredibly aggravating for me because my plans have been changed. A series of events have occurred outside of my control.
The months have allowed me time to think about what it means to have a second child. Maybe too much time. Between that fateful tooth removal and now, Caroline turned two. And with two years of life came temper tantrums, naptime refusals, picky eating habits and a whole lotta attitude. I'm so tired. I can barely handle one. How would I manage with two?
Every morning when it takes 25 minutes to get Caroline dressed and she slaps me because she is frustrated that her stroller is stuck in a corner, I look at the pouch and give it a little smile. A little fat doesn't need diapers. A little fat doesn't keep me up at night or puke on me. A little fat comes with me when we go out and therefore does not require a babysitter. Yes, she does need to be fed and she does like a walk now and then, but a little belly does not talk back, she is not picky and she doesn't run away from me in a parking lot.
For now, while I wait for the arrival of my fake tooth from the dental stork, I look at the pouch and try to find contentment in life's current situation. We are a happy family with a nice rhythm in place. I'm so lucky to have a healthy, beautiful, silly girl.
At night, after putting Caroline down for bed thirty minutes late because she had to watch Thomas thirty times, I watch a little TV. It is then that I rest a bowl of ice cream or a glass of wine on the belly-shelf and enjoy the anticipation of future-expectancy. Am I worried or sad that having another baby will make me lose my little pouch? No, of course not! After all, it will go away for a little while, but I know it is guaranteed to return.
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