Do You Want More?

As of 2004 I am the mother of two. Jay will be six in February and Nas turned 2 last October. We planned half of our pregnancies and hope that our method of family planning is successful for the next 75 years, I don't want more babies. This is the topic of discussion amongst mothers especially when your kids are playing together and you actually have a moment to share a complete thought with another adult. It comes up a lot as your youngest approaches the second and third year mark, but I always have the same answer and the identical disgusted face to go along with it.

"Your son is two now, do you want more?" One mommy-friend asked. This is the same mommy-friend who herself wants more babies after having birthed two children.

"God no. I pray regularly that God will see fit for my job of multiplying to have been terminated."

"You're pretty sure about that huh?" She asks seemingly convinced of my confidence.

Oh yeah, no doubt about it. Even as friends finally join the world of motherhood, I see their pregnant bodies and later, their brand new babies and think "Yuck". Not because either disgusts me, but because I think of my days carrying Jay and Nas, then to the days after I gave birth and remember how much work both sides of motherhood are. I don't focus solely on kissing tiny toes, that new baby smell, or the pure joy of holding your own newborn close to your chest. I recall the good, the bad and the ugly.

My pregnancy with Jay was mild torture. I say mild only because I had another pregnancy that beat it out with a firm "sheer". The sheer torture of carrying my son made the mild torture of carrying my daughter seem like a very healthy, run of the mill pregnancy! When I carried Jay I was sick a lot and spent most of my nine months nauseous. Already a big girl I didn't think my body could stretch the way it did, but by the time I was 8 1/2 months people who knew me asked me "you haven't dropped that baby YET?" My body was huge. I'm sure my protruding tummy sat close to my knees. Then Jay was about 10 days late, according to the doctor's projected Valentine's Day due date. I cried every day after Valentine's Day wishing this overgrown (actually 8lbs, 6ozs.) child would just GET OUT!!

Then there was Nas. I was fine the first week after getting my coveted BFP (positive pregnancy test), but day 8 hit and I vomited violently and constantly for the next 9 months. I lost 15 pounds, became anemic, depressed, dehydrated, and was so sick one night I feared I had lost him. My poor Jay logged at least 1,000 hours of Dora the Explorer while I lay on the couch half asleep. Our scheduled c-section date was the only thing that kept me going every day. Needless to say, pregnancy does not agree with me and I'm perfectly happy if I never have to endure such torture again.

But what about when you get your new baby home? Oh heavens. Many a day I'd wonder, why didn't my mother tell me? Then it occurred to me, she had, I just didn't listen! Jay was a great baby, she slept several hours at a time, but she was also a good-sized baby. But that Nas, he was only 6lbs 10ozs at birth and he ate every 2 hours like he had an alarm clock in his bassinet. I was sleep deprived like never before, trying to breast feed although my surgeon told me it'd be tough after a breast reduction, and all this baby wanted to do was eat, eat, eat. Not only was he high-maintenance compared to Jay, but I had a c-section so I couldn't even leave the house...my mother's orders. She lives an hour away from us, but I refused to disobey, get sick and have to go back into the hospital. I'd never live that one down. I was an exhausted, lactating cow who was isolated and wanted to see the inside of Super Walmart more than I could express.

Never again, if I have any say. I don't want to grow another human, make another bottle of formula, change another diaper. I don't want to teach another child of mine the ABC song or anything else learned pre-kindergarten. I'm in the trenches with Nas now, but I see the repetition that is child-rearing and I'm not feeling it. And I think that it's okay, I'm glad I know myself well enough to realize that I'm not the mom of 3+ type! So do I want more? No, but I'd be more than happy to hold your new baby close while you make her bottle.