The REAL Reason I Won't Have Another Baby
Whenever I’m asked if I would have a third child, I usually laugh it off and say that I couldn’t handle another one. But that’s a lie.
The truth about why I will remain a mom of two is a multi-headed Hydra; I am too old, too tired, too angry, and too selfish. Imagine sharing that with someone… even another mother.
There would be the usual, “Why, I was 35 when I had my last baby. If I can do it, you can!” Or, “Oh, the sleeplessness passes quickly. They’ll be toddlers before you know it.” And then there’s the most useless platitude of all, “You are a great mother. You could handle one more.”
No, I really can’t. But, how can you argue that with someone? Especially if they don’t know what goes on behind closed doors.
When I was pregnant with my other babies, I struggled with gestational diabetes, hip pain that felt like dysplasia, and cankles that would make Dumbo say, “Whoa.” I will be 35 in a scant two months which means I would get all of the above, and it throws me into a whole poopstorm of risk. I really don’t want to be a beached whale worrying for nine months about how many problems my unborn child could have.
And here is where part of the selfishness comes in; I successfully avoided varicose veins and stretch marks in my pregnancies, and I have managed to lose all of my pregnancy weight. Honestly, I fear that I won’t be able to dodge the bullet again and all of my hard work will all go to waste. I am not Victoria Beckham, and I will not snap back to a model-perfect body moments after having a baby.
See? Selfish.
“But, once you hold that beautiful baby, you won’t care about the weight or stretch marks,” some moms would say. Yes, I will remember. I have struggled with my body image for as long as my memory holds. Cute babies do not counteract that. They only distract me until I look in the mirror and see my puke-covered body.
As every new parent knows, puke is the least of my worries. I would have to deal with leaky boobs, Tucks tacos, a three-inch layer of grease in my hair, and wearing the kid’s blowouts.
Then there is the sheer exhaustion associated with newborns. As it stands now, I am ready to pass out before the kids do – and when I do fall asleep – I am a LOG for seven hours. Get up every two hours? Oh, hell no.
“But your husband can help,” I can hear someone say. No, he can’t. I am the food source, and I don’t produce enough to pump and nurse.
Plus, do you know what kind of bitch I am when I’m exhausted? Or, when I am stressed out? My poor children have been on the receiving end of my outdoor voice more than once. Actually, it’s every morning when I am trying to get them to brush their teeth, put on their shoes, and move faster than a snail in reverse. It’s also when they’re fighting, not listening, or being general punks.
Yeah, I yell a lot. The stress of having to take care of two high-maintenance kids and a newborn would send me over the edge. My son has ADHD, which comes with a whole host of challenges, and my daughter is so opinionated and strong-willed, I think she has the potential to become a politician. I adore their spirit, but only when my own is not tapped, and only when they are using their power for good instead of evil.
Not only would the newborn face a lifetime of me yelling in its face, but the kids would remember me as a bitter old woman, too stressed out to function as a loving mother. While becoming Mommy Dearest would give them plenty of fodder for a tell-all memoir, I’d much rather be remembered as a bumbling mom who tried her best, and gave them just enough neurotic behavior to be funny.
Carrie is known better as Ponies and Martinis on the internet. She is slowly losing her mind while loving her husband, kids and three petite dogs. Follow her on Twitter, Facebook, and of course, read her blog.
