I remember in the first few weeks after PJ was born, even while he was still in the hospital and especially once he came home, that I missed being pregnant. I was ready to start trying again after about three months (although I let my common sense reign me in for another nine months). I fully expected things to be the same this time around.
I think M is quite relieved to hear that not once have I thought longingly about being pregnant since BabyN was born. Granted, that was only two weeks ago, but that’s at least a week longer than last time. I don’t miss being so huge I can barely walk. I don’t miss the morning sickness, or the heartburn, or the headaches, or any of the other nasty symptoms I had. I don’t miss the worry about pre-term labor and contractions, and I don’t miss the impatience for the birth once the fear of pre-term labor had passed.
I’m quite positive the time will come when I miss being pregnant again, when I think more about the unique connection that I and only I could share with my child and the feeling of having a life inside me. I just hope I will be able to remember all the nastiness of being pregnant along with the fun parts, to keep it all in balance to keep myself from deciding I want to go through all of that again. If, and that’s a big IF, M and I ever decide to go through this again, I want us to go into it with open eyes, knowing exactly what to expect, both good and bad.
(By the way, anybody know what the heck happened to my blog yesterday? The font size changed randomly on me, and the bullets didn’t do what they normally do. I couldn’t figure out how to change either of those back, and the changes bugged me all day long. Let’s hope the font at least is back to normal today.)
(One more off-topic complaint: My MIL is back at it with stupid comments on my other blog. I’m a little too post-partum to take it, and I’m tempted to respond in passive-aggressive ways. Why should it matter to her whether I have pictures of my boys together yet? I hate the pressure to dump my newborn in my immature two-year-old’s lap for a picture. Shouldn’t I know better than her what my boys are ready for–and even more than that, what I feel comfortable with? Aargh! I’m not caving to her pressure just yet. And if I do, she won’t see those pictures for weeks, if not months.)