My little girl just celebrated her first birthday, and each time I think about it, I feel a surge of emotions. The occasion was indeed a joyous one, yet tinged with a touch of melancholy. It marked a significant milestone as it is probable that she will be our final child. The prospect of no more pregnancy, no more newborn phase, and no more tiny onesies looms ahead.
This transition signifies the conclusion of childbirth, the end of nursing struggles, and bidding farewell to sleepless nights. Nonetheless, looking back on the past twelve months, I can’t help but view them through rose-tinted glasses.
In commemoration of this special moment, like many parents, I compiled a montage capturing our journey from her birth to her first year. However, upon reminiscing about the year that has swiftly passed, both my partner and I found ourselves getting teary-eyed.
The tears were not shed due to the challenges we’ve faced (though there have been many) or the immense gratitude we feel for our growing family. Rather, they stemmed from a sense of wistfulness evoked by the realization of what her birthday symbolizes – the absence of more infants in our lives.
This subtle sense of loss lingers, serving as a poignant reminder that our family will not expand further. While we rationalize this decision on various practical levels – financial, emotional, mental, and physical (considering my arduous last pregnancy) – doubts occasionally cloud my mind, questioning if we are making the right choice.
Both my partner and I had always envisioned having three children. However, meeting later in life has led us to ponder whether having two kids already pushes the boundaries of our luck in pursuing a third. The thought of managing two toddlers simultaneously in the future seems daunting.
The ongoing debate in my mind revolves around whether transitioning from two children to three is truly easier than from one to two, as some suggest. This internal struggle persists, fueling a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.
Since embracing motherhood for the second time, I’ve encountered several revelations that were never disclosed beforehand. These insights have sparked contemplation about the prospect of expanding our family further.
Despite the overwhelming love that accompanies a new arrival, a wave of maternal guilt washes over me as I strive to divide my time equitably between both children. This guilt, as I’ve been told, persists well into their adulthood.
Additionally, witnessing the one-on-one moments my partner shares with our eldest triggers a fear of missing out. While he embarks on outings and adventures, I often find myself preoccupied with tending to a fussy baby struggling with breastfeeding.
Breastfeeding, a challenging aspect of motherhood for me, posed significant hurdles with both children due to tongue ties. The pain, anxiety, and lack of adequate support during this phase make me hesitant about enduring it for a third time.
Comparisons between my two children inevitably arise, from their physical appearance to developmental milestones. While my son excelled physically at an early age, my daughter showcases advanced communication skills and exemplary eating and sleeping habits. The urge to compare is strong, albeit I understand the pitfalls of doing so.
Dividing attention between two children contributes to perpetual fatigue. While I acknowledge that parenting entails this juggling act, occasional complaints are inevitable. Managing the demands of two children is relentless, and contemplating the addition of another baby intensifies this challenge.
As I contemplate retiring the baby gear for good, I express gratitude daily for the blessing of motherhood. The affectionate gestures, innocent remarks, and unique bond shared with my children overshadow the sleepless nights, physical strains, and inevitable signs of aging.
Amidst this reflection, the uncertainty of risking this cherished dynamic for another child looms large.