When The Mighty Fall, They Fall Hard
I'm kind of fascinated.
When I met my husband, I knew I wanted kids. He wasn't so sure. I made it clear to him before we got engaged that I would have babies, with or without him.
He agreed to it halfheartedly and we decided to have our first one when I was 25. 25 came and went, and I was ready, but he was not. So we postponed the decision by 2 years. Then 3. Then 4. Every time we would reach the new stick in the sand, he would come up with some new rationale for why it just wasn't time yet.
During this time, both of our careers exploded, we bought and sold several homes, got a couple of dogs, travelled all over the world, and generally had an amazing time.
I had finally reached that point 10 years into our marriage where time was passing and I was thinking I would have to find myself a sperm donor at the local bar if I wanted a baby. Something suddenly shifted in the universe and John was "ready".
And then the reality hit me. I had been so focused on getting him ready that I hadn't really given much thought to whether I was ready or not. And so I found myself pregnant... and totally terrified.
Sterling was born, and John instantly fell head over heels in love with his little girl. It was perhaps the most amazing thing in the world, to see this big, burly guy in the OR holding this tiny, tiny little 6 lb girl, and totally, completely absorbed in how wonderful she was. And she was perfect. Our entire world in one sweet little package.
So when I realized 9 months later that I was pregnant again, "shocked" hardly captured my reaction. We had kind of decided to have only one baby, it fit our lifestyle perfectly and I hadn't even began to consider having a second.
I was even more shocked at John's reaction. Elated doesn't even come close. He strutted around like the cock of the walk for months and every time I turned around, there was a new Baby Gap box arriving in the mail.
Gone was the guy who rolled his eyes when a baby cried on a flight. The guy who begrudgingly endured kids at family get togethers. He had been replaced by a guy who went doe eyed and raved about every baby we saw (and to be honest, some of those kids needed time to "grow into their looks").
And as hard as this is for me to wrap my brain around, nearly everyone that knew him pre-baby has said they are shocked at how great of a daddy he is, and how completely he loves it.
When Bennett was born, John was in love all over again. It was kind of fascinating to see how quickly and completely he fell.
And now that Bennett is almost 5 months old, has his Acid Reflux somewhat managed and has FINALLY started sleeping a little better at night, John suddenly has the baby gleam back in his eye.
And it's scaring the ever loving shit out of me. Because as narrowly as I survived the first 4 months of Bennett's life, I did survive. It is only in looking back that I realize how bad it truly was, and how close I came to completely losing my shit.
Sleep depravation is no joke. And sleep depravation coupled with an infant that screams 23 out of 24 hours and a toddler who is a little "high energy" is hell on earth.
So to be completely honest, the idea of adding a third baby on top of that seems a little more than I can even wrap my brain around. So I'm not.
Instead, I am casually ignoring his campaign to trade my Lexus SUV for a minivan, stocking up on industrial strength prophylactics, and researching "home vasectomy" techniques that I can casually complete while he is asleep one night.
Anyone have a chisel and a crab mallet I can borrow?
Posted by Caraline Hickman