I title this "Part 1" because I'm sure there will be more thoughts as the weeks and years go by.

Also, I'm leery to post this because it's kind of a brain dump, but I'm dumping it here. My thoughts. My feelings. You may or may not relate.



When we went into this last pregnancy, we were kind of back and forth about it being our last. Do we want three or four kids? Morning all day sickness hit and hung around until about 18 weeks. Then I hit 25 weeks, and tiredness set in.  So, if you do the math, I got about 7 weeks of feeling ok. With our past history and people that surround us, I've never been one to really complain much about being pregnant. This pregnancy. however, was a different story. I was sick. I was exhausted. I actually had a few nights in the third trimester that I cried and wanted to be DONE, and that had never happened with the other two. Now, I realize some people don't get a moment of relief their whole pregnancy, are hospitalized, etc. So, I don't have a lot to complain about... (But again... MY thoughts. MY feelings. MY life.)  I wasn't able to be the mom or wife I wanted to be for a long while and I'm still working to get back into that role...

Calvin was born, a whole pound + more than either of the other boys which may have explained a little of the feeling more huge and exhausted at the end. The first few weeks after his birth were hard (they're still not easy today...). Not hard in a taking care of baby way, but hard in a this is my last time doing this way. I literally could not sing to him the first few weeks without weeping thinking it would be my last time singing to a ___ day old.

He grew out of newborn diapers and clothes sooner than the other two, and I honestly felt a little robbed. Wasn't I supposed to be able to savor the tiny little baby stage like I had with the others? Especially because he's our last?

Then, one night, craziness was ensuing in the kitchen. Calvin was crying. Wesley (age 2) was crying. And Russ and I looked at each other laughing like, "What the heck? There are too many kids here." Kidding of course... But, our hands are surely full. My current life is limited by when the next time he'll nurse is. Do I need to pump a bottle? Or will we be somewhere I can feel comfortable nursing him? I can't go out at night. He cluster feeds before bed.

Being done is a choice we made. Well, maybe more I made and Russ is accepting... I want me back. I want to be a joyful, energized, all-in wife and mom, and going through another pregnancy and the newborn stage limits my ability to do that.




So, here we are. Today he's seven weeks old, in size one diapers, three month clothes, and I'm feeling okay about our choice to be done. Fully vested in being a boy mom. Envisioning years down the road with our three boys. Thinking about two summers from now when we have a 7, 4, and 2 year old and how a diaper and a few wipes may be just shoved in my purse on outings. Diaper bag retired. Those days look attractive to me. Everyone walking. Everyone feeding themselves. Everyone having the ability to communicate.

But still, I try to maintain a balance. Treasuring the baby snuggles. Treasuring this time where a baby slows me down. Treasuring the tiny little fingers and toes. It goes too fast they all say, and I surely believe it. I treasure the present looking forward to the next chapter. And that's where my thoughts are at right now.