Simmer down, Uterus.

I've got a fever.  Not even "more cowbell" will cure it.

Our little family fits inside a nice, neat package.  The daddy goes off to work every morning.  The brother and sister go off to school together on the bus.  The mommy stays home and cleans the house, and waits for everyone to arrive home at the end of the day.  If you listen carefully, you can practically hear the "Leave it to Beaver" theme song playing in the background.

Ok, so realistically, the brother and sister are kind of grumpy in the morning, the daddy sleeps until 10:00 in the morning, because he works two jobs and is exhausted by the time he gets off work in the middle of the night, and the mommy doesn't cook and clean nearly as often as she ought to, and hardly ever gets out of her pajamas...

But we are still a little family who fits inside a nice, neat package.  "Balanced" is what Husband calls it.  Two boys, two girls, both parties equally represented.  We are whole.

So tell me why my uterus is all ablaze again, practically sobbing for another baby.
Whenever I see pictures of newborn babies, whenever I read pro-breastfeeding articles, I turn into Fat Bastard ... "GET IN MAH BELLY!"

It's irrational.  We're  broke.  We can't afford the two babies we have.  We can barely afford each other, honestly.  And not only is it irrational, it's next to impossible.  I'm turning 34 next week, and along with me, my uterus is turning 34 next week.  My eggs are turning 34 next week.  I would have to make a baby out of a 34 year old egg.

Oh.  And the fact that I've had a tubal ligation sort of puts a halt to all things reproductive...
I would say in that case it's a pretty fat chance that I'll end up pregnant again in the conventional way.  That whole "virgin Mary" thing was probably a once-in-a-lifetime deal.


I don't miss the indescribable exhaustion that comes both from pregnancy itself, the extreme toll giving birth takes on a woman's body, or the weeks and weeks of sleepless nights that a newborn brings along with it.  I don't miss the crippling postpartum depression that came along with both of my babies.  I don't miss the strange swelling sadness that crept over me every time one of them latched onto my breast, leaving me feeling like a freak of nature and a "bad" mommy.
I don't miss intrusive strangers touching my belly, or asking about my pregnancy progress.
I don't miss rock-hard breasts, the size of cantaloupes.
I don't miss leaky rock-hard breasts the size of cantaloupes.
I don't miss poop-Picassos smeared on the nursery wall, or calling Poison Control because one of my kids drank poison ivy medication...

But I do miss that round, globe-belly.  Laying in bed with my husband, quietly contemplating the person inside, as we both make lazy circles around my protruding belly button.  I miss reciting every name in the "baby name" book, trying to agree on the least awful-sounding name.
I miss feeling intensely satisfied with the indescribably amazing work happening within my body.
The feeling of being warmed from the inside, by the little person growing in my abdomen.

The smell of their little heads.  Nibbling their little toes.  Squeezing their little cheeks...

Motherhood and insanity are nearly interchangeable when you really think about it.

There is something out of this world about holding your baby to your breast, and feeling a connection so deep that it drills itself into your core.  My babies made the sweetest sounds when they nursed.  Sounds that they never made on any other occasion.  I shared that with them.  It is ours.

I am relatively rational when you get right down to it.  That's not to say that I always make rational choices in the end, but in my brain, I'm rational. 

A baby is not rational.

We are usually broke.  My uterus is damaged.  Between the financial and the medical, things are weird for us right now.  A baby is not rational.

But...

When I was 18, a baby was irrational.  We struggled financially, emotionally, and every way in between.  We were stupid and scared and unprepared.

When I was 26, a baby was irrational.  We struggled financially, I struggled emotionally, and every way in between.  We were surprised and scared.

Another eight years has come around again.  We still struggle financially.  I still struggle emotionally.  We still scrape and claw and fight to stay afloat, and keep our little family going...
But I don't feel scared, or unprepared...


It won't happen.  In the end, I know it won't happen.  I will deal with this "baby fever" as rationally as I know how, and I will move on.  In the end, I will feel warm and content with my "balanced" family, as we all grow up together.   I will satiate my uterus with memories, photographs, and baby books, and appreciate what I already have.  Which is a lot.  Which is incredible.  Which is more than many people are afforded.  I am grateful.

Nature is just nudging me in a big way at the moment.