I love my children. All 4 of them. More than I am ever able to express... and yet, every stage is hard when I am in it. Every milestone they hit feels like we have climbed mountains to achieve it. None of this baby-making or child raising is easy.
I am jealous of the women that love being pregnant. You know – the ones that sit around in the local café rubbing their bellies and looking all cute in their capris, tank tops, and tiny sandals? I HATED being pregnant. I wasn’t tiny. I didn’t rub my belly. I didn’t go to cafes. I sat around at home and wished for babies to arrive.
I am jealous of the women that love the newborn stage. You know – the ones that carry the baby in a sling from birth and nurse 24x7 simply because it is so easy. They dote on every gesture, every poop, every noise the tiny creature makes. I HATED the newborn stage. Breastfeeding just wasn’t my thing. Pumping for months definitely turned me off when the boys were in the NICU. I didn’t enjoy feeling like a bovine. The wild flailing arms, the non-stop pooping, the spitting up, the endless screaming. I just found all of that very, very difficult.
I am jealous of the women that look at their kids, at the road they have traveled and announce “I want to do it again”. I don’t want to do it again. I like where we are now. I like that the boys can crawl, walk a little, stand, point, and smile. I like that I am beginning to understand them. And I like that they are not going to be this age forever. I am looking forward to them learning to communicate better, and run and play. I am anxious for them to develop into little people and become my playmates. I don’t want to freeze time. I don’t want to go back in time. And God knows, I don’t want to do any of this again.