The Baby Bug

Everybody’s pregnant these days.

Well, it seems like it anyway.

Just off the top of my head, I can think of no less than 8 friends/family/acquaintances who are expecting—three I just found out about this week. And I imagine there are others who are newly pregnant and simply haven’t shared the news yet.

I remember the first five years of my marriage, when having babies just was not happening for Brian and me. I desperately wanted a baby. The strength of that desire came in waves—sometimes very intense, sometimes just a dull ache—but it was always there.

Back then, it seemed like everywhere I went, I would see pregnant women, or women with brand-new babies.

The worst was at the YMCA where I worked. Working at the Y was perfect for moms with young children; many of the ladies I worked with there were right in the middle of their prime child-bearing years. Seemed like a new pregnancy was announced every month. There were a lot of showers.

Of course I was happy for the moms-to-be. But the longing in my own heart for a baby made it difficult not to feel quite envious as well. Hardest of all would be when any of my old friends would write and tell me that they, too, had some baby news.

My best friend, who had gotten pregnant with twins just months after her own wedding and was already busy raising them by the time I got married, encouraged me to just savor the time with my husband. She said that someday, when the babies did arrive, I would long for the old days when it was just the two of us—when we could take a walk together without having to push a stroller, for example. She suggested I throw myself into making a beautiful life for myself and my husband and do all the things I thought I might ever want to do NOW, because once the babies came, I wouldn’t have the time.

Wise advice, indeed. The kind of advice I would give to anyone who is in the same kind of situation I was in—just waiting and wishing. Except that of course I didn’t really follow that advice. It was easier to simply loll about in my own discontent.

Well, you know, I finally did become a mother, in April 2001. I was so over-the-moon happy. When I called my wise friend shortly after the delivery, she said, “Kim, you sound like you’re on cloud nine!” And I was.

When Urban was about four months old, I got the baby bug again. Couldn’t wait to have another one. But it didn’t happen for nearly three more years.

After Charlie was born, I think I had a mild case of the “baby blues.” I was very happy, but I felt rather sad that the pregnancy was over. I wanted to have another baby right away.

Miraculously, I did.

Levi was born 18 months later. I had finally gotten the birth experience I’d always wanted—at home, with a midwife. I had three gorgeous boys. Life was grand.

However, even though I had three children of my own, old habits die hard: every time I would hear news of someone else’s new pregnancy, my automatic reaction was a pang of envy. Even though I knew it was silly.

I was that way for years. And then suddenly, somehow, just very recently, I’ve noticed—it’s gone.

Not only am I not envious of anyone else’s pregnancy, but I find the very idea of being pregnant again just does not thrill me to pieces as it once did.

All this is not to say that I don’t want more children. Intellectually, I would definitely like more….wouldn’t it be lovely to have five boys and two girls? Brian and I are leaving the size of our family up to God; whatever happens, happens, and we’re fine with it.

But in my heart…..I love babies, and I don’t mind being pregnant (for the most part—I’m not fond of the doctor visits, I must confess). As far as labor goes, I’m quite the champ. But I find I do not have that longing, anymore, for another child.

How did this happen?

If you knew me—if you knew how completely obsessed I’d been, how I’d even thought that if I had life to live over I’d have become a midwife—you’d know that this is unusual. I honestly thought I would never get tired of having babies. That I would always want another and another and another, until my time was up and I just couldn’t have any more.

Now I find that that feeling is gone.

But not completely. I chart my cycles, using the sympto-thermal method of Natural Family Planning (NFP), and each cycle that comes to an end brings with it a slight sense of disappointment—another egg wasted, another chance lost. Nothing is wasted or lost on purpose—sometimes, God and nature have other ideas. I know if I did conceive and then miscarry, I would be devastated. Sometimes it takes losing something to get a person to see how much they ought to have wanted it in the first place.

Anyway, not sure why I felt like writing about this tonight. I guess it’s just what’s on my mind.

Just for fun, here are my boys, when they were babies…..

Urban, at 18 months (with our dog).

Charles, at four months.

Levi, at nine months.