So – lately Ang and I have been thinking about increasing the number of chicklets in our brood. **SIGH** I must admit that while I’m excited about the prospect of another child I am most decidedly not looking forward to the prospect of pregnancy.
What a selfish, selfish, petty woman. I know. Many people would pay a king’s ransom to be pregnant – in fact I know some people who have in fact done exactly this. And my pregnancy with Ava was unnaturally easy: just one week of nausea, one week of heartburn, and no discernable swelling – well, other than the unavoidable part at my midsection.
Pregnancy changes your body forever. It demands certain sacrifices in exchange for your precious child, mostly in the form of a body left stretched all over that never truly returns to its original fit. But there are also certain thrills like feeling the flutter and kick of a real, live human being from inside of you.
Considering this, I’ve come to realize that perhaps it’s not actually the physical condition of pregnancy that I’ve been avoiding. In the dark recesses of my mind I think that our next may be our last. My age is a somewhat minor factor, as are the financial obligation of three children versus two (food, clothing, travel expenses, college), and the logistics of what Ang has described as “switching up parenting strategy from ‘man-on-man’ to ‘zone’.” All of my life I worked to avoid pregnancy, then one day had to flip that switch to trying to achieve it, and now already the spectre of my middle age is looming. In what will feel like the blink of an eye I’ll have left my youth behind and passed the childbearing days.
So I guess I’d better just pull myself up by the bootstraps, shake off the toddler dust and get knocked up already. Time to jump on the baby train! YEEeeeeHAW.