when are ya gonna have a Baaaaybeee??
I am remembering the scenes in Seinfeld, when Elaine went to a family gathering, and all she heard was the above question from every whiny old lady in the room. Why do I write this here? I spent the last two weekends attending baby showers for good friends, and also had my first physical in about 5 years, where this question was repeatedly asked.
The shortest and rudest answer for why I am not jazzed to have another kid is: because I almost bled to death. There are lots of other reasons but I think this one is the best by far. I know it is merely a conversation-starter for people, like "what do you want to do after college?" but I still feel somewhat sketchy about answering it, like a boundary has been crossed. Not a huge one, but a big one.
Usually the responses to my "no, the birth was very difficult" are followed up with, "Well it's sooo much easier for them to have someone to play with in the house," or "I had a difficult one with my first, but the second birth is always easier!" I then smile and nod and say that I had heard that as well, but inside I am thinking, it will be a whole year before the kid can play with his sibling at all, if I am even there to witness it from this side of heaven. At least with a second kid, I don't have to worry about gall bladder attacks afterward. Maybe I might only lose a third of my blood, instead of half. Maybe my thyroid will start working properly, since the last pregnancy broke it. At least I will know how to breastfeed and expect to have no sense of humor for a year. Fun for D, fun for me!
But these things aren't terribly nice to say to a person who is merely interested in talking about babies. I know most of them mean well, and the rest are just batty, but I can't really say to a casual acquaintance "the idea of having another child scares the bloody hell out of me." Even adopting another child means having to take care of another child. It's another child, ding ding!! Hello! Twice as much work! Four more years of poop!
The logistical nightmare of one child is nothing, I know, compared to the complete quagmire of two or more. It's still a nightmare. I went to get blood work done at a lab the other day, and took A with me, along with a snack, his stroller (to keep him contained during my incapacitation-time with the needle), the diaper bag, all of my papers for the day, a cell phone, and I scanned the waiting room for things he could play with or shouldn't go near. When the nurse told me I needed a signature for my form, and there wasn't anything she could do, I loaded everything back into the car. I called the Dr. from there, and they said I could fax it and get it sent back signed (which I would bet she knew all along, since she did the same thing to another guy later). So, back out of the car with all the crap, into the office. Sure they can fax it, but hey it's 2 minutes till my lunch break so you have to come back. Meanwhile A was playing with the pull cord to the blinds and crying "Want cheese quackquor! Want cheese quackquor!" Back in the car, with a crying child. We went to lunch at a noodle place, where there were no tables except a long family-style one nearly full. It was 400 bloody degrees in there, and he did really well sitting in a big boy chair with all that stuff to look at. We went to a bookstore, he pooped twice, I was also ill, but I had to go back to the lab because they had my lab sheet. Went to the lab with all our crap again, and they hadn't gotten any faxes from anybody. Had to make two phone calls on their phone because "cell phones aren't allowed here," A pooped AGAIN (not a normal day, but maybe once a week he's like an infant again) and I had nowhere to change him. We got the fax, I strapped him in, I didn't pass out with the needle--the one advantage here, since I had to be brave for my son--he got a sticker and we were out. And he stunk up the car all the way home, poor kid.
So after this exhaustively boring and frustrating story, I say this: I love my son more than my own life, and I know if I had another little person in my life I would feel the same. But if I can barely function on a day like that without bursting into tears, and even my boring days are sometimes a mental trial to me, why on earth would I want to compound it with months of nausea and worrying, weight gain and depression, and then end up in another life-threatening situation? Even though we're not in the middle ages anymore, and thank you Jesus for that, it's still a risk every time you give birth. And it's even more terrifying when you've experienced that small percentage of births-gone-wrong.
I dearly love my friends and family who have had more than one kid (in fact, I wouldn't be here if my sister was an only child--think about that one!), and I love their children as well. I believe there are people who just love having babies and have no trouble at all with them, or the way they came into the world. Yay! Just be content for me, and say yes, you really did have a bad time of it, and it's ok to not want that again. Or ask me something other than "when's the next one coming?"
The shortest and rudest answer for why I am not jazzed to have another kid is: because I almost bled to death. There are lots of other reasons but I think this one is the best by far. I know it is merely a conversation-starter for people, like "what do you want to do after college?" but I still feel somewhat sketchy about answering it, like a boundary has been crossed. Not a huge one, but a big one.
Usually the responses to my "no, the birth was very difficult" are followed up with, "Well it's sooo much easier for them to have someone to play with in the house," or "I had a difficult one with my first, but the second birth is always easier!" I then smile and nod and say that I had heard that as well, but inside I am thinking, it will be a whole year before the kid can play with his sibling at all, if I am even there to witness it from this side of heaven. At least with a second kid, I don't have to worry about gall bladder attacks afterward. Maybe I might only lose a third of my blood, instead of half. Maybe my thyroid will start working properly, since the last pregnancy broke it. At least I will know how to breastfeed and expect to have no sense of humor for a year. Fun for D, fun for me!
But these things aren't terribly nice to say to a person who is merely interested in talking about babies. I know most of them mean well, and the rest are just batty, but I can't really say to a casual acquaintance "the idea of having another child scares the bloody hell out of me." Even adopting another child means having to take care of another child. It's another child, ding ding!! Hello! Twice as much work! Four more years of poop!
The logistical nightmare of one child is nothing, I know, compared to the complete quagmire of two or more. It's still a nightmare. I went to get blood work done at a lab the other day, and took A with me, along with a snack, his stroller (to keep him contained during my incapacitation-time with the needle), the diaper bag, all of my papers for the day, a cell phone, and I scanned the waiting room for things he could play with or shouldn't go near. When the nurse told me I needed a signature for my form, and there wasn't anything she could do, I loaded everything back into the car. I called the Dr. from there, and they said I could fax it and get it sent back signed (which I would bet she knew all along, since she did the same thing to another guy later). So, back out of the car with all the crap, into the office. Sure they can fax it, but hey it's 2 minutes till my lunch break so you have to come back. Meanwhile A was playing with the pull cord to the blinds and crying "Want cheese quackquor! Want cheese quackquor!" Back in the car, with a crying child. We went to lunch at a noodle place, where there were no tables except a long family-style one nearly full. It was 400 bloody degrees in there, and he did really well sitting in a big boy chair with all that stuff to look at. We went to a bookstore, he pooped twice, I was also ill, but I had to go back to the lab because they had my lab sheet. Went to the lab with all our crap again, and they hadn't gotten any faxes from anybody. Had to make two phone calls on their phone because "cell phones aren't allowed here," A pooped AGAIN (not a normal day, but maybe once a week he's like an infant again) and I had nowhere to change him. We got the fax, I strapped him in, I didn't pass out with the needle--the one advantage here, since I had to be brave for my son--he got a sticker and we were out. And he stunk up the car all the way home, poor kid.
So after this exhaustively boring and frustrating story, I say this: I love my son more than my own life, and I know if I had another little person in my life I would feel the same. But if I can barely function on a day like that without bursting into tears, and even my boring days are sometimes a mental trial to me, why on earth would I want to compound it with months of nausea and worrying, weight gain and depression, and then end up in another life-threatening situation? Even though we're not in the middle ages anymore, and thank you Jesus for that, it's still a risk every time you give birth. And it's even more terrifying when you've experienced that small percentage of births-gone-wrong.
I dearly love my friends and family who have had more than one kid (in fact, I wouldn't be here if my sister was an only child--think about that one!), and I love their children as well. I believe there are people who just love having babies and have no trouble at all with them, or the way they came into the world. Yay! Just be content for me, and say yes, you really did have a bad time of it, and it's ok to not want that again. Or ask me something other than "when's the next one coming?"
3 Comments:
All very valid reasons. When I nearly bled to death immediately after O was born (retained placenta - fun fun fun - combined with untreated hypoT,) I thought "NO WAY. NO MORE."
I hope I'm not one of the people who asked you this, yet suspect that I am.
no, I think you're safe there :) . Yipes, though. I don't know too many folks who have had "normal" births really, but it's no picnic even then--I've heard. Lord have mercy.
MK, thanks for your comment and for sharing this story. Unbelievable what you were forced to do. Shame!
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