Up in the air..

I stumbled upon an article today {here} that seemed to have been written by me. Aside from the whole Puerto Rican bit, and the mentioning divorce, I could have written that myself.

Everything else was spot on.
If you know me, you know I want another child. If you've known me for a long time, you've known that fact about me for a long time and you've known that it has not faltered over the years. Ever since I was old enough to name and play with my baby dolls, I wanted at least 3 children. In my fantasy, they were a set of boy and girl twins and one other boy..maybe even another girl, too. But of course, your fantasies rarely come true and you often find that your reality is even better.

I've got two amazing, wonderful, handsome, intelligent, healthy boys. And I thank God for them. And I cherish them. And I realize how much of a blessing they are. I try with all my might not to take them for granted. I want them to know they are precious to me, they are irreplaceable to me, they complete me.

But, I still want another. I'm often caught off guard by how many people believe that my wanting another equates my not appreciating the ones I have. I do appreciate them. I appreciate everything about them--that is one reason I so long to have more.
If I would have had children and realized it wasn't all it was cracked up to be--maybe I saw that my lifelong dream was silly and it left me feeling regretful--I wouldn't have wanted to continue building a family. But it was quite the opposite. Although I realized raising children was much harder than I could have ever expected and much more demanding than I could have ever prepared for, I also realized it was much more rewarding and sweet than I could have ever dreamed.

My boys are the most important things in my life. I have other loves and I enjoy other things. I never want to say that my life has no meaning outside of my children, because that indicates that without children life can have no meaning. And that is not true. But what is true is that when these tiny humans invade your world, they become the most meaningful thing in it.
And I want more of that.

I love my children with my entire heart, and if I never had another, I would continue to believe I've been blessed beyond measure. But there is a part inside of me that longs for, aches for, another baby.
Each time my oldest enters into a new phase of life (he'll be starting Kindergarten this fall..say it isn't so!), I feel a bitter-sweetness that is indescribable. Here he is, growing before me, and try as I might I cannot slow time down. He's reached the age where the moments of his life that were spent toddling and learning basic human functions are outnumbered by the times that were spent running, climbing, and carrying on intelligent conversations. His baby days are long gone.
And then, you have the times when my youngest meets certain milestones. And in addition to a feeling of bitter-sweetness, I feel a sense of shear panic rise inside of me. "Is this it?" I ask myself.

Not too long ago, we moved our littlest man into bunk beds with his brother. The crib was taken down and stored in the garage, until I could bring myself to sell it (which btw, hasn't happened yet). Shortly thereafter, I was going through the boys' closet and moving summer clothes into their dresser when my mom stopped me and said "And what about this drawer full of crib sheets? You don't have any use for them anymore."
Tears. Tears welling up in my eyes as I thought about the fact that those old, worn-out, sometimes discolored crib sheets were no longer needed.
At this age with Xander, we already knew we were expecting another baby. I kept every article of clothing, every sheet, every blanket, every bottle.
Now, there's a very good chance that those things will not be used again in this household. And it tears me completely apart.

I've been trying to convince my husband to have another child since Archer was born. "Just one more..down the road.." I'd say. But he's held firm to his decision to be finished at two. And there seems to be no budging in sight.
This last summer, knowing we had a big move ahead of us, I finally gave in and sold the baby items we'd been storing in the garage. It was a little bit freeing to say goodbye to that swing--the one bought for us by dear friends, used for both of the boys. The one that they both spent acid-refluxy nights sleeping in. The one that cast stars on our bedroom wall at 3am. The one that eventually needed to be pushed to get it to start up, after years of use. It was freeing simply because it was a placeholder for another baby that may or may never come. And every time I looked at it, I wondered.
We let go of the bouncer, the high chair, and about 10 totes of baby clothes. I stuffed all my just can't part with stuff into one tote and that tote made the trip with us. It's now sitting in the garage, calling me to go look through it with tears in my eyes but I just can't.

The problem with freeing myself from those place holders is that I have two little reminders of my adoration for motherhood right here with me, every day. Like I said, every new milestone that is met, every cute little "I love Mommy" shirt that is grown out of, these things beg the question for me: is this it?

Contrary to what this blog may make you think, I don't really want another baby right now. I just want one someday. Maybe in a year or two, or even three. I just want the promise that we'll try again. I just want the comfort that these toddler days are not my last.
As my boys grow, they will do amazing things. And I vow to enjoy every single stage of their lives. I know that even when they are 14 and 16, my heart is going to ache a little bit that next year, I'll never have a 14 year old again. Even if I have four more kids, I know that those days will come.
I am just not ready for them yet.
I am not ready to give up or give in. I am not ready to throw in the towel. I am not ready to say "this is it."

My husband is by no means a bad guy. He wants the best for this family and he has his own vision of what that is. He is an amazing father. He loves our boys, he plays with them on their level, he dreams of their bright futures. And I respect him, as much as I want his mind to change. I realize that he has his reasons for being done, and I realize that as much as I want him to "come over to my side", he is wishing the same of me.
It breaks my heart that we're in this limbo. Of course, I want us to be on the same page. But I'm not ready to concede and neither is he. So we continue to go back and forth, we continue to talk, we continue to wait for the other.

No one knows when the wait will end. People say when you're done you "just know". Our problem is that he knows and I don't. And like the woman stated in the article above, it is a bad situation because there has to be a "yes" or "no" answer. Someone is the winner and someone is the loser. And who that is is yet to be determined.

The thought of having another child overwhelms him. It makes him anxious. It worries him. It causes him strife.
The thought of not having another evokes the same things within me.

I cannot stand the thought of me having had my last trip to labor and delivery 2.5 years ago. I cannot stand the thought of the newborn smell having drifted away from my nostrils, never to return again. I cannot stand the thought of not having the ability to nourish another life with my own body ever again. I want another baby, but I also want another child. I want the toddles again. I want the first day of school again. I want more field trips, more first dates, more weddings, more grandkids. I want it all.

When do I decide that these wants are irrelevant? When do I decide to let them go, to give them up, and to move on?
I don't know. All I know is that it isn't now. I'm not ready yet. It remains up in the air.