So many people said to me, “You’ll just know. You’ll know when your family is complete.” And the last time I was pregnant, I was willing myself to know, but it never felt final.
I mean, of course, I said I was done because, well, 3 was the plan. That was the agreed upon number, that’s what I had envisioned and committed to. My brain was on board with 3, my heart was not.
I spent so much of my last pregnancy feeling like I wasn’t cherishing it enough. There was sadness that it was my “last time.”
I will say, though, there was not much sadness while I was in labor. I was gleeful that I’d never have to go through that again. “NEVER. FUCKING. DOING. THIS. AGAIN.” Very certain I shouted that more than a few times.
And yet, here I am, doing it again.
Look at those CHEEEEEEEKSS! Had an ultrasound today just to check in on him. He’s, um, looking pretty big.
And yes, this was a total surprise. I had opened up to the idea of a 4th when Lowell was about 6 months old, but the plan always was to have a 4th much further down the road. I think people refer to this idea as the “bonus baby.” I was really thinking I wouldn’t have another until Lowell was going into kindergarten.
The timing of this baby was not in the plans, but the 4th baby was… eventually.
But this? For real, this is the last one. And I know this. I KNOW it and I FEEL it, and I’m totally at peace with it. I feel zero guilt about this being the last time I experience pregnancy, and no pressure to cherish this. Nope. Let’s close this chapter.
Have I told you I think this kid cracked one of my ribs? Yeah, I’m kinda in a lot of pain sitting up trying to type this. BYE FOREVER, PREGNANCY.
And then, let’s close that labor and delivery chapter, and then let’s close that first 8 weeks chapter. THEN, maybe, I’ll start to feel sad about the “last time.” It’s really the last time, though.
We finally know it.
