We decided to clean out the boys toy room. My eldest is 4.5 and my youngest is 20 months. They don’t play in there. They destroy it … then move onto the lounge room. Their room. The kitchen.
It was meant to be an easy job. Pack it away. Vacuum. Done.
But I couldn’t stop crying. Everything I wen to pack away made me cry more. Which provoked questions from my husband. Which made me clam up.
I just couldn’t explain why I was so upset. I don’t think I knew why I was so upset. I just knew that I couldn’t part with anything, everything I touched was a memory.
Haze’s first set of blocks. The little dog teddy Tex received when he was born. The pink Fisher Price teaset that hubby and I fought about buying. The toy kitchen I put together all by myself for Haze’s second Christmas. I’m tearing up just writing this.
But I’ve had a few days to think about it and I think I know why it triggered something.
We’ve got two beautiful boys. But they’re not babies anymore.
We always said we’d have 4 kids. We’d love another two boys. It’s something we’ve talked about a lot. As soon as our second son was born, we were talking about number 3. Yes I know, kind of funny now I think about it. It all seemed so romantic when he was just a newborn.
But he’s 21 months now. Definitely a toddler. And since he was born a lot has changed. Hubs is now working 2 weeks on, 1 week off. I’m working 40 hours a week. Life is full on. The boys are double trouble. They both get up to mischief. They both make mess!
Life is beyond busy. There is always something to be done. Something that’s not getting done. We just never seem to catch up.
We’ve stopped talking about number 3. It just became too hard. Like the straw that might break the camel’s back. Me being the camel.
I love my life. I love what we are creating together. I love the life we are building for our boys.
I don’t want another baby.
But I want the option. I don’t want it taken off the table. Yet. Maybe when the boys are at school full time, the time will be right. Maybe it won’t. But it would be good to have the option.
When all our friends are talking about permanent birth control options, hubs and I share awkward glances at each other. We both know that anything permanent in that area is definitely not an option. But a baby is permanent.
I don’t want a girl. But I kind of do.
I’m a boy mum, there’s no doubt about it. I don’t do frills and bows. I roll my eyes when I see “girly things”. I’ve been spared the Frozen phenomenon. I don’t get the baby turban craze. Especially not the matching ones.
When I think about my life with my boys, it makes me happy. I love them more than life itself.
They make me laugh, cry and shudder all at the same time. They fart and get dirty, they scatter Lego throughout my house. They watch Fireman Sam over and over again. They shower me with kisses and cuddles when I least expect it. They push me to the brink of insanity and then pull me back from the edge with a whisper of “I love you mum”.
But, and there’s always a but.
But sometimes, I look at my friends who have girls and get a little twinge of something deep in my stomach. I don’t think it’s jealousy or envy. It’s just something. Something I’ve never wanted to acknowledge.
It’s something that reminds me that I’ve lost my Mum, so not only do I not get to enjoy the mother daughter relationship with my mum, I also don’t get to enjoy that relationship with my own daughter. It’s something I thought I was ok with.
But I don’t think that I am.
Human emotion is a wonderful, complex beast. It rears it head at the most inconvenient of times.
I couldn’t explain any of this the other day. Hubby has probably forgotten all about it. In fact he’s back at work. Separated by thousands of kilometres. Another baby is definitely not on his list of priorities. This week.
But, if you’re reading this babe, this is what the tears were about.
Question is … do we want to put it back on the table?