A Little Risky

I think we can all agree that there has to be some sort of magic, voodoo in motherhood. Or truly we are all just crazy. Orrrr maybe I'm just crazy.

Just a few short months ago my body wasn't my own (let's be honest, it hasn't been for like 7

years now). I vividly remember the immense pain I felt in the 2nd trimester, as my body stretched for the third time - all those muscles and ligaments that had built scar tissue from the first & second go around. I laid in bed multiple times, crying in pain. I swear, it felt worse that labor some nights. [um, excuse me I'd like a refund, because all the books say the 2nd trimester is supposed to be the best...]

I swore this would be our last. Never again would you catch me waddling around feeling like my va-jay-jay was about to fall right out of me. It got pretty sentimental there towards the end, me "knowing" I was carrying our last. Right up to the very last day, I was so certain there was no more babes in our future.

For months we had discussed how the hubs would go under the knife for the sake of our family - a true hero. The big V. The end of an era, the end of his swimmers. I really hyped him up to the occasion...mostly I just talked about how much I have sacrificed for this family through 3 pregnancies, a c-section and basically loaning out every part of my body for nearly a decade now.

Now, if any of you don't know, a vasectomy is a VERY SIMPLE PROCEDURE. I've watched several first hand during my time as a urology nurse. I have zero sympathy when it comes to this, especially knowing how risky birth and pregnancy can be.

I'm sorry but your sore balls pale in comparison, guys. SUCK. IT. UP.

So that final week of pregnancy - you know the one where you really can't breathe or move....I'm like 'hey, I'm miserable. Let's make sure this never happens again. Im'ma schedule you for your v-day over Christmas break.'

And he's all like "no way, I'm a wimp"....or something like that.

*insert eye roll as I then go through another round of labor and push a whole 8lb baby out into this world*

Leighton "Lettie" Grace.

The most perfect addition. I was so quick to forgive every ache and pain she caused. I think that's where that *magic* comes in.

Truly, everything just kinda melts away. As soon as that tiny, slimy, screaming baby was plopped on my chest - everything felt right in the world. Actual perfection, and she's all mine.

It took about 3 days of marveling over every perfect feature, and smelling that newborn scent (it's real) for my heart to be like "yeaaaahhh, are you sure you want this to be your last one?" And my hormones were like "YOU'RE. SO. RIGHT. HEART."

That's where the "we're all crazy" comes in.

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Flash forward to TWO MONTHS with our Lettie Grace.

She's still perfect. She's so chonky. And, she is a total momma's girl.

I just had my post partum check and got started on some birth control, which I have already forgot to take twice. Sigh.

Yes, I know...there are more permanent options - one being my husband not being a big baby. But there is seriously this tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me there needs to be one more. How? I have no clue.

We live in a 2 bedroom house with one bathroom. Blake is on the cusp of those tween years (eww), and now we have a 5 year age gap between Annie and Lettie. We have zero plans to leave my beloved small home. And eventually we're going to have to figure that out. I mean they are all girls....they will survive sharing spaces. I did.

The funny thing is we were talking about this the other day, and Cody asked Blake if she thought we should have another baby one day.... her response "no, there is enough of us."

She's probably right. She usually is. My logical little thinker.

But then there is my brain all like "WhAt'S OnE MoRe?"

Time will tell. I mean, Lettie is only 8 weeks old - it's a bit extreme to be thinking about this all right now. But I tell ya. My doctor certainly put a lot of faith in me to remember to take those little pills every day. And I have two birth control babies to prove that I am not up for this task.

For now, I'm clinging onto this sweet little thing like she is the last.

This maternity leave has been so different. I feel less pressed to get back to work, to get back out into adult interaction. Maybe it's because I am months away from turning 30 and leaving my house just gets less fun the more I age.

But I just want to hold her, because this could be my last. Undoubtedly I am creating bad sleep habits, and maybe a little heightened attachment.

But soon she will be 7, just like my oldest. And she will be making her own PB&J. She will want to take shower's all by herself. And not ask for me to pick her up anymore. She will be grownup, just a little. Need me only a little.

So, what if this is my last one to ever be this "little"?

I can't risk ever regretting not holding her long enough.