I’ve been pretty content recently. Life with a 6 year old still has its strops and moans, but a lot of the time it’s pretty easy and pretty pleasant. That’s three pretty’s in one paragraph, I should buy a thesaurus. It’s reached the sort of happy medium where a big change could wreck things. Or could it make them even better?
I have been a bit broody recently I must admit. And recently Rian has decided to retract his 110% anti baby stance. In fact, in his own words “Now that I’m 6 mummy, I wouldn’t mind if you had another baby” Cheers, son. He was so adamant before that he hated the idea that I had genuine concerns he would be a complete nightmare if we did. Now though…
Thing is, its easy now – I’m writing this lounging on the sofa in utter peace and solitude (apart from Stupid Dog) because the boys have gone out to Saturday football training. I’ve cut my work hours to a more manageable 15, so I also get time to myself to get stuff done and keep on top of things during the week when the boy is at school. And I know he benefits from having my undivided attention when he’s here. The ability to tag team on holiday is simply marvellous – and he’s even started going off playing with other kids now so we both get to chill out.
I also honestly think the age gap now is going to be too big for them to play together. I can’t see a thirteen year old Rian wanting to hang out with a five year old. So it would essentially be like having another only child. Another consideration is my health – I have thyroid problems, and they are associated with a much higher risk of having children with disabilities. I could probably just about cope with another healthy baby, but to risk having a child with additional needs…it would be beyond me – I’m just not that good a mother. I know that. It wouldn’t be fair on anyone.
But, oh. I once dreamt of a little girl. I can still see her face and her curly brown hair. Is she waiting for me? I don’t know. Another pregnancy, another labour? But that indescribable feeling of creating and birthing, that solid little weight of a sleeping baby. I know I would regret not having that again. But would I regret having it more?