In a few days, Max will be 16 months old. It appears inevitable at this time, people begin asking the question, "are you going to start trying for another baby?". Hell no, f*** no, good lord NO, NO, NO. My response is usually met with "you'll change your mind". Um, not likely.
I never planned to have children, Max is the greatest accident I've ever had but I'm not at all inspired to take on a número duo. The 2.3 kids and white picket fence dream died along time ago, somewhere between the Sydney Olympics and Kevin Rudd. I've got one fantastic son and that's enough. It's not just Max's stroke that's bought me to this conclusion. Nope, before then, there was a whole other world of bullshit. Less significant bullshit. But bullshit nonetheless.
Pregnancy....... Hated it. Every single day of it. The days when I said I was happy, I was lying. I was more depressed than I've ever been and irritated by constant physical 'niggles'. Nothing major, just irritating little niggles all the flipping time. Carpal tunnel, a persistent itch on my back in the one spot I couldn't reach, heartburn (oh dear lord, the heartburn), insomnia, cankles....get the idea? My final trimester bought along severe nausea and random vomitting. Completely random vomitting, with no warning whatsoever. There was a couple of embarrassing public incidents. I'll spare you the details.
Childbirth.....all you need to know is, I am still traumatised. A series of events that had nurses saying "oh. That doesn't happen much". Well it happened and it happened to me. Not doing that again. No sir-f*ckin-ee. Stick that in your hooty and blow it.
Breast feeding..... there are some things I like to be in one piece. Nipples, for example falls in that category. Combined with the fact that I was a terrible cow and completely sucked at lactating. It was never going to come together. Then came the guilt of not being able to breast feed. The frantic searches on Google "is my bottle fed child more likely to be a serial killer". Admittedly, my attitude was pretty poor by this stage.
Then there's the sleep, or lack thereof. Before I was pregnant, I could easily sleep for 18 hour stretches. Sure, I missed a lot of significant world events, but I didn't care (still don't). Max has never been a great sleeper and he still isn't. He's only slept through the night on a handful of occasions, and when he does sleep through, he's ready to face the day at 4am. Other nights, he likes to party at 1am, 2am, 3am...... I know 'this too shall pass', this is precisely why, I'm reluctant for baby #2. I'd rather it passed as soon as possible.
There are other things but they're things I'm not yet able to think about, let alone write about. All of Max's achievements have come at cost. They are decisions I would choose again, but decisions I need to know are time limited. I owe that to myself and I owe that to him.
Maxwell, is the most brilliant thing that has happened in my (almost) 32 years of living. I wouldn't change one minute of the life we have. But, I feel like we only just dodged the bullet in this round of Russian Roulette.
I plan to quit while I'm ahead.
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