There is not very much that I can say with 100% certainty in my life. I am, however, VERY certain about a few things. I love being a mother. I love being a wife. I love being strong. I fucking HATE laundry.
The other day I was faced with a difficult question: are you done having kids? Forever? This procedure is irreversible. It’s funny because I told everyone I know that I was never having more kids. Ever. I screamed it from the hilltops, and shouted it to the depths of the ocean. I’M DONE! But once it came time for the paperwork, signatures, and official type documentation I had to sign, I hesitated. Sitting in that Dr’s office, I couldn’t put the pen to the paper.
A lot of things were going through my head. Images of being a young single Mom at 19 years old. The way I felt when I was pregnant with Brady. And again with Avery. I thought about all the sleepless nights both during pregnancy and while my babies were learning how to sleep like real people. Last but not least, I pictured my Dad. I pictured his kind face. His shiny balding head. His old worn hands. The way he would look at me with so much mischief in his eyes when he said something funny. God I love that man. I miss him fiercely.
I’m not really sure why Dad popped into my head. I think its because I wish he could have met Brady and Avery. They’re amazing kids. He was an amazing Dad. And I want my children to have loving memories of me as a parent, just like I have memories of my Dad. Thinking about my Dad, I realized that I want to be that important to my kids. There would be no greater thing I could accomplish in my lifetime, than to become as important to my kids as my Dad was to me.
So, maybe I’m done having kids, maybe I’m not. Truth be told, it’s just nice having the option should I ever get that aching uterus feeling again. Plus, I figure if somewhere along the way I manage to screw up one of my kids, it would be nice to have a backup. (just kidding)