I woke up one day in January, feeling a sense of urgency to have another child. My baby was 10 months old. It took us 5 years to get her here, so a part of me thought we should start trying ASAP because of my unpredictable fertility.
For a few weeks, I fought an internal battle about my choice to breastfeed for a year. Nursing isn't technically birth control, but in my case, it was a pretty good bet. I felt guilty for wanting to go to a year because what if I was preventing another baby to come sooner? Was it wrong for me to want to nurse my miracle baby for a year, thus making the possibility of baby #2 come later? But then if I stopped nursing her before I year, was I withholding some sort of bonding or nutrition opportunity from her? For weeks I tossed these thoughts around, seeking advice and wisdom from trusted friends and family.
I soon came to the realization that I loved nursing. I didn't want to stop. I felt peace when I nursed my daughter and I had made the goal to nurse for a year, and that was what I would do. I knew God knew what I desired and I knew that because I felt peace about my decision to continue nursing for what ended up being 13 months, I was making the right decision.
But then the hormonal whirlwind came. I didn't realize there would be such a dramatic flux after weaning. I gained the weight back that I had lost due to my daughter "sucking the life out of me," as my husband called it, for 13 months. This gain was welcomed by me because I knew I needed it, but it also triggered a pretty significant mental relapse to where I was 3 years ago when I was recovering from my restrictive eating disorder of 8 years.
Throughout these 3 months since weaning, I have worked hard to wade through these emotions. All I could think about was the necessity of getting pregnant again. I felt like it was my fault for nursing for so long. I felt like it was my fault for having had a history of an eating disorder, causing my history of infertility. I felt like it was my fault I wasn't able to give my husband/parents/in-laws a whole bunch of adorable kids. I felt old.
But these were all lies. And I was tired of telling them to myself. I was tired of feeling inferior. So many tears. So many lies.
If I am happy and content with her right now, I will be happy and content with my life next month and next year. Happiness is contagious and freely flowing. But discontent and lies are so heavy and blocking. If I am not happy with my daughter now, only wishing constantly for another child, why would I be happy with another child? I wouldn't. There would be this constant need for fulfillment, and every blessing I received would never be enough.
Will I still yearn for a baby? Will I still shed occasional tears for the elusive future? Of course. But I feel free. I feel free to love my baby girl who is turning too quickly into a spunky toddler. I don't want another baby right now. I want another baby when God sees fit to grant me that next chapter, but until then, I will kiss my baby with every ounce of love I have, counting my blessings that I only have one child to clean up after at the end of each day.
Comments
Post a Comment