Anneliese is pretty much potty trained. Of course I bought a big box of diapers that I will barely use, thinking that she would still wear a diaper at night for a long while, but most mornings she is dry, so before long we really will be a 100% diaper-free household. Sure, that’s a great thing, and I’m happy, but I’m not. First we took down the crib, then I started leaving the child locks hanging off the cabinet handles and I put the window cranks back on, and now we put the diaper genie in the garage. The only baby gear left out is the high chair, because she still prefers to sit in it (well, that and the exersaucer, which I mean to drop off for friends to borrow).
I don’t wish for Anneliese to still be my baby. This year she started answering questions with hilarious answers and using her own brand of logic and narrating everything along the way, which is so refreshingly normal. And–be still, my heart–she makes up her own songs. Maybe I do miss the teeny-tiny dresses, but I am not taking for granted that I can still pick out all of her clothes. She can tell me that pink is her favorite color, but purple is still mine, and so far she isn’t pitching a fit about it. We have plenty of whiny and dramatic moments, but I love watching her grow.
No, I’m not mooning over my baby girl getting so big (much). But I never planned on hiding baby stuff away. You know, because getting pregnant is just about deciding that you want another baby. But then a year goes by. And another. And I’m tired of thinking ‘surely by then’.
And most of the time I’m too busy with the two I have to notice what I don’t have. Gabriel is my boy, the child I wanted so much, so miraculous and beautiful and clever and challenging. And Anneliese is the girl I wanted so much, so miraculous and beautiful and clever and challenging in completely different ways. Sometimes–a lot of the time–I wonder if I’m I not allowed to want more.
I’m 35 now. It’s just a number, except that it’s a little bit more than just a number. We want four, which is so much more than just a number, but I no longer believe that will happen. Now I’m just desperate for a third. A third who will already be at least four years behind Anneliese in school. That was not the plan.
One too many friends having (or having already had) one more than they really planned. While I feel like I’m falling further and further behind. And I’m painfully aware of how I sound to plenty of others, with my boy and my girl. Haven’t I learned yet that life is rarely fair?
I fear never having closure; I want to be able to one day feel like “we’re done”. I fear feeling that we’re missing people at the dinner table 20 years from now. I fear learning to be content with the way things are.