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To every thing there is a season....
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
I've been a bit teary lately, with the premature ( in my mind) shrivelling of my womb, my splendid womb that has served me so well over the years, never causing much trouble at all until all my babies had been born, when it started to be a bit show offy every month instead of being politely disappointed in not having another embryo to grow and quietly discarding it's lining in an unobtrusive and unproblematic way it began to be ANGRY and twisted and be most impolite in it's natural expulsion of unwanted womb linings, making sure I KNEW it's displeasure at being let down again. My womb is very proud of the way it grasped hold of tiny little fertilised eggs and held onto them for longer than necessary, apart from Jordan all my children had to be forcefully evicted so happy was my womb to have them. I lost 2 babies and even that happened in the kindest way, if there is a kind way to lose a baby. I conceived immediately after both losses and so it was impossible to dwell on those babies that never were. If I ever got weepy about it I would then remind myself that had I had those babies, well I wouldn't have these babies and the tears stopped.
When I had Elijah I knew that he was my last baby, without any doubt I knew that there were no more spirit babies floating around longing for me to be their mother, I was done.
I have always been sure about that and as the years passed I became more and more shuddery at the very idea of having another baby of my own.
Until lately, really lately, like the last 3 or 4 months where I have found myself gazing at heavily pregnant women and feeling so achingly sad that I will never experience that again. I can hardly bear the thought that my body is closed for productive business. It is ageing at a terrifying rate, all of a sudden, it seems every time I look at myself in the mirror I see another sign that I am not young, that choices I took for granted are no longer there.
I see so many advantages to being older and I am embracing them, with great joy actually, all apart from this one, this irrefutable evidence that I can no longer choose to have babies.
I am so good at making babies, so very good, I don't care if it's blowing my own trumpet, I will hold my hands up to being incredibly vain about how beautiful my children are. They are and it's not just me that says it, they are lovely, lovely people.
When I knew I was making the choice to have no more babies I felt powerful and good about it and now, well now I am sad and feel a bit useless and old.
This very week I stared into the distance and thought about how sad this was that my littlest person is 7 and all teeth and lanky legs, no more lavender smelling little faces, just grimy knees and stinky breath.
I was wallowing, truth be told until yesterday when Jordan called and told me that Mel is having another baby...oh be still my heart! If being a gramma isn't better all round, none of the miserable bits and all the joy. When my front door crashes open and the tornado that is Joshua comes thundering in yelling "MAM-MAR! MAMMAR! Are you?" my heart skips a beat and we all quickly move anything breakable out of reach, like a natural instinct, he crashes in and laughs at himself, kisses everyone and pushes every button, flicks every switch, shuts every lid, swigs every drink and then yells "BYE! SEESOOON!" and then we all breathe a sigh of relief and thank heaven that there is a time when wombs stop making beautiful babies. I am too old for babies that live in my house, when I hear of the 5am wakings and the mornings they have Josh in bed with them and he fidgets and pokes them and hits them in the head with books until they give in when he gets downstairs and then promptly falls asleep on the sofa ....I appreciate that I won't be doing that again. I am ready for grand-babies, many of them I say.
There is, indeed a time for everything and for every thing there is a season.
It is my time to stop having babies and sit back while my children have them and let me love them and send them home. Oh the sending them home part if glorious because you know that it won't be long until the next visit.
Good old womb, you knew what was good for me before I did. Carry on with not carrying on. I'm ready.
I've been a bit teary lately, with the premature ( in my mind) shrivelling of my womb, my splendid womb that has served me so well over the years, never causing much trouble at all until all my babies had been born, when it started to be a bit show offy every month instead of being politely disappointed in not having another embryo to grow and quietly discarding it's lining in an unobtrusive and unproblematic way it began to be ANGRY and twisted and be most impolite in it's natural expulsion of unwanted womb linings, making sure I KNEW it's displeasure at being let down again. My womb is very proud of the way it grasped hold of tiny little fertilised eggs and held onto them for longer than necessary, apart from Jordan all my children had to be forcefully evicted so happy was my womb to have them. I lost 2 babies and even that happened in the kindest way, if there is a kind way to lose a baby. I conceived immediately after both losses and so it was impossible to dwell on those babies that never were. If I ever got weepy about it I would then remind myself that had I had those babies, well I wouldn't have these babies and the tears stopped.
When I had Elijah I knew that he was my last baby, without any doubt I knew that there were no more spirit babies floating around longing for me to be their mother, I was done.
I have always been sure about that and as the years passed I became more and more shuddery at the very idea of having another baby of my own.
Until lately, really lately, like the last 3 or 4 months where I have found myself gazing at heavily pregnant women and feeling so achingly sad that I will never experience that again. I can hardly bear the thought that my body is closed for productive business. It is ageing at a terrifying rate, all of a sudden, it seems every time I look at myself in the mirror I see another sign that I am not young, that choices I took for granted are no longer there.
I see so many advantages to being older and I am embracing them, with great joy actually, all apart from this one, this irrefutable evidence that I can no longer choose to have babies.
I am so good at making babies, so very good, I don't care if it's blowing my own trumpet, I will hold my hands up to being incredibly vain about how beautiful my children are. They are and it's not just me that says it, they are lovely, lovely people.
When I knew I was making the choice to have no more babies I felt powerful and good about it and now, well now I am sad and feel a bit useless and old.
This very week I stared into the distance and thought about how sad this was that my littlest person is 7 and all teeth and lanky legs, no more lavender smelling little faces, just grimy knees and stinky breath.
I was wallowing, truth be told until yesterday when Jordan called and told me that Mel is having another baby...oh be still my heart! If being a gramma isn't better all round, none of the miserable bits and all the joy. When my front door crashes open and the tornado that is Joshua comes thundering in yelling "MAM-MAR! MAMMAR! Are you?" my heart skips a beat and we all quickly move anything breakable out of reach, like a natural instinct, he crashes in and laughs at himself, kisses everyone and pushes every button, flicks every switch, shuts every lid, swigs every drink and then yells "BYE! SEESOOON!" and then we all breathe a sigh of relief and thank heaven that there is a time when wombs stop making beautiful babies. I am too old for babies that live in my house, when I hear of the 5am wakings and the mornings they have Josh in bed with them and he fidgets and pokes them and hits them in the head with books until they give in when he gets downstairs and then promptly falls asleep on the sofa ....I appreciate that I won't be doing that again. I am ready for grand-babies, many of them I say.
There is, indeed a time for everything and for every thing there is a season.
It is my time to stop having babies and sit back while my children have them and let me love them and send them home. Oh the sending them home part if glorious because you know that it won't be long until the next visit.
Good old womb, you knew what was good for me before I did. Carry on with not carrying on. I'm ready.
Labels: family, happy things
posted by The other me | 8:41 pm
2 Comments:
I do understand the sorry that you've been having, as I've been dealing with the same sorrow.
Granted, mine was not a natural manner in which the option of having more was taken from me.
<3 you'll be great.
You already are.
Life - up and down and in between. You always know how to capture it in words. I am generally ok with the no more babies thing, but there are times when I think (without truly "thinking") how I miss having a little baby who doesn't talk. They were all so sweet then....
I do hope the grandmother thing waits a bit for me, though. ;)
Love you mucho much xxxx
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