Rule #8 - "Once you pop, you can't stop"....allegedly

I have never been the one who was baby obsessed.

The mere thought of being pregnant caused me to sweat, and actually BEING pregnant was no picnic either. I never thought I would have children, based on the fact that I hate pain. I am a 100% wussified pansy and cannot take anything on a pain threshold over a paper cut. Even at that, I milk everyone I can for the sympathy I can get from a little flap of skin hanging off of my hand. I planned on having children on the day they could just zap them right out of you.

Being pregnant, as I mentioned, was no picnic. It wasn't all bad though. I enjoyed having the company and before he got strong enough to bruise my insides, feeling James and his squirrely self wiggling around was pretty cool. More importantly, I knew that no matter what - this kid had no choice but to love me right away. He could hate me after a few years of knowing me, but right off the bat, he had no choice.

I, like many new moms, was scared to death of not being able to care for him. I could barely take care of myself a times, and thought there was no way that this baby would be fed and dressed everyday. I greatly underestimated myself. Don't get me wrong - the first few months sucked. I'm not going to sugar coat it. "Oh yay, there's a new baby and he's so precious!" Sure. But that sure as hell didn't make up for the fact that he had his bouts of colic and I was home alone with him. When his dad was home, James was sleeping. When his dad went to work for his 14 or 15 hour shift, James acted as if he hated me. I couldn't take it. I was battling some pretty bad post-partum depression. My support was alternating between my best friend and my mom for about 2 hours every other day.

And yet...

I survived. More importantly, James survived. I no longer have to question my abilities because I've been there. And my reward is my 2-year-old buddy who just cannot get enough of me. He kisses me more than I find myself wishing he would. Which is just fine with me!

But the point of this ramble - I'm making plans for baby #2. Of course I want to have my career laid out and this looks like it could take some time, but the realization that I'm almost 30 is making me feel awfully rushed. Ideally, I'd like James to be a big brother by the time he enters kindergarten. Will that happen? Doubtful. But I can hope. I had a conversation with my best friend the other day about how we'd get pregnant at the same time and be all giddy and do stupid "we're pregnant together" stuff...it's all talk. You can do whatever you want in your own make-believe world. But I'm hoping SOME DAY it will happen. SOME DAY Evan won't treat the idea of another child like a disease. SOME DAY I won't have to think about how I'm going to have to steal someone else's kid.