Opinion by Melissa Meehan
I cried for a full day last week.
And not just tears in my eyes.
I mean full blown, t-shirt wet and salty from my tears crying.
And to be honest, it was a bit of a surprise to me.
The minute my youngest daughter was born I just knew I was done.
It had been a difficult and grueling pregnancy to say the least, and was book-ended by a long six-week stay in hospital when she tried to arrive early.
Even my obstetrician remarked that this should be it for me.
That while I laboured well. Pregnancy wasn’t for me.
It was a no brainer.
I couldn’t imagine surviving another pregnancy let alone the constant worry that any future babies would also go into threatened pre-term labour.
(Apparently the risk is greater if you have already experienced it with a previous pregnancy).
So I was caught off guard in recent weeks when I started to feel like I wasn’t done.
I wanted another baby.
I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I needed to go again.
That my home and heart wouldn’t be full without another child.
After stewing on it for a few weeks I decided to put the idea to my husband.
At first I would make some light jokes, but then I got serious.
Having another baby was something I desperately wanted. And, at the time, thought I needed.
So it was a bit of a shock to the system when my husband said he would rather put acid in his eyeballs than go through it again.
He said the constant worry about me being so sick, vomiting constantly for the whole nine months, in and out of hospital and then the added worry about the baby would be too much for him to handle.
Quite simply he didn’t want me, or the baby, to die.
He also cited our doctors warning that I shouldn’t have any more babies.
And it wouldn’t be fair on our other two girls if I ended up in hospital for long stints again.
But while I knew they were all valid points he was making my crazy brain let my heart break in two.
And everything he was saying… my sane mind already knew and agreed with.
But I’d somehow fallen in love with the idea of welcoming another baby into the fold despite thinking I wouldn’t allow myself to do so.
And so I cried.
Then cried. And then cried some more.
When I woke up the next day I just knew I was done.
In hindsight, I have no idea why I felt so strongly about something that I had already decided was finished.
Something that my sane brain had come to terms with and was happy to surround my two beautiful girls with all the love in the world.
But sometimes the heart wants what it can’t have. And we just need to take a step back and appreciate what we have.
I can’t say I won’t feel that way again.
But for now, its hard not to be content with the incredible life we’ve built so far.