The Perfect Number

Tomorrow October begins! Wow! It is crazy to me that I am even typing that. First, it seems like just yesterday we were hanging out watching fireworks on the 4th of July. Second, it seems like just last week we were bringing home our bouncy baby boy from the hospital.

I look at pictures of newborn babies and I can't even imagine Max as that small (truth is, he probably never was). When I see those squishy faces, button noses, and fluffy hair, I get a little tingly and start to think I want to experience all of that again. I start to envy the moments of pure love those mother's are experiencing. Their tiny hands gripping your finger, their looks of innocence and purity, the way their tiny bodies curl into your body, and the middle of the night feedings when you feel like you are the only two people on earth and are creating a bond stronger than you ever knew existed (see how I romanticized that). I see a pregnant woman and I am jealous and want to be her and be growing life inside of me.

Somewhere along the last 19 months I have developed a total memory loss. No longer do I remember the flu-like feelings I had for 24 hours a day during my first trimester, it really wasn't that bad. Was it? I seem to have totally forgotten about the lack of sleep during the last month of pregnancy and the first year of Max's life. We got sleep, didn't we? Memories of post partum depression, colic, spit-up everywhere, and utter exhaustion have all faded away. Those first months were ideal, right? In my mind, the first year of Max's life has become an amazing world that I cannot wait to return to.

Then Max starts screaming and crying for no apparent reason. It is a fit with no real cause. I'm perplexed and a little bit more than annoyed by the dramatics. I finally move him into his room and tell him when he is done having his fit he can come play with us. He continues to scream and scream... All those romantic, idealized versions of infancy start to be replaced with the reality of my child. Oh yeah, I remember Max screaming at 6 weeks for 3 hours every night. I remember having to run the vacuum nonstop because that was the only sound that would calm my child. I remember crying every night for the first 7 weeks of Max's life because my emotions were out of control. I remember not sleeping... EVER... I remember it all. While the real memories of that time start to flood back into my mind, Max continues to scream and scream and SCREAM!

With reality setting in, I start to believe that Max is destined to be an only child. Why would I want to do a baby all again? A baby is so much work, so much heart ache, so much exhaustion. Max is enough for us, one is the perfect number!

Max's fit slowly comes to an end. He starts to do that deep, pathetic breathing that all children do when they are trying to stop crying. I tell him that if he is all done he can come out of his room. His little feet making slapping sounds as he quickly makes his way to my lap. He squishes his little face into my neck, looks up at me and says "blankey". I tell him to go get his blankey and bring it to mama. He pitter patters back to his room as quick as his chubby little legs will carry him and returns to my lap. He cuddles and loves and gives me a kiss....

Two. I think two just might be the perfect number of children.