Seven years ago I had a baby.
Seven years ago I had post-partum depression.
For seven years, I have carried this fear around deep inside of me and there was only one thing that I knew for sure was that I would never, ever, ever have another baby e-ver. As if having a 10lb, 6 oz baby with a head that was 14" in diameter who's cord got stuck around his neck doesn't sound horrible enough...this all happened to a hypochondriac, anxiety ridden worrier who was all alone in a new city. Oh, wait...I forgot 'Type A' - dude, I would feed my baby before he was hungry, change him before he was dirty...all in an attempt to be the perfect mommy with the perfect baby, who never cried. Talk about setting high standards for yourself, huh?
For seven years, I have cringed every time I heard a newborn baby cry, every time I saw the baby department in any store. Mostly because every sound brought back these horrible memories of me, thinking I was going crazy, terrified I might hurt my baby, afraid of myself and for myself. A horrible single thought that you then obsess over minute after minute, hour after hour, until you've convinced yourself that you're not fit to be a parent. I think I coped by separating myself from that person's memories and that person's baby and for years have had a difficult time associating my son with the baby I had seven years ago.
The other day I picked Q up from his dad's house. Q wanted to show me something in his bedroom, and so I followed him into the room I painted for him years ago when he was just born. It's a boy's room now and no longer a baby's but in the corner of the room was a box. I knew that box. That box was mine. Inside were memories I've long disassociated myself from. For some reason, I needed that box. At home, I took the lid off and found the least scariest things ever...baby booties, sleepers, pictures, the outfit I brought my baby home in, socks - the tiniest little socks you ever did see!
For the first time in seven long years, the contents of that box didn't scare me. In fact, I was overwhelmed with this sense of calm and peace. And longing.
Longing for a second chance.
I don't know if this is what *they* call a ticking biological clock, but man I want another baby. I want the chance to do it without feelings of fear or inadequacy. I want to breathe in every single moment (with the exception of the smelly ones). I want to hold my baby confident in the knowledge that I won't throw them down the stairs and that the only intentions for my little one are pure.
And this time, I want to do it right. I want to find a nice man, a supportive partner, and a team mate. If it happens to be the same person, that will be super cool. If I need three different men, well I'll take that too...hahaha. I'm gonna get married and then have a baby. What a novel idea, huh? A little old fashioned I know, but I think I'll give it a try. If it doesn't happen, I'm okay with that too. I have a beautiful child whom I love with all my heart. The whole point is that I'm not afraid anymore.
Well, not today anyways....who knows about tomorrow!