Another.

 I am the mother of a two- year- old. Yes, I know, we’ve already discussed that. I am the mother of a two- year- old and only a two- year- old. Not a mother of a two- year- old and a six- month- old. Not a two- year- old and a five- year- old, not a two- year- old with one on the way. Just a two- year- old. And the questions are rolling in again. I know, I’m no spring chicken. I will be 36 this year, and yes, I know, that’s not old, but it is kind of old to talk more kids. Yes, it is. Don’t tell me it’s not. I will already be 50 when my current child graduates high school and don’t even get me started on how old I will be if and when she ever decides to get married.

Anyway, people lurrrve asking about more kids. I couldn’t believe how many people asked us right after she was born when the next one was coming. Are you kidding me? I mean, like days after returning from the hospital. And Baby was not an easy baby. She was littttttle. And she was colicky, and she had acid reflux (she projectile vomited on me several times a day until well into her seventh month), she had Pediatric Hip Dysplasia. If you don’t know what that is, look it up. It’s something they test for at the hospital, and they caught it the day we left. She was in a harness from the time she was 4 days old until she was 16 weeks old. It was heartbreaking, but she’s completely fine now. Thanks. Jeeze, off topic again. So, I am dealing the fact that I have a 5lb baby that doesn’t sleep, doesn’t keep food down, rips my boobs off each time she nursed and screamed incessantly. And some A- holes are asking about another? Child, please.

Fast forward two plus years and it’s happening again. “Are you ready for another?” “She’s being potty trained! Does that mean another one is on the horizon?” “Not drinking tonight? Pregnant?” Nope. And here’s why. For now.

Like I’ve said before, I wasn’t even sure I wanted one kid, nevermind more than that. And when our little chicken was born, it took us a while to groove. She wasn’t so fond of me, I wasn’t so sure about her, until, honestly, she was like a year old. Maybe it was my resistance to kids, maybe it was the post- partum shit, I don’t know, but it was hard, and we had a rough go of it, her and I. Now, we are the best of buddies and I surely cannot imagine life without her, blah blah. So, here’s the thing: I don’t want another baby. I want my own baby back. I want to go back two and a half years ago and relive the whole thing. I want to go back to the day before she was born, knowing that the tiny person I just made was going to be the coolest little chickadee I would ever know. I want to relive her baby days knowing that we would get through it, that I will not (inadvertently) kill her or myself. I look at those baby pictures from the first few months and it absolutely breaks my soul into pieces that I don’t remember them so much. I want to go back in time and go through all of it again knowing that we would be alright in the end. But the fog was pretty thick. Still is, kind of. So, when I see my little lady charging butt (buck?)- naked down the hallway with a towel around her head, I squeeze some Dru Hill lyrics out so I can fit this memory in.

I’m not saying there won’t be more kids. We talk about it, because like I said, I ain’t no spring chicken, and if we gon’ do it, we need to git to gittin’. But for now, I’m taking in as much as I can so that I don’t have to piece memories together with photographs. I want to remember everything. Because Lord help me, if I can’t remember one, I sure as hell won’t be able to remember two. Not at my age…