Tag Archives: parenting

Talking about Family Planning with Students

Last week the senior faculty member in my department hosted his annual 4th of July barbecue for our department — all the faculty, their families, and all the students who are here doing research for the summer were invited.  It was quite a crew (for a liberal arts college), with 30 or more people hanging out in his backyard, munching hot dogs and (veggie) burgers, and splashing in the pool.  It was a beautiful day with some really great people, and I love that my department is such a welcoming and family-friendly place (this is one of several regular events throughout the year at which partners and children are explicitly encouraged to attend).

I was sitting on the grass with my son on my lap.  He was contemplatively munching on a veggie burger.  We were surrounded by students.  They were commenting on how much he’s grown since the last time they saw him, how long his hair is (it’s in these amazing platinum-blond ringlets right now since we haven’t cut it yet), asking what new things he can do, etc.  Then, one student busted out with “Are you going to have more kids?”

I gave my stock response: “We’ll see!”

Another (perceptive) student said: “It sounds like maybe you say that a lot.”

I laughed and said, “You’re right!  A lot of people are curious.  Almost as much now as when my husband and I first got married and we got lots of questions about when we were going to have kids.”

Another student said, “It’s kind of a personal question, isn’t it?”

I said, “Yes, it’s personal.”

The student who asked in the first place apologized.  I told her I didn’t mind, that I was also very curious about things like that when I was her age.

It was a brief twinge of discomfort in an otherwise lovely day.  I kept turning it over in my head.  I almost wanted to tell them why it was personal — to tell them about the daughter we lost before our son was born, or the fact that I’ve been pregnant three times with only my son to show for it, but I didn’t want to spoil the festive mood.  On the other hand, I feel that we generally do our young people a disservice by being so closed-mouthed about the realities of pregnancy loss and infertility.  I teach my students lots of things, and sometimes they learn from me whether I want them to or not — I know that the students have been keenly interested in my life since I revealed that I was pregnant with S (the students were also keenly interested when I was pregnant with his big sister, although that generation has all graduated by now).  I also know that for all the young women, I am the sole example they have of a female professor in our field, which can feel like a heavy responsibility.  I want them to be encouraged by my example, not daunted.  But I also want to prepare them for challenges they are likely to face.  There were about 8 students sitting with me on the grass during this conversation — odds are that several of them will experience miscarriage sometime in their lives, and probably one of them will experience infertility.  Is it better to prepare them, or to let them find out for themselves?  I made a choice in the moment, a choice that felt right to me at the time, but I could imagine having handled it a different way.

For now, I educated them that asking questions about fertility plans is personal.  I’ll save the conversation about pregnancy loss for another time.

Update

It’s been a few weeks since I posted an update, so I figured I’d put up a brief post.  I think the two main pregnant-physicist-related news items are:

  • I’m still waiting for my period.  It’s been 6 weeks since I stopped bleeding, so I’m starting to get impatient (they say to expect your period 4-6 weeks after a miscarriage).  I’ve got a follow-up appointment with the OBGYN in August, so hopefully it’ll show up before then, but I’m still in limbo otherwise.
  • According to the pediatrician, S is officially a late talker.  He’s a 16+ months now, and we can self-refer to our state early intervention office anytime — the pediatrician recommended waiting until 18 months (even though he’s officially late already), so that’s what I’m planning to do for now.  Lots of people tell me it’s too early to really worry, that boys talk late, etc., etc… but I’ve got to say that unlike some of the other milestones, I really don’t see any signs that talking is even on the horizon.  He’s still missing things that he was supposed to be doing at 12 months — trying to mimic words that we say, babbling with a wide variety of consonants and vowels (if anything, I hear less variety now than I did at 12 months), no mama/dada, etc.  I’m not actually all that worried yet — his comprehension is great (so much so that we’ve had to start spelling certain words), he makes his needs known, including through a couple of signs, and he’s super-social.  If anything, I suspect it’s limited to a production problem rather than a comprehension problem or autism spectrum issue (I filled out the M-CHAT and he scored just fine).  But it’s one of those situations in which you’ve got to strike a tricky balance between being laid-back and letting your kid develop at his own pace while not missing out on opportunities to help out your kid if they need it.  Language seems to be one of those areas where early intervention can really help (and isn’t going to hurt), so I don’t want to wait too long, but I also suspect he’ll be just fine in the long run.

Otherwise, we’re having a nice, busy summer.  I just started parent-baby swimming classes with S at the YMCA last week, and I count it a success since he didn’t cry the whole time. 🙂 I invited a friend whose daughter is in S’s daycare group (she’s a few months younger) to join us, and I think that was a great idea — the kids clearly enjoyed seeing each other in this otherwise scary new situation.  We also took S to the beach when we visited my mom this weekend, and after some initial skepticism, he loved playing in the sand and knocking down the sand castles that we made by filling buckets with sand.  He is SUCH a happy kid these days — really goofy and giggly, still snuggly and velcroed to his mama in new situations but warming up pretty quickly, and I have to say that I am loving these early toddler months.  It is amazing how much he’s learning and doing, his sleeping schedule has settled into long nights and a chunky midday nap, and he’s still got a huge dose of baby sweetness combined with toddler curiosity, a sense of humor and emerging personality — there’s never a dull moment, and it’s so much fun (most of the time).

Well, that’s all I checked in to say… I hope I’ll have more news to post here sometime soon once the miscarriage waiting game is finally over.  Happy summer to all!

Grrrrrraduation

Please permit me to grouse for a moment.  I don’t get to do it much in real life these days since I haven’t told many people about our miscarriage.

Last weekend was our university’s commencement ceremony.  One of my research students just finished his bachelor’s degree and is staying on in my research group to write a masters thesis next year.  So, he graduated this year, but he’ll also graduate next year (assuming all goes well).  He’s a nice kid, came in as a transfer student from a big state school after his sophomore year, switched majors from English to physics at the same time, and then proceeded to complete the entire physics major in two years!  He’s had some hiccups, and his research skills need work (which is why I’m glad he’s staying for a masters), but it’s extremely impressive that he did what he did.  He’s also just a really nice kid, who works really, really hard, and so despite some of my frustrations with his lack of research progress, I very much enjoy working with him.  I was really looking forward to meeting his family this week and telling them how great it’s been to have him in my research group and how glad I am that he’s staying for another year.

But his dad.  OMG.

To set the scene a little: One of my colleagues (who has three kids) traditionally brings his kids to watch commencement from a beautiful grassy hill overlooking the ceremony, right near our building, which makes a convenient meet-up point for our majors to come visit after the ceremony.  This year I decided to bring my son and join him — it allowed me to participate in commencement and congratulate our students without giving up weekend time with my son, and my son had a blast playing with my colleague’s kids on the hill during the ceremony (or mostly watching them in awe and trying to steal their baseball when they weren’t looking).

So, after the ceremony, my student wanders up with his dad.  I get to congratulate my student, beam, and lay it on thick with his family — I really love getting to talk up my students to their parents, especially students that I genuinely enjoy like this one.  It’s a win-win feel-good situation.  Then his dad stayed to chat while I was supervising my son’s shenanigans with the big kids.  The following conversation ensued:

Him: How old is your son now?

Me: 15 months

Him: So, are you going to have another one?

Me (inwardly rolling my eyes): We’ll see!

Him: No, but really, do you WANT more?  Are you planning on it?

Me (through gritted teeth): We’ll see!

He actually seemed like he was going to push the subject(!) so I excused myself and scooped up my son.

How clueless are people?  And why, WHY would you ever think it was OK to interrogate your kid’s professor about her reproductive plans?!  This one of the few times that I felt that bringing up our losses would have been not only socially awkward but… unprofessional.  I mean, there were times when I had to discuss the loss of our daughter with colleagues, since it affected a lot of my professional life as well as my personal life.  But… a student’s parent?  And a week after a miscarriage?  Seriously?  Argh.

Several people have asked me about my reproductive plans since our miscarriage (which was only TWO WEEKS AGO), but this one has just been gnawing at me.  I’m so angry about it.  Oh, I won’t hold it against the student… if people held my dad against me I’d never have gotten anywhere in life.  But I might just try to avoid one-on-one conversations with his dad next spring.  And I also want to vent on my blog.  Check that one off the list!

Anyway.  Things here have settled down a bit.  I did have one freak-out this week… I had some pelvic pressure, pain, and fever, but I also had a terrible respiratory infection of some sort from my son that might have accounted for the fever, so I didn’t know what exactly was going on but I was so afraid that I was getting another pelvic infection.  The doctor was great, saw me right away, did a repeat ultrasound, redrew my HCGs, and assured me that the fever is probably unrelated.  Turns out I have a medium-size ovarian cyst, which she said can be common during pregnancy or after a miscarriage and is most likely responsible for the pelvic pressure and pain.  I had a cyst during my first pregnancy with my daughter as well, so I think it’s just something my body does in (doomed) pregnancies, maybe?  Anyway, I am mostly reassured and only feeling a little sheepish for having another freak-out around this miserable pregnancy.  I think it’s just that with everything I’ve been through I really don’t trust my body anymore.  With my first pregnancy, I was a pretty laid-back pregnant lady, but look where it got me — not only did my daughter die, which was unavoidable but nevertheless made me question every little risk I took in that pregnancy, but when I didn’t push about getting symptoms addressed after I delivered her, I wound up with retained products, hemorrhaging, and an infection that damaged my fallopian tubes.  I am just so done with the laid-back approach and am glad that they are investigating my worries comprehensively.  Hopefully this is really the end of it now!

My Blog Title is Apt Again

Well, whaddya know.  I’m pregnant.

It has never taken us less than 8 months to conceive before.  This time, first try.  We are thrilled and a little stunned.  I’ve always been a little skeptical of the stories you read of how people who have experienced infertility/loss often get pregnant quickly after a full-term, healthy pregnancy — I mean, maybe it happens to some people, but I was sure it wouldn’t happen to me.  Well, here I am!

For now, of course.  I know as well as anyone that first trimester miscarriage is a distinct possibility, as are losses at later stages of pregnancy, as are all manner of other health problems (I’m still at elevated risk for ectopic pregnancy and placental abruption, for example).  But for now I’m pregnant, and that’s a very, very good thing.

We’re a little shocked at the timing — I mean, we were trying to get pregnant, obviously, but we just didn’t expect it to happen this quickly.  Of course our minds started jumping to the possible reality of having a new baby join our family in January.  Two under two — yikes!  It would also throw a monkey wrench into my tenure plans (I’d been on track to submit my materials a year and a half from now), but… we’ll deal with that.  Our family is more important than my tenure case, and if I wind up using both my clock extensions and spending nine years on the tenure clock, so be it.

I was also just starting to cut back on pumping at work this week, but for the moment I’m still breastfeeding/pumping four times a day, which is going to start feeling like a lot as I get more pregnant.  But… what if I wean, and then miscarry?  I’ll be mourning the loss of a baby simultaneously to mourning the loss of a wonderful breastfeeding relationship.  I suppose I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing (i.e., weaning from the pump during the day, since I would never mourn the loss of a relationship with my pump!) and see how things go over the next few weeks.  I’ve got a viability scan scheduled for a week from Monday, after which we’ll know a little more (and, if all goes well, I’ll start back on Lovenox).

What a weird and wonderful week it’s been.  Pregnant again.  Holy cow.  Here’s hoping this little bean sticks around!

The First Year

Hard to believe it, but the first year of my son’s life is past.  No longer an infant, he’s officially a toddler.  He decided to take his first four steps on his birthday, and watching him wobble from the kitchen island into my arms was an amazing moment — literally walking towards me, but figuratively taking steps away from his babyhood and into the little boy he is starting to become.

What a year.  It’s been hard, of course… but not as hard as I feared.  Mostly, it’s been amazing and surreal.  I still look at my son every so often and marvel at this little human, this creature who now exists and didn’t before.  This person who grew inside my body.  I wonder what’s going on in his mind.  I wonder what his life will be like as he grows.  I delight in watching him discover the world, discover his new capabilities, discover communication and connection.

He is his own little person, developing his own quirks and preferences.  He snuggles by rubbing his forehead against us (where “us” refers to my husband and me, our dog, his stuffed animals).  We discovered on his birthday that he has a healthy skepticism of helium balloons, which appear to defy all the laws of physics that he has come to know through experience.  All week we’ve watched him come to terms with the unnerving balloon in our living room, first glaring at it while pressed into my shoulder, then eyeing it warily while he played, then gradually moving closer, then touching it and recoiling as it drifted back towards him, then eventually grabbing it and giving it a good shake.  He’s cautious, but becoming an explorer.  Those first steps have been followed by an occasional one or two here or there, but he still prefers the speed and certainty of crawling.  He’s not saying any words yet, but he’s demonstrating that he understands a surprising amount of what we say to him.  He knows who Mama, Dada, Goldie (our dog), and Nana (my mom) are, he knows how to clap his hands (even if we just tell him without showing him), how to shake, how to dance, how to put one block on top of another, how to give us a toy (even if he doesn’t always want to), how to “come here,” how to “go get it,” how to snuggle, and how I ask if he wants to nurse.  He makes his wishes known if he wants us to read a book again, or press the button so that his stuffed elephant will sing again.  He is eating a wider variety of solids, and strongly prefers to finger-feed himself, generally refusing a spoon (unless it’s mommy’s spoon with mommy’s food on it). This week he ate blueberries, kiwis, clementines, quesadillas with beans, cheese, and avocado, polenta, toast with peanut butter, graham crackers with cream cheese, and a ton of fruit and veggie puree.  He is still skeptical of squash and green veggies that are not in pureed form.

My attempt at gentle night weaning has been a rousing success this week — after his birthday, I started nursing him for one minute less each night, and after the night when I fed him for only three minutes on each side, he just… stopped waking up.  Last night was night three of a solid 11-hour night without a feed, and without any fussing that required us to go in to comfort him.  All of a sudden my little guy is sleeping on his own, and it’s glorious.  He seems better rested and is sleeping longer too!  Now if only he’d nap longer than 30 minutes at daycare…

I love this little guy to the moon and back, and can hardly remember life without him.  Sometimes it takes my breath away how much I love him.

And… we are officially trying to have a sibling for him.  That’s probably a subject for a whole other post, but I am fully expecting it to be a long haul.  So we’re getting started now, planning to try on our own for a while before going back to the RE when he’s somewhere around 18 months.  I’m approaching this attempt much more like a marathon than like the furious, desperate sprint to get pregnant as quickly as possible after his sister died.  I just turned 34, so we don’t want to wait forever, but we can afford to take it slowly for a little while.  To be honest, I’m not exactly eager to jump into having two kids right away, even though we know it’s something we want in the longer run.  We’ve just hit our stride with one, and rewinding back to the newborn days looks daunting, to say the least.

In the meantime, we have an amazing little boy to enjoy and to care for, who fills our lives and our hearts to the brim.  We are so fortunate.  What a difference a year makes.

Nursing on the Tenure Track

Hello, everyone!  It’s been a while, but I’m still here, mostly reading and commenting on all y’all’s blogs, but also thinking about writing once in a while.

First, a quick update: Little S is 10.5 months old.  He has 7 teeth (with tooth #8 about to pop through any day, poor guy), and is right on the brink of walking and talking (he walks with a push toy, and can stand for a couple of seconds before plopping down on his bottom.  I think he’s been trying to say the word “cow” for one of his favorite toys and “dog” when we see dogs out on our walks).  The best parts of the last week have been (1) he learned how to splash in the bathtub (wet, but fun!), and (2) we took him sledding for the first time after Saturday’s snowstorm — he was skeptical, but didn’t cry, so it’s a win, I think!

Our nursing relationship is still going strong.  I didn’t really think much about nursing long-term before he was born — in fact, when our weirdly aggressive breastfeeding instructor demanded to know my nursing goals while I was still pregnant, I stammered out “um, try it and see how it goes?”  Then, my kid was a born sucker (there’s one born every minute, after all), and I was surprised to discover that I really loved our nursing relationship.  It’s not all roses, of course — I seem to be prone to plugged ducts (not mastitis, thankfully), and it quickly became apparent that the downside of nursing is that a small human is still physically dependent on your body months/years after you’ve finally evicted them from the inside, so your freedom is a bit limited.  But on the whole I feel so fortunate that it’s worked for us, and I love the closeness and the special relationship that it’s helped to develop between my son and me.  Nothing beats that snuggle time.

Another thing that I didn’t think much about before my son was born was how moms combine nursing with work, particularly academia.  I mean, I vaguely knew that women pumped while they were at work, and that lactation rooms were supposed to be a good thing.  But man, it’s a whole lot more logistically complicated than I ever imagined.  We had a few challenges that were somewhat particular to my baby: for one, he never took a bottle, which made it complicated for anyone other than me to feed him.  When I went back to work part-time four months after he was born, his dad finally figured out a labor-intensive cup-feeder solution, which the daycare ladies gamely continued until he was 6 months old and learned how to use a sippy cup.  But he would refuse to eat from anyone other than dad or the daycare ladies, and actually these days he generally refuses to take a sippy cup from dad.  When I organized a conference at my university that took place on a Saturday when he was 7 months old, the little guy went on a hunger strike and my husband brought him to me to nurse over the lunch break so that he wouldn’t have to go 12 hours without eating.  Even if he had been one of those normal babies who takes a bottle without a fuss, it’s never easy to leave home as a nursing mom, because for every feeding you miss you have to pump to keep yourself comfortable and keep up your milk supply.

Which brings me to pumping circumstances.  I’m very fortunate to have my own office with a door that closes and locks.  However, all the faculty/staff offices in my building share a single key, and occasionally people will let themselves into my office if they think I’m not there, to leave something on my desk or change a lightbulb or whatever.  So, yeah, after one awkward incident, I made a great big sign for my door as well as a smaller sign that hangs from the doorknob and covers the keyhole when I’m in there.  Also, my window shades are almost as old as my 100-year-old building, and don’t close all the way, and my window is right at eye level on a staircase that students sometimes use to leave the building.  Oh, and the electrical system in our 100-year-old building is flaky, so there have been days when the lights in my office flicker in time with my breast pump, which is a little disconcerting.

I thought that lactation rooms sounded like a great idea, until I had to use one when I went to a conference at a large research center in November.  Don’t get me wrong — I think they’re infinitely better than what most women have, which is nothing more than a bathroom or a broom closet.  But once you’ve been pumping for a while, you realize how critical the timing is.  I found that with my tendency towards plugged ducts, I couldn’t safely go more than about 3 hours between pumping sessions (maybe 3.5 if I stretched it), at least when I was at peak milk production when my son was around 6-8 months old.  If I fed my kid at 8 before we left for the day, then my ideal pumping times were ~10:30, 1, and 3:30, and then I’d nurse him when I got home around 5:30.  The problem with a lactation room is that most of the other women are on the same schedule, so everyone wants to pump at ~10:30, 1, and 3:30, and nobody wants to pump at 9:30 or 4 — so the lactation room is empty most of the day, but crowded when you need it. Surely there must be a better solution!

Speaking of schedule issues, when I was teaching last semester, my class met from 10:20-11:40am, which meant that I had to pump around 9:45am to get to my class in time to set up, hand back papers, and have everything ready to go.  Then after class I’d be swamped with students until at least 11:50, which meant that if I had a lunch meeting or seminar I had <10 minutes to pump, which wasn’t quite enough time, so I either had to arrive late at my lunch meeting or pump after the lunch meeting, which meant stretching the time between pumping sessions to >3hours — and then if I got held up at the lunch meeting, it could easily go to 3.5 hours or beyond.  Two plugged ducts later I decided it wasn’t worth the risk, so for the rest of the semester I was late to all my lunch meetings and seminars on teaching days.  (I was totally ready to play the “breast pump” card, but nobody ever asked — I hope they don’t think I’m flaky now.)

The other thing is, I have no idea how nursing moms manage all the travel in academia.  I have a number of advantages, including a husband who works from home and has a very flexible work schedule, plus my son has three supportive grandparents, two of whom are retired.  For the conference in November, my husband came along.  The conference was three days long, but we compromised so that I went for 1.5 days and then we came home so that my husband only missed two days of work but I still got to go to half the conference and give my invited talk.  In February we are going to a two-week-long workshop in California (I was actually invited to attend for all three months of the workshop, but that was totally unrealistic, so I settled on two weeks instead).  One of the grandparents is tagging along to babysit for the first week, and my husband is coming out for the second week.  I am already dreading this, partly because upending my son’s schedule is going to make him a cranky, whiny, sad little baby, and partly because I suspect he’s going to go on a sippy-cup strike which will stress my mom out while she’s trying to babysit and will mean she’ll probably wind up bringing him to me at the conference at least a couple times a day to nurse.  He’s doing pretty well on solids these days, so the nursing intervals are starting to stretch out, but he still nurses quite a lot.

When people talk about how to support young parents, especially young mothers, in academia, they talk a lot about conference daycare and lactation rooms.  What I could really use to help me continue traveling is money, with the flexibility to use it however I need.  In addition to my normal conference costs, this two-week trip is going to also require us to pay for two extra plane tickets (my mom’s and my husband’s), two weeks of a rental car (which I wouldn’t normally splurge on, but with a baby it seems necessary), all the extra food for my mom and husband, and then there are the hidden costs of my mom and my husband taking vacation time from work.  We are fortunate enough to be able to afford it, but if we weren’t so lucky, it would be a real barrier to my attendance at the conference.  If I were going for only a day or two, it would also be immensely helpful to have funding to pay for a service like Milk Stork — I know people in business careers whose companies have agreed to pay the cost of Milk Stork while they are on work travel, but it’s not exactly the kind of thing I can charge to a research grant (as far as I know).

As a pumping scientist mom, I have had some fairly wacky pumping experiences, including pumping in an old Nike radar station and a transmission electron microscopy lab.  It actually felt weirdly empowering to pump in such super-sciencey places — I am science mom, hear me lactate!  🙂  And as tricky as it’s been to combine pumping with academia, I’m still more than a little bit sad to think that our nursing relationship is already starting to wind down as my baby grows up.  Honestly, part of me loves that nursing gives me a reason to bring my son along to conferences, instead of leaving him for days at a time.  In his whole life, I’ve never been away from him for more than the length of a daycare day, and I’m dreading the first night that I spend away from him (y’know, except for the uninterrupted sleep part).  I’d also really like to continue nursing for as long as he’s interested, but I’m just not sure how realistic that is with all the travel that my job requires.  I’m a little bit worried that I’ll inadvertently wean him (or totally distress him) the first time I have to leave him for several days.  It’s also having an impact on my career: for example I’m probably going to turn down an invitation I received to a conference in Germany in April because I just can’t imagine that a week-long separation is going to work at this point.  That said, if having a baby has taught me anything, it’s that with babies, change is the only constant.  He’s already getting very fidgety at our nursing sessions and nursing for shorter times and less frequently than he used to, so maybe he’ll surprise me one day and just decide he’s done, and I’ll shed a tear and pack up my pump and move on with life.  We’ll see.  I feel fortunate to have made it this far, and I know that I am luckier than many women who don’t have the flexibility to make an extended breastfeeding relationship practical.  And knowing that our breastfeeding relationship is finite makes those snuggles all the more precious while they last.

So, are you going to have another one?

The questions have started.  It really didn’t take long.  Mostly I just shrug them off with a blithe “We’ll see!”  But in the past few weeks I’ve had lunch with a couple of friends who really helped me through the dark time between our daughter’s death and our son’s birth, and both times it’s come up.  With them, it was harder to shrug it off.

The honest answer is “We want more kids, and I’m terrified.”

I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that giving birth to a dead baby scars you for life in the baby department (literally as well as figuratively, in my case, alas).  But I still found myself tearing up as I talked with my friends and admitted that we absolutely want another baby, but that the thought of going through all of this again is terrifying.

I do think it’ll be easier to handle the uncertainty this time around, because I have a beautiful baby boy to distract me and I won’t have to deal with those awful feelings that I might never be a parent at all.  This time, I’ve got my son, and he’s a precious and amazing gift that I will never take for granted.  He also makes the time speed by — without him, as we waited for him, it was so easy for time to crawl.  So, there are a lot of things that will hopefully make this time around less daunting.

But it’s still daunting.  When my period does come back, I may still have to deal with irregular cycles.  The scarring of my uterus and fallopian tubes won’t have gotten any better, and might have gotten worse.  IVF might well turn out to be our best/only option.  If I manage to get pregnant, I’ll go back on daily injections of Lovenox.  I have to face the possibility that I might lose another baby, miscarriage statistics and my history being what they are.

It’s not something I’ll have to face immediately (for one thing, my period still hasn’t returned, hallelujah!).  But we also don’t want to wait too long.  It took us 2.5 years to have a living baby the first time around, and I’ll be 34 by the time we can start trying again.  Biology is ticking along: Advanced Maternal Age, here I come.

For now, I’m content to hang with my amazing son who is getting more amazing by the day (he just started pulling himself up to a standing position this week!).  His presence in our lives is so incredible that it feels extremely greedy to hope for more, and difficult to imagine that another baby could be as wonderful.  And I won’t lie — as things finally get easier, it’s also daunting to think about starting all over again with a newborn.  But my husband and I both want him to grow up with a sibling.  It still feels like there’s someone missing from our family.  There is no doubt in our minds that we’ll try again, however scary it feels to take that leap.

And as I snuggle my baby boy, and watch him grow bigger and stronger and start to become he independent person he’s supposed to be, one of the things that consoles me about the loss of his babyhood is that there might be another babyhood on the horizon.  As excited as I am to see him grow, I’m also not ready to give up being mom to an infant forever.  It’s such a special time.  I’m sure all ages are special in their own way, but as my baby stretches taller and moves faster and transforms into a toddler before my eyes, I can’t help but yearn to someday have another infant strapped into the carrier on my chest, snuggled into my lap, sleeping sweetly (if only occasionally).  What a beautiful time of life this is.  How tantalizing to begin to hope that I might get to experience it again.