I’ve always had a thing for babies. Always loved keeping the nursery at church and playing with my baby cousins. But that love for babies didn’t necessarily lead me down the path of mommy-hood like you’d think it would.
Key word here is that I loved “playing” with them. It was the taking care part of them that always scared me.
I was never that girl that wanted to get married, have lots of babies, and stay at home while my husband went off to make us money. The thought never occurred to me growing up that I would ever stay at home. My mother worked as a teacher, and I was going to go to college, get a good job, and make some good money to take care of myself.
I graduated from college, got a job, found a husband, and there I was. I branched out into our community and met new friends, had some hobbies, got a cat. I was happy.
Then my friends started having babies. I didn’t have baby fever, knew that I wanted a family one day, but not sure when.
Then my friends started having more babies. The baby fever kicked in strong and hard. I wanted a baby and I got one.
I hated being pregnant. I hated delivery. I hated the first several months at home. My post-partum depression was intense. I was scared to cut my little guy’s fingernails, terrified to go out with him alone.
It got better, I adjusted. Learned how to balance work and home. My little guy started loving me back as much as I loved him and I was satisfied. I knew I got one singular sensation, and that’s all I wanted.
To be continued...
*Today, single-child families are the fastest-growing family unit in the nation, up from more than 10 million in 1972 to more than 15 million, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.