Changing room.

After a few weeks of working on it, I decided that our 19-month-old was toilet-trained enough to be sure we weren't turning back.  

So I pulled all his clothes off the changing table shelves in the laundry room, carried them downstairs, and hung them in the first-floor closet.  

I asked Mark and my 15-year-old to carry the changing table downstairs to store it in the basement, and when that was done they carried up an old kitchen cabinet and put it in the place of the changing table.  It took some cleaning up and a cloth to hide the wood-glue stains on the laminate, but now it's another clothes-folding surface, and a place to stow the trash receptacle and some baskets for sorting outgrown clothes and lone socks.

Today I gathered up all the cloth-diaper covers and put them in a tub and snapped on the lid, and carried it to the basement, where I left it on the changing-table shelf.  In another tub, I packed up all the infant cloth diapers, and in yet another, threw some more baby items (bibs, the bag of jumbled pieces of the manual breastpump, receiving blankets).  Down they went.

 While I was at it, I carried down the infant car seat and stowed it next to the changing table.  Then I boxed up some infant clothes in good condition, clothes that had been lying around waiting for me to do something with them.

I hesitated with the box.  Take it out to the car, to deliver it to charity?  Or set it aside to be stowed in the deep recesses of the attic?

+ + +

It's a matter of probability, I tell myself, not so much a matter of plans.

Very soon I will be forty-one years old.  I have three to seven years left, perhaps, in which Mark and I might decide to try for another baby, or in which we might find ourselves surprised by one.   I've not had a surprise yet, not in seventeen years of NFP, so I count that probability low; and I don't expect that we will try for another baby, certainly not the way I expected it when we had one, two, three children.  I didn't exactly expect it when we had four; I hoped, though.  

I'm not sure if I hope or not now.  Five is lovely, and my most recent pregnancy was hard.  

And we talk about the future differently these days.  "Three years from now," we say, "four years from now, perhaps we can do such-and such," and we've mostly stopped adding "if we don't have another baby."

+ + +

"We can get rid of these things," Mark pointed out, "because if it turns out that we need them again, we can afford to buy new ones."

Yes.  I've already gotten rid of a number of things.  And on the other hand, I saved all the maternity clothes that I really liked, on the grounds that if I needed them again it would be sad not to have the good ones.  Those clothes take up  just a box or two.  And it's really only for a few years.  When I'm forty-eight I will have no reason not to toss the sealed box in the car and tote it down to the crisis pregnancy center or the charity thrift store.  It's not like I risk keeping it around for the next twenty years because I won't know if I need it or not.

And the same for the changing table, right?  And the diaper covers?  And the last box of baby clothes?  It's just a few more years that they might come in handy.   And then I can get rid of them.

+ + +

 Probability:

"By age 40, a woman's chance is less than 5% per cycle, so fewer than 5 out of every 100 women are expected to be successful each month. Women do not remain fertile until menopause. The average age for menopause is 51, but most women become unable to have a successful pregnancy sometime in their mid-40s."

It's nothing you would want to count on if you were intent on avoiding pregnancy for some terribly serious reason.  And I have plenty of friends who had babies in their early-to-mid-forties.  

Still, I also have plenty who didn't.

+ + +

Then there's this:  If I lived as long as my own mother lived, I would not see my youngest, now a toddler, finish high school.   If I had another baby, and lived as long as my own mother lived, I wouldn't see that new one start high school.

I can't help but be troubled by this one.

+ + +

Packing all the baby stuff up felt awfully final, and not in a good way, even though I'm not actually getting rid of it yet.  Somehow I'm reluctant to say, "Probably we won't have another," even if that is, literally, true.   Which leaves me reluctant to do the things that one does when probably one (two, really) won't have another, like give away the favorite baby clothes and the good maternity jeans.

I'm not sure whether the reluctance is based on a desire to mother a baby again; or on the very practical consideration that (probably) to do so would never be regretted while to choose not to do so might well be regretted, or being slow to accept this first limitation brought on by age and age alone; or simply the bitterness that always accompanies the closing of a door to the past.

 I remember feeling something like this when I was finishing college, getting ready to move on to new things, and some small part of me wanting to stay, knowing to do so wasn't possible.

In other words, I don't know what I'm trying to hold onto here.  Is it a gift of life I desire to give?  Or is it clinging to a notion of myself as a life-giver?

+ + +

It's a frightening freedom we enjoy.  I am healthy, Mark is healthy; we could go for it again, play the fearful and wonderful game.  We are completely aware that we could.  If we were sure we desired it, or sure we were called to it, we could rise to the challenge.

At the same time, not being called in particular, without a particular desire (only this empty feeling at the boxing up), we are also aware that we can go on as we are, shouldering our bags and hiking off into the sunset with these five.

Love is not a zero-sum game, but energy can be; and I sense a need to direct greater energy to my older children than I have had since the youngest first fluttered to life.  My last pregnancy was hard:  not dangerous to my life and health, just hard, as pregnancy often is.  Mothering this youngest one from babyhood into toddlerhood was beautiful, and I feel at the top of my powers; but all along I felt a pull towards those older children that went unsatisfied, and heard my voice saying "no" what felt like far too much.  "No, we can't do that because of the baby."  "No, I need you to do this instead because of the baby."

I had to push them all away, just a bit.  My arms were full, my energy went to produce milk, the hours of the day slipped by.  I'm not saying it was the wrong thing to do; they learned to sweep the floor and cook dinner and clean their rooms, they learned to take the bus.  They learned that I wouldn't always be there for them.  Which is true.  I won't.

But I'm not saying I liked that part of it.  And looking at my five beautiful children, one of whom I have to look up to now, I wonder if there really is enough of me to go around.   I think there is, barely, now.  But I know what it would take to push that over the edge.  Not that I'd do a bad job.  I would keep it together.  I always do.  

But I do want my kids to remember a mother who had time for each of them.  And -- looking back on the last two years -- I have not.

 It was for a good cause.  A great cause!   The youngest will be there for them far longer than I will.   I'm not sorry.  

But ... which to choose in the future?  Let's just say it is not obvious.

+ + +

"Three years from now," we say.  "Four years from now."  We think of places we'll go, things to show each other, things to experience with the growing children.  We have a vision of a new phase of our lives, the phase with no little children in it, the phase where even our youngest walks on his own two feet.

None of it is a guarantee.  None of it is ever a guarantee.  

I've never put the changing table away before.  I guess that is different.  I guess this is the first bifurcation between what might be and what else might be.  It feels important.  

And at the same time it's just housecleaning.

Comments

[Jenny]

Oh! Beautiful.

I am so sentimentally attached to all of my baby stuff. We need to take down the mini-crib in my room that the toddler hasn't slept in in weeks and I am reluctant.

In the normal course of life, now would be the time we would be looking to the next baby, but with all the changes, now is not a great idea. I'm not getting any younger and pregnancy is hard. But a baby of my very own? Heaven.

And then I wonder if I am grasping at a past I squandered. Five kids? I thought three was the bounds of sanity. Is it selfish to want to do it again? But I detest being pregnant and still have aches from the last one.

And. And. And. But. And.

Sigh. Housecleaning is fraught.

[Barbara C.]

As soon as I filed for divorce, I gave away all of the baby stuff that I kept holding on to (especially since 2 of my 5 pregnancies were surprises). But now I knew it was off the table.

At the same time as my youngest (now 3) gets bigger and bigger I am torn between being relieved and a little sad.

I think you touched on something about the notion of being a life giver. Even though at the time I couldn't imagine have another baby, it really freaked me out when I almost had to have an emergency hysterectomy after #4. I know a uterus is just a uterus, but at the same time it felt like I would be losing part of who I was.

[Erin]

I am the same age as you, but in a very different place. I've been married 20 months and have a 10 month old. As I move the newborn items and clothes to the basement I hope and pray that I'll have a reason to pull them out again. Pregnancy came surprisingly easy the first time, but I still feel this pull between savoring this time and weaning in hopes of conceiving. As you say, no guarantees.

[Melanie B]

I'm not ready to pack up the changing table yet, we haven't started potty training in earnest. But I know Lucy is ready and I could do it any day now if I only could find the focus. And she's still sleeping in the crib in our room but that's mostly a matter of inertia. Most nights I nurse her for a bit and then put her in the crib awake. I could just as easily put her down in the crib in the girls' room. Or in a toddler bed. And Dom would be happy to have our room be our room again. Though Lucy calls it "my room."

But I'm feeling reluctant and maybe it is because I wonder if she's my last baby. I have a hard time accepting that. This is the first time I've had a two year old and not been pregnant or taking care of a baby. It feels weird. And I'm not sure I'm ready to stop having babies but I'm not sure that having a sixth c-section is really a sane risk either. And pregnancy is so hard and I do want to have more energy to focus on my big kids who need me more and more. I already feel like I don't have enough of me to give to the homeschooling effort.

But I find myself thinking about "next time I go to the hospital" an awful lot. In that weird pre-planning mode. At my last physical I expressed my dissatisfaction with the OB at the last practice I was with and the NP gave me the name and number of her favorite OB. I asked her to write them down for me. Still sort of planning for the "what if."

I just turned 41. If I get pregnant now it will be treated as a high risk pregnancy. It will be a high risk pregnancy. But I'm not really ready to close that door yet either. I just lent a friend my co-sleeper and I kind of want to have it come back to me.

[Melanie B]

Also, I really love the title.

[Jenny]

Yeah... I had my 5th c-section almost 6 months ago. At the same time, my olders (twins almost 9) are in 4th grade (homeschooled) this year--which feels like the beginning of "middle" schooling, and I don't want to short-change them in that regard. I'm 38. All the reasons you so eloquently stated, plus my own versions of others... It is hard to know, isn't it?

[Amber]

A beautiful post. I'm at the point - with five kids and at 39 years old - when I feel like, ok, I'm ready to move on. I can look at other people's babies and no longer feel that "oh, I'd like to have another one!" Instead I think how glad I am to be on the other side of postpartum depression/anxiety and frequent night waking... and not pregnant either. I realized recently that I've spent about 11 of the 14 years of my marriage either pregnant or dealing with postpartum depression/anxiety. And at some point, isn't enough, well, enough?

But yet as a convert I sometimes wonder if I'm still too shaped by the secular world. Should I suck it up (offer it up?) and disappear down the pregnancy/depression/anxiety hole yet another time? Is that what a "Real Catholic(tm)" would/should do? I know that isn't the bar I'm supposed to be measuring things by... but yet I can feel so insecure about it. I mean, really - "only" five kids!

Anyway... a great post. Thank you. Amazing how these seemingly mundane household tasks can spark so much thought.

[Kristin]

Lovely post. I'm in the same boat just with 7 kids. Not sure if I can handle a 7th c-section. Part of me would love another, then I think about how much work they are!

[Monica]

Wow, I'm having the same issues now that my fifth is walking. I nearly died after he was born, so we're thinking no more, although we always acknowledge the fact that God is in charge and may have an alternate plan. I read somewhere else that all the work we do to be open to life really does make us open to life (by the grace of God, of course), which means that it's hard to get to the end of the child bearing, no matter what the reason is. Maybe the solution is to focus our openness-to-life skills in other areas? There are so many ways, like being open to the life God is unfolding for my older kids, for a simple and practical start...