It Could Sleep In The Airing Cupboard

We are little by little moving away from the baby stage which fills me with a mixture of sorrow and joy. Joy that we no longer need a pushchair loaded like a Nepalese Sherpa, sorrow that I will never again have people coo over my newly born baby in public. Joy that I will no longer have to buy nappies, sorrow that the four year old is hurtling towards school faster than I can say “who has drawn on the wall in felt tip?” In particularly low moments I even suffer bump envy.

I have friends who are quite happy with their lot and would rather chop off their arm than have another child. I think I’m programmed differently; I would have babies until my womb dropped out. My husband on the other hand would rather chop off both his arms and his legs than have another. It has caused arguments, mainly beginning with the arrival of a friend’s baby and ending in me drinking vodka and wailing.

If I listen to my heart I’m a mother of 10. If I listen to my head I’m more than happy with the two we have. In reality I don’t have the money or the patience to have more. Everyone gets their own bedroom, swimming lessons and bike and because I have a boy and a girl, no hand me downs. We don’t need a people carrier (although we have one) and a day out is much cheaper than it would be for the Von Trapp Family.

I recently read about a woman whose children left home to go to University - she had dedicated 18 years to being a stay at home mother and was now lost, unsure of what to do with her time. She killed herself. I’m thinking after 18 years of worry, no sleep and refereeing sibling fights I’ll be more than happy to have some ‘me time’.

All that said I would have just another one ... it could sleep in the airing cupboard.

My husband is now hoping my womb will drop out and is hiding the vodka.