I was better as a “one and done” mom

I met her at a BBQ, a mom I immediately recognized as a kindred spirit. She, too, was introverting – or maybe she was enjoying some coveted alone time while her kids were off being entertained by other kids. I sat down a chair away.

I don’t remember what happened, or how. When you’re an introvert mama and you meet one of your kind it just happens – you start talking about the shit that matters. Not cookie recipes or summer camps, but the dark underbelly of motherhood. Even if you’ve just met because holy shit, adult conversation can be hard to come by! You co-soothe in your joint awkwardness and discomfort.

My son was probably doing something I thought would annoy others. Putting fires out the moment I sense the hint of a spark is part of my anxiety. Some, including me, would say I’m a helicopter mom – and trust me, I’m just as fucking annoyed by it as you. It’s the hair trapped on the inside of my shirt, invisible and constantly nagging.

“If you’re happy with one it’s okay to not have another. Seriously. I wish someone would have told me that.” I felt a wave of relief. My son was around 4 at the time, and for some reason people like to stick their nose in your uterus immediately after you have a baby – when are you gonna try for #2?

My husband and I never seemed to be on the same page – sometimes he’d say he’d like another baby which would instantly jolt my system. I wasn’t prepared for the postpartum depression and anxiety that throttled me after having my son or the overwhelming not-enough-edness. Sometimes I’d fantasize about another, mostly because I worried I was cheating my son of something. The judgment you receive when you tell people you’re “one and done” is unreal.

Once my son hit Kindergarten I was overwhelmed by baby fever. I couldn’t ignore this feeling that there was a baby waiting for me to be it’s mother. It was a surreal and inescapable sensation. I had to have her, and I knew it would be a her because I felt her.

Conceiving my son was effortless – we literally tried once and I got pregnant, but I struggled to get pregnant with my daughter. It was an agony I’d never experienced before and my heart forever goes out to women who struggle to conceive because I only truly got a taste of it. I became obsessive – I tracked my cycle and took vitamins and supplements that promised to make me more fertile just to get a negative result again and again for months. And just when I was about to give up, it happened.

There are things I suspected about life as a mother of two and the thoughts and emotions I’d be faced with. I scoured blog posts on it and every one assured me that I’d be fine. Your heart will double in size. It does. Your buckets of mom guilt grow, too – they become an ocean pinning you against sharp rocks, and my fucking patience? It’s rice paper thin.

I told myself that if I just planned enough, tried harder, I could make sure each child got enough attention, that I could achieve balance. But the ugly truth is – you can’t. Between postpartum healing, running a household, even the most sub-par personal hygiene, keeping everyone fed, diapered, clothed, minimally entertained, and dealing with your own regular life shit, “magic” gets sacrificed.

I don’t say any of these things to scare or deter you. I adore both of my children with every cell in my body. I wanted and planned for them both. My role as a mother is a role I cherish. I have no regrets, and no matter how much I whine for alone time, alone time feels empty. But if you’re on the fence, I want you to trust your mom gut and don’t let anyone guilt you into doing something that makes you uneasy. I had those feelings until I didn’t, it’s okay to change your mind, too. The biggest joke in motherhood is the word never.

I miss my son. There’s no other way to put it – I miss him and I miss a me who was more present and fun. Between the late-night feedings and the 2x pace of life with two children, he grew up. Don’t look down. Because the next time you look up a year has passed. The hours are long but the years scream by and the sound will keep you up at night.

I carry the weight of missed time because I was preoccupied with something else in a lump in my throat I can’t seem to swallow.

I am not a great mother of two. But I’m good enough, and in parenthood that’s all you can truly hope for or else you’ll kill yourself jumping for a bar that can never be reached. It gets higher and higher each day and, the kicker? It’s a goddamned mirage. We’re all just pretending to know what we’re doing.

Do I miss feeling like a somewhat super mom? Shit yes. Could I go back to a life without my daughter? That’s like asking me if I’d miss one of my limbs.

I was better as a “one and done” mom. But my heart told me I had enough love for two, and enough is enough.

If you liked this post, I’d love the shit out of you if you commented below and/or shared. Don’t forget to follow me on Pinterest!