I’m at the point where I can see a tiny bundle wrapped up in a car seat or pushchair, smile indulgently and carry on. Dh appears to be going through a minor baby-crisis. He can’t walk past a newborn baby without commenting on how tiny it is and how he misses R and G being that small.
He’s got the rose-tinted specs on, of course. He’s remembering the nice bits, such as G snuggling on his chest like a baby monkey and holding R over his shoulder (don’t ask) as she napped. He’s missing putting them in a sling and going out for walks. I think he might even be missing the time when they were small enough to share the same end of a cot. Their tiny cuteness. Their almost human-ness. G falling asleep on me in the afternoon while R snoozed peacefully in the travel cot. All of this stuff is nice and I like remembering it but I’m also aware that there were plenty of crap bits as well
I certainly don’t want to go through the first three months with the girls again. Or the first 4 months or the last four weeks of my pregnancy. Or night feeds. Or sobbing uncontrollably for no apparent reason. Or sleep deprivation. Or wondering if I’d ever have a grown-up conversation with anyone. Or feeling depressed or alone. Or feeling crap and helpless.
Neither of us wants more children. We’re clear on that. R and G are enough of a handful as it is. With their first birthday coming up, I can see why he’s nostalgic but I shall be steering him away from the tiny bundles in shopping centres for the foreseeable future.