Done My Time

As you would imagine, my friends that fall into the same age category and I are scattered at different stages in our lives, and different degrees of parenting; some remain our parent's children, not yet in the parenting world. At the other end of the spectrum are my friends with teenagers, who have paddled the murky waters of parenting for so long that they just nod in understanding at my struggles. Yet I see in their eyes that they are glad to have that "stage" far behind, and instead can only look forward towards their own reality.

I hate to sound callous, but for me, children younger than my own are merely reminders of how far I have come, and warning of how much I don't want to go back, despite a whiff of desire that seeps into my brain occasionally for my own little boy. If only he could appear as an eager, well-behaved pre-schooler. The thought of midnight feedings, breast engorgement, diapers, potty training...Hell, just the thought of giving birth again steeps my mind with fear and loathing.

I had drinks with an old high school friend that has an 8 month old. He's adorable and sweet and spunky, but listening to her just made me exhausted. Sleepless nights? Check. Incessant colds? Check. Concerns over pre-school vs. day care? Check. Check, Check, Check!

And while on a play date with my college roommate and her 2 1/2 year old daughter, I thought to myself, 'How did I manage with two two-year olds?' I guess the answer is that I just did, and that I'm sooo glad I don't have to do it all over again.

Last week at twin mom book club, one of our members - who has 2 year old twin girls - announced that she was pregnant.

With twins.

The whole room filled with twin moms roared with delight, and collectively sighed with relief that it wasn't us.  I joked with her that I was So Happy for her, but So Glad it wasn't me because "that is my own personal nightmare."

I've done my time.

"Kangeroo care" in the NICU