You want what?

27 May

I want another kid.

Yeah, back THAT truck the fuck up, right? Little miss PPD wants another child? okey hokey…

I don’t want to push another child out of my koosh, although I will admit to some slight wistfulness when I imagine I won’t be having anymore children from my body. There’s this weird feeling I can’t name, or shake. Most of it seems to relate to wanting a “do-over” for the first time. Hindsight is 20-20, and I want to go back and appreciate the first time. But I can’t-and I accept that.

We’ve talked before about wanting to possibly/maybe adopt a child in a few years, NOT a baby, but a kid. I think we’ve done pretty good with our kids so far, and I’d like to someday, expand on this.

If you know me at all, you’d know what a headfuck this is for me.

I’ve never liked kids. They smell, they’re annoying, they do things that….you know, stick things up their noses, eat dirt, bring bugs in the house. They’re kids. I didn’t get along with kids when I was one. But I love my girls to death, and I love how much fun I have with them. And for some reason, I want to share that with another child. I want a boy in our family some day. I want more.

I never imagined I’d feel like this because frankly, I don’t think I’m all that maternal. But I’ve wondered if it might have more to do with my dislike for other people. With kids, I don’t have to worry about offending them, or scaring them off by joking around, or any of the multitude of things that people are so bloody sensitive to now. I can just BE with my kids, I can sing at the top of my lungs in public, I can wear pull ups on my head, and they love me. They don’t give me that look, you know, the one you gave your Mom at 15 when she wore that pair of shorts?

I know it won’t last. Someday, I’ll get that look. But I love the fact that my kids are MINE. They have MY last name, they look like me. That’s pretty cool when you’re adopted. But I think I also want to adopt so I can give back in the same way my parents took me in. And sometimes, I just feel like I have so much to give that I can’t spread it around enough.

Mogo got that uncomfortable feeling talking about this, like when you bring up vasectomy. He didn’t say no, but he worries about money. And I know that we can’t do this if we can’t afford it, and if in 5 years, we still can’t do it, I’ll likely have to put the kibosh on my wants. But I think we’re good parents, and that we can give a home to someone who doesn’t quite have one. Money doesn’t heal hearts after all.

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