‘Never say never’ is usually my motto, so I won’t say never ever but I will say probably. Noey is probably, almost certainly, just about definitely, my last baby.
Once upon a while ago there was a little niggling thought about five, but things have changed. While that niggling thought hasn’t quite gone away (it probably never will), the conversations don’t include jokes about more babies any more. That makes me a little sad and a little relieved.
Relieved that the decision has been made for me. Relieved because four is a good number, our family works with four. But sad. Sad that I won’t ever be pregnant again. Sad that I won’t ever be that special person who brings new life into the world, and sad that I won’t have a tiny baby again.
I look at my baby boy. My Quatro, Number Four, Noey No Nos and I try to remember every inch of how he is. I try to imprint his baby-ness indelibly on my mind so that I can recall it al will when I need it. I try to notice everything, so I don’t forget, because I will forget.
I’ve already forgotten things about how the big kids were when they were babies. And this forgetfulness is made even more apparent as I try to remember Noah.
Was Morgan’s blonde hair curly by this age or was it as wispy and straight as Noah’s?
Did the girls make as many cute noises? Were they saying ‘Mama’ deliberately by this age?
When did the others all get teeth?
Were their heads as soft and warm as Noah’s?
I try so hard not to forget.
I take photos. I video. I write self centred, gushy, only-a-mother-could-love blog posts…. and yet the memories still slip away. I guess that is the way of the world and I’ll just have to live with it. But in the mean time I am drinking in every moment of my baby boy, and every moment of his brothers and sisters. I will kiss them all and stroke their hair and do all the stupidly over sentimental things that I never thought I’d do… for as long as they’ll let me.