I just landed in LA a few hours ago and I had a little bit of an incident at LAX. I can’t shake ALL THE FEELZ, so I have the urge to just get what happened off my chest. As I was making my way to baggage claim, I saw a young family with their newborn baby boy. He was WEEKS old. I’m talking brand spanking new. And as I approached him, I knew exactly what he felt like… exactly what he smelt like. In fact, I began to automatically smell those delicious baby smells. My entire body filled up with joy… and heartache all at the same time.
In that very instant, my body craved to have another baby in my hands to call my own… but I know that’s not a possibility for me. Three super high-risk pregnancies have taken this body off the market and reality sunk in pretty hard and swiftly all at once.
It was all so matter of fact. Final. Decided.
I can’t have any more children.
I am no longer a woman who is in her birthing years.
I’ve known this for quite some time. After having Caleb, we decided that this shop needed to close for health reasons. But I guess having Caleb as a baby kept my mind off of it all. However, at 3 1/2, it just doesn’t feel that way anymore. He isn’t so tiny. He isn’t so needy. He’s starting to run off with his brother and sister. We are potty training. It’s happening. The beginning of the end. And if I was a different woman… perhaps…
But my hand is not that hand. My hand has placed me out of the game.
And so, I started to cry. Right there, in the middle of LAX as I am crying right now reliving the feelings I felt in the middle of everyone around me. I was saying goodbye to a reality or perhaps I was saying hello to a new stage of my life that I was truly ignoring.
I am no longer in my birthing years. And that hurts – physically.
Friends might read this and question why it bothers me so. If you were to ask me in passing if I wanted another child, I would say no before you could complete your sentence. But I’m saying no because my body cannot have another child. Not necessarily because I wouldn’t want to have another child.
I guess seeing that newborn made me feel all of that. He had that same drunken sleepy glance. He had that same relaxed and zen vibe that I know and love about all babies. And passing him, I recognized I would never feel that again from one of my own. Those days are gone. Those years are gone. That stage is long gone.
I know what you are wondering. Did I walk and cry all the way to baggage claim? Did I compose myself immediately? Neither. I walked right into a bathroom stall and cried until I felt better. Then I waited some more until my face calmed down. Once I felt like I looked semi-normal, I headed down to meet my driver who wasn’t amused. But I needed that moment to say goodbye to me. She had a great run. She was truly blessed with three beautiful babies.
Now, my husband and I get to raise them. How lucky are we? Equally blessed and armed with years filled with memories that I will hold onto with all my might.
Am I done mourning? I’m not quite sure. Was this my last cry? Who knows? But I’ve accepted my new role and that’s a start.