Growing up, the one thing I always wanted to be was a mum. I wanted four children, girl, boy, boy, girl. I’d drive a big people carrier or a minibus because we’d have two big dogs too. Life would be chaotic and loud and full to the brim with love. We’d go on adventures in the woods and on the beaches and we’d have a big tent with bedrooms. Much of this was modelled on my own childhood, I grew up next door to my best friend and her family, we were one big happy family and my fondest memories involve climbing up big hills and belly laughing lying down in tents blown almost horizontal in torrential rain. It was a great childhood. I wanted my own children to have the same noisy, lovely upbringing.
But things don’t always end up as planned. I can’t have any more children. Two will be my lot. I had my last child aged just 24. It’s been something I’ve always struggled to come to terms with.
Having four children four and under for the night/morning this weekend showed me just how chaotically lovely it is to have a house full of children. Having all those lovely little faces around my dining table for mealtimes was lovely. A good excuse for more sleepovers I reckon.
I can’t have more children for a few reasons, mainly because I don’t know what is wrong with Tilly. She is undiagnosed and so I don’t know what her life will look like long term. I don’t know if her condition will cause her to regress again, I don’t know if it will kill her and I don’t know if it would be worse for a boy. I don’t know if I caused it, so I don’t know if I would pass the same condition onto future children.
Tilly’s delays are difficulties are profound and challenging, I know I could not cope with another child with the same.
I can’t have a baby because Tilly is so violent that it would not be safe.
I can’t have a baby because I can’t stretch myself far enough. Tilly needs as much, if not more, care than a newborn and Arlo is a diva in his own right. I don’t think I could split myself into anymore parts.
It’s a difficult one to think about. The thought of never feeling another baby rolling around inside of me and never breastfeeding again is hard.
Bizarrely, I work with newborns and that doesn’t phase me in the slightest, it’s more watching the way sibling interact or how Arlo plays with other children that gets me. Tilly is trying her absolute best to be play and be gentle at the moment but there’s still a very long way to go. I wish Arlo would have the same as I had with my brother, a sidekick, sparring partner and confidante.
So yes, unless Tilly’s condition is discovered and declared de novo (a genetic one off) and her care needs and violence dramatically decrease, there will be no more gingers. Unless I get a cat 🐱
Hopefully we will have a childhood full of sleepover and friends instead ❤