Anyway, back to it. The post about why I'm not having another baby.
I hear the second baby question all the time. I hear it at least once a day. I even sometimes hear it from other people, rather than as an annoying chorus in my internal monologue. Mat occasionally mentions it and, when I refuse, resorts to putting pink headbands on the Littlest Cat and pretending that he was trying to keep his hair dry in the bath. Daddy REALLY wants a princess, gender not important.
|See. I told you so.|
* If we were to have another, we'd have to move, for starters, and we only moved 6 months ago. I'm not doing that again, not least because I found our apartment by accident and, despite the dragon landlady with the dead eyes, we would not find everything we have (big terrace, massive living room, lemon tree, view of Tibidabo) for the price we pay in the same area.
|This lemon tree is OURS (for the duration of the contract).|
At night it lights up and is stunning. I couldn't leave it.
* Since I had Dom, I've coupled having a brain made of mashed potatoes with a resurgence of ambition. I want to find a job I LOVE, one I'm good at, one I wouldn't mind still doing in ten years. My current job, while easy and comfortable and stable, doesn't inspire me the way I want to be inspired. I get that not everybody can do what they love, but I'd at least like to try an industry that I'm not bamboozled by. I don't think that's a lot to ask. All of my boxes are ticked - home, family, relationships, even finances are OK. The only box I'm not fully comfortable with is the career one. I'm tired of stagnating in a job I can do in my sleep. Until I find my niche, I'm not dropping everything to attend to a newborn. By the time I come round from the shock a second time, I could well be on the road to retirement.
* Possible TMI - Selfishly (because the last point was so unselfish), I'm not prepared to give up on my sex life again yet. While all the planets align only around once a month so that I actually feel like it, in the last few weeks a wonderful thing has happened and I've actually, finally healed. Properly. I don't want more stitches.
* I also don't want to give birth in Spain again. I'm planning a full post about Dom's birth one of these days, but in the meantime, I'll just say that the midwife was a bitch and the entire outlook of the medical staff needs to piss off back to the 1930s where it belongs.
* Dom was a surprise, albeit a wonderful one. This meant that we had very little time to plan for his arrival, and it certainly wasn't enough time that I could save enough money to take time off work when my maternity leave was over. I refuse to put myself through the heartrending agony of leaving a 6 month old baby with strangers again, so until I can afford to take the first year off, I won't do it at all. And given that we have debts that need paying off before we can even start to save, it's safe to say we won't be comfortable enough any time soon.
* I feel like I'd miss out on Dom, and wouldn't be able to enjoy a new baby half as much as I did him. I feel like the work would outweigh the fun. I feel like I'm only enough mother for one.
* I'm English. I live in Spain. Getting on a plane with one little person is doable. Getting on a plane with two is not going to happen. Either all my family move here, or Dom remains an adored only child.
SO, I'm well aware that this may raise eyebrows and have people thinking that "the lady doth protest too much," but there you have it. A comprehensive list of why my womb is not up for rent again. Maybe ever.