In French, bebe faim

"Mommy is baby hungry." Jason informed Janie this morning. I had just finished telling him about a blog I had read a few minutes before. The author is hopelessly baby hungry, and I guess in my telling of it Jason formed his conclusion.

"No," I protested slowly. "I'm not baby *hungry*..."

It was strange to say those words. Strange because a twinge of guilt seemed to creep into my stomach as the words left my lips. I couldn't help feeling that our future children might feel bad to hear me say that.

"I'm just... well... I just..." I took a quick breath. "I'm actually kind of scared to have a baby."

We had planned on getting pregnant this past summer, but held off for Jason's employment scene to stabilize. And so, the clocks tick and Janie gets older and more comfortable in her place as queen bee. I want Janie to have a sibling. Siblings. I want her to learn she is not the center of the universe (and I don't mean that in a bad way, that she's a brat or anything like that.) I want her to have others who will take care of her. Especially to have others who will take care of her when we can no longer do it, if that is what she will need.

But I am terrified about the getting there part.

Today confirmed my fears. I had a busy day, lots of running around. And Janie didn't get much mommy time. By the early evening, she was whining nonstop. She wouldn't eat [which is the fast track to mommy meltdowns. Nothing stresses me out more than when she won't eat]. And in my heart I knew her frustration was because she really wanted to sit and read books and play together. I didn't have time, and even though I was trying to talk with her and entertain her, she was stuck where she was and so was unhappy. And so I was unhappy. And I thought, will this be a daily occurrence with another baby in the picture, say, one that needs to be fed every two hours?

And I know, I know. That, too, would pass. Sure, it would be hard for a little while, but things would get easier.

But that just doesn't ease my anxiety.

It's not just busy days or less time for Janie that makes my heart pound. It's the so many little things, too. I am so nervous about having two kids that will have to be carried around. How will I ever work a wheelchair and a stroller? Some days grocery shopping is my oasis, and Janie's, too. Getting out of the house is nice and good for our mental and emotional states. Would we have to quit doing that? The odds are extremely good that other children we would have will not have the delays that Janie has... but what if another baby did? Sometimes I wonder about which would really be harder. The here and now is what I know. If things are different, I will need to learn how to mother that child. From where I'm standing, it feels like I would be learning how to walk all over again, a new and different mommy-walk. In many ways, this child will probably be like an oldest child. Will I expect or ask too much? Will I stop expecting enough from Janie?

And there's the bittersweet. Thinking of a new child, learning to crawl and walk and talk, while Janie cannot do those things. Will she feel left behind? Will it make her sad? That thought is utterly heartbreaking to me.

Is it bad that for me, right now, having another baby would feel a little like taking vitamins? You know that it's a good, desirable thing. You know that if you do it things will be better because of it. But getting those enormous, distasteful things down is just no fun. Of course, I guess that's why they're good for you. If they were tiny or dipped in creme brulee... let's face it. They wouldn't be as good for you.

The label of my vitamins tells me they are best taken with food. So it stands to reason: you're just not going to be all that, well, hungry.

Uh. Hmmmm. And now to figure out what the "food" is in my little analogy.

If you figure that one out, be sure and let me know.