This is my first post.
I am 35 years old.
I have a baby boy, he’s 14 months old.
I had a wonderful pregnancy, and amazing birth and a really hard time adjusting to motherhood.
I’m pretty sure I had post-partum depression. And anxiety.
I’m pretty sure I still have it.
My husband and I were back and forth about having another baby. He was more on the no, I am never doing this again side. I agreed with all of his reasons. Because I remember all of it. Not just in my minds eye, but every cell in my body remembers it and when I think back to those hard times I feel the anxiety creeping up the back of my neck. It was really fucking hard. The hardest thing I’ve ever done. And neither one of us wanted to go through that again.
Three weeks ago we decided to have another baby.
And I’m excited. So excited. I want another baby. My son is so amazing and my husband and I are good again and there will be so much more love in our home. I’m excited to be pregnant again. To feel that love, that connectedness that comes from growing a little person inside of me. I smile just thinking of it. I’m excited to hold a new baby and feel so overwhelmed with love that I just burst. I’m excited to see my son become a big brother and my husband become a father all over again (with more confidence this time).
I’m also so fucking scared I want to cry.
And I’m not even pregnant yet.