This weekend, I got rid of the very last of my maternity clothes. I've sold all the baby toys, passed on teeny-tiny newborn outfits and cleared my drawers of nursing paraphernalia.
I am done.
I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I feel a monumental sense of relief at the thought of never being pregnant again. Pregnancy was never easy for me. It pushed me to the absolute limits mentally and physically, driving me into the depths of depression and testing the strength of all my relationships. Not once was it embarked on without first having to steel my determination and faith. And while it was obviously worth ever second, I can't downplay the hardship of it. In fact, I'm sort of surprised that I actually went through it four times.
I couldn't do it again. And if, for some reason, I thought that I could-- J would point out that our marriage probably couldn't go through it again.
So I'm done. And for the most part, I'm glad. I'll still finger the ruffly, little baby-girl dresses a bit wistfully, but I'm happy with our rambunctious brood.
I'll buy the dresses for my grandbabies. :)