When to say when
By: Tetyana Denford
Tags: Motherhood, Life, Babies, Childhood, Pregnancy

A long time ago, I was standing in the sunny garden taking laundry off the rotary dryer, and I saw her teeny socks hanging limp, dwarfed by the rest of our clothes. It was then that I noticed it: a delicious little pang in the centre of my chest, followed by a thought: she’s grown out of those; why am I still putting them on her? I stopped, hugging the mound of laundry in my arms, smiling, and waited; it didn’t go away. Is this it? Is she the last one?

Ever since our third arrived on the planet, I’d had that small urge for another, a ‘bookend’ I called it– not as ravenous as I did when I wanted her, but it was still there. I was 100% sure that our family wasn’t complete yet, and there was no doubt in my mind. My husband and I were always on the same page about each baby: we knew it felt right to keep going, and we were so very lucky enough to have our wishes granted. But now this, this indescribable feeling that I swear I felt in my bones, was still there: I’m not done. It was most likely the first few months of hormones surging through my body, so we put it aside for a while and let it simmer a bit longer.

That was three years ago, and a lot has happened to us since then: our businesses have grown and changed, I’ve resurrected my writing and submitted my first book, we’ve come out of nappies entirely, we have no baby gates in the house, the playroom is getting used less and less, we’re travelling more. My friends have expressed *very* strong opinions about the fact that I’d be insane to ‘dive back into the chaos’. I get it, but it’s weird: it somehow feels empty yet altogether exciting in a weird way; I’m stuck in the middle of a marriage of opposites. There are no babies in the house, and I have time to focus on each of my kids’ magic… but there’s a pull towards holding a baby in my arms and starting from the ground up again. It’s not as strong as it once was, so I guess I could say that I’m now I’m at 70%, a significant change from my resolute 100.

When do you know to say ‘when’? When do you close the door on the room that used to be a nursery? When does it cease to become acceptable to be entirely selfish and nostalgic for what I want? Also.. what about me? Is this all I want to do, is have babies?

That last question, in the past year, has become more important, and that importance is something that I assume every woman realises (and doesn’t always address). The answer would be really easy for some women, but for me personally, the idea of having a baby battles the freedom that I’ve recently rediscovered. In the past year, I’ve grown to fall back in love with the woman I am, and the body I have, and the creative spirit I possess.. not *just* the mother I became three times. I’m a fantastic centre for my family, and I’m a fierce and strong mother– but I’m not sure I would be if I were divided into four and *only* focusing on that. It would potentially compromise too much of my ‘self’, and maybe within that big, confusing pile of thoughts lies the answer. Maybe I’m leaning towards the end.

I do realise that there are so many women out there who want so badly, but can’t, have children, for so many complicated and heartbreaking reasons, and that’s possibly another reason that reminds me that I’m being slightly narrow-minded about what’s right in front of me. They are standing in front of me, wanting time, wanting to play, still wanting me to carry them to bed and stroke their heads as they fall asleep. They are still my babies, and they still need me. And that might just be enough for me.

This isn’t a post to provide an answer, really. It’s a slightly convoluted way to share something that I hear a lot in conversations with girlfriends, an open-ended conversation that we touch on, over glasses of wine and nodding of heads. No one has the solution, but the catharsis lies in opening up about something completely unknown: we’re all connected within the ability, or inability, to create, nurture and raise a human. We all have that finality within us at different points in our life, and we all come to that point when we decide when to say when.

I kept those socks, just like I keep all of the things that she’s slowly growing out of. They remind me that there’s no point in standing frozen within my nostalgia, and instead, to celebrate the moments that happened. She, and I, and all of us, are growing together, sure, but being surrounded by these last, visceral moments of babyhood make me very happy to stand still for a short while.