There’s a 4 and a half year age gap between my middle son and my baby. My oldest daughter is almost 9, my middle son is 6 and P. the toddler, is 19 months old. When I was pregnant, a lot of people weren’t envious: “wow, you are starting all over again. Diapers. Sleepless nights. Babyproofing.”
Sometimes starting all over again is a drag, especially when I was at a party with moms of 3rd and 5th graders who could drink wine and let the kids play in the yard while I was trying to keep P’s hands out of the hummus.
Most of the time, starting all over again is bliss. While the older kids are at school, P and I go grocery shopping and I inhale the baby smell of his little blond head as we go through the aisles. Once again, I have a toddler who marvels at the banana display and points out the windows at trucks and buses to and from the store.
I’m a new mom again, but I am a seasoned mom. I don’t feel isolated like I did when my first child was born, I have friends and am not shy about making new friends. I don’t care what the moms think of me at the tot lot or how shabby my MacLaren stroller is compared to the newer Bugaboos.
I am happy to discover new things about this little guy, who likes trains and cars and the board book Time for Bed (his brother liked action figures and Jamberry and his sister preferred dolls and Big Red Barn). Today we discovered a great children’s room at the library in the town next to us.
Yes, I am starting over.