Ok, so I will be the first to admit that this is not the “dream” that I had years ago – you know, the one where Hubby and I are living it up in suburbia outside some major city with the kids, the cars, the dog or cat (or both), jobs we both love, and enough happiness that just “happens” because that’s how it’s supposed to be.
And while this is not that dream, it has become a new dream – spending the days with my kids and doing what I can to help them learn and grow, taking care of the house and doing my best to make it a home, learning new ways to cook and sometimes winding up with utter flops in my attempts to feed us around mine and Sissy’s allergies, learning to be content with where we are for the time being because time will make other opportunities come about……except that whole contentment thing, it’s a big fat joke.
Can I be frank? I want to get the heck out of here: out of this house, out of the South, and preferably out of this country. I want to have a farm with plenty of space to grow my own food and raise animals, big white farmhouse included of course. A place where I can teach my kids – not just in the homeschooling sense, but in the “getting your hands dirty, this is what we do to take care of ourselves and our home, can fix things when they’re broken, can cook a meal, can do” sense too. I want to have a house that will be my “forever home” not this place that needs more work as the days go by, that I feel forever behind on because as much forward progress as I make something else is piling up and needing tending to. (That’s life, I know, but having a house in better shape would definitely help matters.)
I want Hubby to have the aspirations of something other than being here for our whole lives; right now I’d take anything as far out there as imaginable if it’d just get him wanting to get away. That, unfortunately, is so contrary to his homebody nature, I doubt it will ever happen.
And among a million other things that I want to be different, I want so badly to be able to go back to when Buddy was born and tell the doc not to tie my tubes. I want so desperately to have that third baby that I’ve always dreamed of having. I want more than anything that my own body wasn’t against me and made it life-threatening for me to have another baby. I wish that it were safe for me to give Sissy and Buddy another sibling, to expand our family again, and not even limit that to just one more. As much as I love Hubby, Sissy, and Buddy, there is a part of me that everyday aches for that third pregnancy, for that life to be inside me, to know that little one before anyone else and feel those movements that are unlike any other.
I know in my mind the logic behind all of it: my health (physical and psychological), how Sissy and Buddy need me more than another sibling, finances, space in the house, space in the vehicle, the logistics of actually keeping up with three kiddos. I KNOW it all, but that doesn’t change the fact that my heart isn’t convinced.
So yeah, that whole contentment thing, thanks to my heart, I’m miserably failing.