This holiday break has been all about cleaning out and chucking old and useless stuff. I have been trying to get rid of stuff I don't need, stuff I don't really like that much, and stuff that has stopped making me happy and now only fills up the empty space in my house and leaves me feeling suffocated.
Mostly I am very good at this. Aaron might say too good. I throw stuff out willy-nilly and sometimes end up wishing I hadn't. I can get rid of sentimental stuff no problem. Throw away the stuff and keep the memories is my motto. I can get rid of clothes that don't fit or didn't end up looking as good as I thought. I can get rid of CDs, old documents, and even a piano (does anyone want one?). But today, I came up against a hard stack of things to get rid of - my pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding books.
It's time for them to go; I know this. Livy has been grown, born, and weaned. But I can hardly stand to put those books into the pile that means they have outlived their usefulness. I don't want that phase of my life to be over.
The thing is, I would love to have another baby. I want to be pregnant again, give birth (differently, this time), and breastfeed again (even more differently). Livy has been such a joy (after about age 3), and I would love to see how different it would be to have two children, experience a new personality, see what the mix of DNA from Aaron and me would make.
But Aaron doesn't want children. Not at all. No possibility. And I want Aaron more than I want another child. If our relationship lasts (and I sure hope it does), I will never have another baby; that pile of books is a tall, dusty reminder of that. I have to put away that dream because I want another one more. Sometimes valuing is a hard road.
