At the wedding on Saturday, I was chatting with two friends - one who has a son three weeks older than the baby, and one who has an almost two year old and a new eight week old.
We talked about babies all night - which I loved, because it's my main topic of conversation, and one I seem to have plenty to say about.
At one point, it was raised how we felt about how many kids we planned to have. One friend might be aiming for three, to be able to have both boys and girls; one would like three but will probably stop at two; and I commented that I had always said I wanted three, but then I actually fell pregnant and actually had a baby and then decided that two would be just fine.
One of my friends commented that since she had her baby, she just wants more. She just loves being a mother and just loves everything about it.
I commented that I would like another, but I just dread those first few months. I don't miss the tiredness, the getting to know the baby, the sort of cloud of despair that hangs over my memories of those first few months.
The other commented that she much preferred the first few months to the last few months of pregnancy. That she found that a lot harder than anything else.
It just goes to show how each person has a different experience.
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