The end of an era.

Although I didn't know it at the time, Monday morning ended the era of petite enfance in our household.

And it's a good thing I didn't know it at the time, because the pain of anticipating the ending of the era, acknowledging that this is the "last time," would have outweighed the joy in sharing that last moment of babyhood with baby the second.

***

Yes, there are two now. You've met baby the first - the one whose conception and birth and first few months of life are chronicled here. Baby the second shocked us by coming into being on the first post-partum cycle that we tried for another, and my own disbelieving happiness about it was cut short by Gilles's reactions, both when I told him and throughout the next nine months. He hadn't thought it would happen so soon and had been counting on more time between children.

The pregnancy was also marked by my feelings of abandonment (merited or not) by my mother and by my parents-in-law; a mysterious infection that adversely impacted the unborn baby and that put us into the hospital for treatment and monitoring; and finding out late in the pregnancy that baby was transverse and thus unable to be born vaginally, which was, for me, devoted to having a vaginal birth, devastating news. (She turned a week or two before being born, and the birth ended up fulfilling all my hopes and wishes, but the after-effects of those other stressful weeks lingered.)

Despite the pregnancy being healthy overall, putting aside the infection, it was a difficult time, and it got much, much worse after the birth. More feelings of abandonment (again, merited or not) by my mother and by my parents-in-law. Gilles going back to work full-time on the first day home from the hospital, despite saying he'd take two weeks off, spread over a month. A baby who couldn't be set down without screaming. A toddler who still needed help with almost everything, which necessitated putting down the baby, which necessitated causing the screaming. Severe post-partum depression, the diagnosis of which made me realize that I'd also suffered slightly from it after the birth of the first (as well as pre-partum anxiety beforehand (ahem) (ahem) (ahem) (ahem) (ahem) (ahem) (ahem) [uh, why bother linking, just refer to all preceding blog posts]). A psychiatrist and medications. A visit from the police because neighbors had reported a screaming baby (and, most likely, a screaming adult too). Two long stays in the children's hospital for baby the second, ostensibly to discover why she was crying so much but also probably to give the rest of the family time to recover, to reduce the risk of something terrible happening.

***

It was a long path back, and I'm still on medications and seeing a psychiatrist, but we've found a new balance. Our screaming, seemingly desperately unhappy baby has become a cheerful, jolly, humorous little ray of sunshine. Her big sister is the best of big sisters, except when she's not, but seeing their two little heads sleeping on the same pillow after one creeps into the other's bed at night makes up for the "not" moments of the daylight hours.

Of course, life isn't perfect. But the moments of desperation, anger, frustration, annoyance, futility ... all these slip away when I reflect on our lives today and as they have been since our two children joined us. This stage of life is, everything else notwithstanding, the best I've ever experienced - and I don't want it to end. I knew even when baby the second was placed on my chest, seconds old: this is not my last baby.

Gilles, however, feels differently. Despite us saying at first that we'd like two or three, his "no" to a third child is, and has been since the birth of the second, categorical. I can understand why, given all described above. But I cannot reach peace with it, especially because he refuses to even talk about it with me, also for reasons I can partly understand, as it's difficult for him to see me so upset. Let's just say, though, that closing oneself off from such a discussion with one's spouse does not lead to a state of marital affairs that can be described as harmonious. My anger - rage, really - towards him for not even listening to me about this seeps out in almost all of our interactions. Whether or not he can make the link between the categorical "no" and the rage he sees in me, I don't know.

***

This leads to what I meant by the end of an era. For five years and almost three months, without cease, I have been pregnant and/or breastfeeding - I breastfed baby the first throughout the pregnancy with the second, and for a few weeks thereafter (by the way, nothing makes nursing a toddler more annoying than having her fight it out for the boob with a newborn who actually needs the breastmilk). And baby the second has been nursing with gusto, albeit for months now only once a day in the morning, until a few weeks ago, when she really started losing interest. Monday she humored me by giving it a go. Tuesday she refused when I asked. And this morning she didn't ask, and neither did I. So this is it. No going back.

She's two and a half, so ... the end of nursing her is certainly not happening before its time. What is happening before its time, at least according to my heart and my desire, is the end of this stage of our lives, especially when I'm facing it with somebody who is elated about being finished with Pampers and getting rid of our stroller.

***

And that's why I'm back. Writing about this may help me find a resolution. If any of my old friends are here, maybe you might have encouraging or understanding words, which would also help. At the same time, I realize how greedy I am, like somebody who's already gone through the buffet line two times and is complaining because the restaurant closed before she could pig out on a third round. Not exactly the most sympathetic situation.

As for you, old friends, well, it's been years since I last commented, but I still read your blogs, every post. I still feel like I "know" you, although you don't know me anymore. So many of you I meant to contact individually but, as you know, didn't. Life gets in the way, and what can be done tomorrow is often put off until ... never. Please know that I was thinking of you and that I had the best of intentions, unfulfilled though they be.