Passages

Today was a defining moment in my journey as a mother. It was the day when I realized that my childbearing days were truly over.

In October when Nicholas turned 3 I told him that now he was a big boy and we could change his room from the nursery into something less babyish. My husband and I had recently discussed the possibility of having more children and realized that we enjoyed the one-parent-to-one-child ratio with the two children we had. And so we had no reason to keep the nursery any longer.

In comes January, a fresh new year and I'm armed with a list of to-do's, Nicholas's room change at the very top. In order to make his room over I only have to remove the wallpaper border and paint the walls blue. It's not rocket science, but for some reason I keep avoiding the task.

Today is the day, however. It only takes me 30 minutes to steam and strip the border from its light green wall but it is not an easy task. As I tear the first piece of cutesy John Lennon jungle theme border from the wall I remember the day the nursery was born. I was too pregnant with Michael to participate but my mom, grandma, and sister-in-law all pitched in to paint and wallpaper. As they painted and pasted, I watched from my soon-to-be permanent position in the new rocking chair, my belly swollen with child. We talked about the upcoming birth and of our hopes and dreams for this baby, infusing the room with love and comfort.

I remember how in this room I dressed two children as they grew from newborns to infants to toddlers and finally preschoolers. I remember the thousands of diaper changes I performed in this room and how many times the floor was peed on when we were going through potty training. I remember 2000 nights of listening to Brahms lullabies as I nursed and rocked the boys to sleep.

Now, almost six years later, this room is no longer going to function as a feeding/dressing/changing haven for babies but a room where a boy can grow and sleep and dream on his own.

For the last six years my body has been like that room, a haven that housed, birthed, and nourished my boys. Now, as I approach my fourth decade, my body is my own again. It's a bittersweet feeling for me, this knowledge that I'm done having children. Never again will I feel the elation that comes from knowing that there is another being growing inside me. I will not watch in wonder as a hand or foot stretches its way across my belly from the inside. My body will never again do the dance of power required to birth an almost 9 lb. baby through a 10 cm circumference.

On the other hand, now that the boys are done with diapers and are a lot more self sufficient, I look forward to having time to do more together as a family, like ice-skating and board games. We can now take vacations where we don't have to schedule every activity around naptime. And, possibly, I can take some time to rediscover who I am and what I might like to do with myself as I grow up.

Tonight my child sleeps in his unfinished room dreaming of baseball games and dinosaurs and whatever else a 3 year-old might have stored in his subconscious. I sit on the other side of the wall reflecting on the past and realizing how very full the future really is.