Babies, Pregnancy and the Farm Life

"Babies, Pregnancy and the Farm Life"

Revised from the 2014 edition

I have a confession.

It may make you folks think less of me. It may make some give me a high five.

I am a mother to three sons. I love them, wouldn't
be without them for anything and am quite the attachment
type parent.

They were all breastfed, in slings, co-slept with and never left to
cry it out. . .They never stayed with a sitter and went every where with me as babies and toddlers.

I homeschool.

I'm the type you'd imagine, from hearing all of that, would have 6, 8, 10 little chitlens all over this farm, right?

I will never have more. I would never consider it. I am so glad, and have been for years, they are past the baby stage, the toddler stage, even the "little kid" stage.

I don't sincerely "Oh" or "Ah" over babies others have, and when someone announces they are pregnant, the only thing I think is, " Shew, Better you than me."

My babies, as they always will, started to become kids. . .

They began to get their own drinks, not yell for help whilst on the toilet or in the shower, I exchanged diaper bags for a purse and fancy shoe collection (finally). No need to collect slings, anymore! After years and years, I could sleep at night, though extra bodies always end up in the bed.

Sigh

- wait, realize, that was a sigh of Relief. . .not regret.

There was that point where we saw a crossroads.

The farming fellow and I, had to decide. . .at age 30. . .

Do we try for more of these little creatures or call it a day and let the ship sail.

We opted for the latter, running, skipping and squealing with glee, and we have never, ever looked back.

I actually think I stood on the dock, blew kisses and screamed: "Good Bye, Good Bye" while waving frantically from Joy.

Be that whatever it is. . .refreshing, honest or horrible.

Those boys I'm telling you about are now 15, 8 and almost 7 (they were only 12, 5 and 4 when I first wrote this).

Hardly grown, but the baby stage for each seems like it took place 10 million light years ago.

My kids were not easy babies, and they were terror type toddlers and still high energy to the extreme.

But man, we have fun and talk about such weird, quirky things. I can't imagine wanting back to the stage where all they did was drain the life out of me.

Milking goats, walking to the bathroom, animal emergencies, horse rescue, basic needs shopping, any sleeping. . .well, They made those things impossible to do well.

Maybe it could be called a hazy nightmare I still, in someway, will always remember fondly but with a solid shudder.

It seemed perfectly normal at the time. I never had help, never asked for it and weathered it with a lovely sense of humor. I never spent a night away from them or even an evening. They were mine, and I meant to give them all of me back then.

Now I think back to trying to keep them alive in a barn full of horses and goats and cows while we had to milk in arctic temps and wonder how I made it through. How did they? We? All of us?

Well, I'm here. I survived. I may not win mom of the year, though.

If you're a farmer with little kids and never a break from farming or child rearing, you will too.

And really, it is a weird place to be only 34 years old and have done all of your "baby raising" and be so many years past it all when so many are still working in building families.

But here at this farm, the baby ship has sailed around the world so far away, we are starting to forget it all.

Going down the road or just to milk at the barn and, in good faith, have reason to believe, the kids will thrive and survive. . . It is something I appreciate each day. . .

And I Sigh when I squish the cheeks of some new mom's infant. . .

A sigh of relief mostly. . .