Dear Future Me,

So you think you want another baby because you keep seeing babies and they are adorable and lovely, and you miss their tiny cuteness. You look at your son, all toddling and talking, and you wish he was still nursing and needed only you, and you could sit there and gaze at his lovely little eyes, and he didn't talk back, and he was all yours?

These last posts are for you, Future Me, so you remember reality. That tiny ball of cuteness kept you up for over a year, thrashing and flailing. That adorable fluff ball made you incapable of keeping the house clean or making extra money or doing anything creative. That nursing little lovely-eyed boy pinched and bit and slapped you while you held him. He was never all yours because you never really wanted that anyway, plus people had to put their own wish fulfillment all over the experience.

You're into your forties now, Future Me, and you have nothing to prove in the reproductive arena. You did it. Good job. Think how tired you will be if baby number two is as terrible a sleeper as baby number one was, and perhaps still is. You'll be that tired and still have to take care of baby number one.

And this post is for Present Me, so you remember to try to savor all the moments when you are not overcome with exhaustion and frustration because you will miss this sweet little baby and his toofy mouf and da-da-da's. And you will miss nursing and how he reached for you like his life depended upon it.

So pay attention.

And don't do it again.

Love,

Me