It all started with Dooce. As any regular reader of her blog knows, she’s pregnant again. She posted sonogram pictures this week and an early photo of her “baby bump”. I read the entire post and realized something shocking — I wasn’t sad. I didn’t even feel a twinge of jealousy, remorse, anger, bitterness or resentment. I was actually happy FOR HER. I looked at those little sonogram pictures and thought “cool” and that was it. No “what if blah, blah, blah” or “I wish it, blah, blah, blah”. Nope, just “cool”. I was amazed by this turn of events.

A couple of weeks ago while I was cleaning out closets it was as if I couldn’t stop crying. My friend Kym said I was “mourning” and that I needed to just roll with it. (She’s a trained therapist so I kind of HAVE to listen to her advice). I did. I accepted that it was okay to be sad, that I might be sad for awhile. That being sad about not having any more babies didn’t necessarily mean I WANTED any more babies.

Today I sold the crib. A very young mother with a 7 month old little girl and what looked like little else to her name, came to my house and bought our crib. I expected this day to be far more traumatic then it feels. I’m actually pretty excited about the $170 she gave me and the extra space in our garage. I’m saving money for a treadmill — working towards that pre-baby body. (Now, where did I leave it? And where did these extra 15lbs come from?)

I love being a mother. I love my children. There is no greater thing in my life than the beauty, fun, wonder, and work of raising my kids. I would want no other job, I would want no other life. But I’m okay with the two I have and it feels good. I’m ready now to move on and embrace the next phase of my life.