I get asked more often than you would think if I am having any more babies. About half the time, the question is phrased around if I am going to "try for a girl." In regards to a girl, the answer is simple – I don't really care if I have a girl or not. After having two boys, I'm not sure I would know what to do with a girl. But in regards to having any more babies, that is the tougher question to answer.
When I was pregnant with Brett, I was positive he was my last one. I am not one of those women who love being pregnant. In fact, most of pregnancy I hate. Ultrasounds are fun, the funny little movements you feel in there are fun, but everything else, as far as I'm concerned, kinda sucks. Granted, I get horrible morning sickness, migraine headaches, sciatic nerve issues, and a host of other odd ailments when pregnant. And after my long and difficult birth of Brett, I was really positive I was done having babies.
Then when Brett was about 8 weeks old, I moved him into the pack n' play in our room and out of the bassinet. Both my boys slept in the bassinet my dad and my aunts had slept in as babies, and me and most of my cousins slept in as babies, and my cousin's kids slept in as babies. It has a lot of tradition and sentimental value. I went to pack it up and put it in the attic and started sobbing. The thought of never putting a baby in that bassinet again broke my heart. Then the same thing happened when packing up the newborn size clothes, the baby toys, the bottles; you get the picture.
So then I was sure I wanted one more. Not to have a girl, but to have one more baby, boy or girl. I started to forget the bad stuff, like the horrendous labor and delivery, and remember the good stuff, like that moment when the doctor hands you the baby and at the sound of your voice, he stops crying and just stares at you. The whole rose-colored-glasses thing. All of a sudden, I couldn't imagine life without one more baby. I was convinced I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't have one more.
Lately, I have started to wonder again if I really want one more. As Brett gets older and I see his personality more, I wonder if he would do well as a middle child or not. I think about how nice some things are now that he is older. Brett and Jack can play together in the living room while I fix dinner and I don't have to keep checking every two minutes to make sure "the baby" didn't put something in his mouth. Brett can actually walk when we go somewhere and my hands are full of stuff. I have a little bit of independence as he gets older and more independent himself.
While I was pregnant with Brett, I remember watching Jack sleeping one night before I went to bed. The thought ran through my head that maybe I had made a mistake. Life was so good most days with our little family of three. We hung out together and had fun. We had figured out how to manage, and were doing it quite well, I must admit. I panicked that this new little baby would rock our perfect little boat we had going on.
Then Brett was born. I'll admit, we had our rocky times. The first day I spent alone with two kids I did yell, through my tears, that everyone in the house needed to stop crying. Not my finest hour, but we made it through. And I look at our life now, and realize it wasn't complete without Brett. He fills a hole I never even knew was there. I can't imagine our family without him.
So how do I know what to do? Some days I wish I would just either accidentally get pregnant or would find out I medically can't have any more kids. (I am fully aware I should REALLY watch what I wish for here!) Then the decision would not be mine to make. But unless that happens, I have to continue to wonder what to do. All I can say is, stay tuned, there may or may not be further programming…
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