Somewhere in the years between the moment I squeezed Holden out of my hoo-ha until now, I lost count of the amount of times I have been asked when I was going to have another kid. Sometimes people were just saying it to be funny (like immediately after blew out my crotch and was wearing that giant mesh diaper and sitting on an ice pack. Hardy har har!) and sometimes it was genuine curiosity; either way, it became annoying. Stop giving my uterus ideas! Can’t we just go ONE day without someone wondering if or when my uterus is going to be occupied again?
I don’t like to use the word “never” because I’ve found it to be more of a jinx than an absolute, and I am the Queen of jinxing the fuck out of myself, so my response usually comes out as “Eh, I don’t know. Not right now, that’s all I know!” and that usually satisfies the curiosity of others. That doesn’t appease my ticking biological clock, or the dreaded pangs of baby fever every woman experiences when her child/ren hit a new milestone or do yet another thing without her help. Those mofos are digging in their claws, and HARD! Tick tock tick tock, lady! You don’t have all the time in the world!
Two! I have two already! Is that not enough to silence the clock for good? I’m happy with my little family unit right now. The baby stage was not one I particularly enjoyed, what with reflux babies and all the insanity when Parker was sick and the barfing and the potty training and the sleepless nights. My kids might wake up before the sun, but at least I’m getting solid blocks of sleep! It’s amazing what uninterrupted sleep can do for someone’s grasp on sanity. While I can’t rule out another child some time in the future, when I think about my life right now, all the things we’re FINALLY able to do, and all the things that would change by adding another crotchfruit… I just can’t picture it. It doesn’t sound appealing to me. At all. Right now I’m content with borrowing other peoples’ babies for short periods of time, and handing the bundle of joy back over when it has a gravity defying poo blowout, or begins to shriek in my ear.
My answer is never “never”- but at this point, everyone has asked so many times if we were planning to have another child and gotten the same “eh, not now” response that the question has changed. Now instead of asking whether or not I’m having another, I am asked “So, is Parker your last child?”
That was the sound of a giant stone hitting the bottom of my stomach.
Is he my LAST? That word… it’s so absolute. So final.
I’ve been so busy with the hand life has dealt me that I hadn’t honestly given the possibility that Parker might be my LAST child much thought at all. Just like the decision to have children is a big one, the decision to not have any more EVER is a big one as well- a decision I have adamantly avoided making and just realized that if Parker is indeed my last child, then I didn’t spend enough time enjoying what was my last infant, last baby, last toddler, last time I’d rock a baby to sleep (outside of babysitting and being a grandparent which I hope is a LONG LONG LONG way away!), last time I’d (barf) watch a cord stump fall off, last time I’d watch my baby’s first smile, first laugh, first step. With that one question, I suddenly feel as though I’ve missed out on so much.
My LAST kid… I’m not ready to make the call on that yet, but I can tell you one thing- I’m going to enjoy the last few firsts Parker has, just in case.
Get on it, oil people!! pic.twitter.com/xgXSB34uGf
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@AmericHousewife it's cute you think I'll survive to them turning that age!
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