How do you know?
I am really impressed when I meet people who announce that they are done having kids, and that their husband has had/is scheduled for the big V. I just don’t know how you get to this point, the point when you know you are done.
My own little cherubs are almost 5 and 2. My body is destroyed from pregnancies, c-sections, scar tissue, stretch marks, years of breastfeeding, not getting enough sleep, being on the receiving end of accidental hair pulls, head butts, scratches and bites, and subsisting on luke warm coffee throughout the day. I don’t feel the overwhelming obsession with all things infant that I felt when I wanted to get pg with each of them.
I can’t say that I am done having kids and make that appointment for my man to have his vas snipped. I find myself in this strange netherworld of not desiring more kids while also not wanting to eliminate the possiblity of more.
Ok, I think maybe I need to be honest here. I would actually like to have one more baby. I think. One last chance to see the double lines on a pregnancy test. One last series of ob visits and ultrasounds. One more thrill of seeing that thing move, and then the chance to tell my little dellabee that they are going to be big brother and sister to whomever is growing inside me. I think that maybe after having one more baby I could say “yes, I think I am done.” And then I too would get my husband fixed and enjoy life working out per my plan.
But, what if I don’t feel that I am done then? Will I need to continue having babies like that whack-job family in Arkansas that keeps spewing out the kids like a gumball machine dispenses candy? What then?
How will I ever know?