Three - it's the magic number

I have a new nephew! Hubby's brother and his wife welcomed their second child into their family yesterday. And while I am over the moon for them, their son's arrival, as well as the delivery of a close friend's first child, made me start thinking, again, about my own reproductive future.

Let me put it out there, I'm done. I know I'm done having babies, but it feels so strange when I actually stop and think about it. You spend the first part of your adult life trying to prevent pregnancy, then a good few years wanting to get or being pregnant, that to have it completely removed from the equation is akin to never having to brush your teeth again.

Now some of you, upon reading this will think, "Well if she's thinking about this so damn much, she must want another." And in the abstract I do. I am one of those freaks who LOVES being pregnant. Not to toot my own horn, but I'm good at it. After having a tough time with #1, I got pregnant very easily three subsequent times, and while I did lose one, all three of my successful pregnancies were easy. I had textbook nausea and fatigue, but I never retained water, had weird pigmentation or terrible back pain. I actively miss being eight months pregnant feeling my baby move inside me. It always felt to me as if we were having our own secret conversation. Their kicking a way of saying, "Hey! Listen to me!" before they were even born. Sort of a practice run for trying to maintain a conversation while a child is trying to get your attention. I feel full, complete and at peace when I'm pregnant, like my body is doing what it is designed to do. I'm also lucky in that I have easy deliveries after which I recover quickly and my children all latched on quickly and successfully breastfed for a year each. So, really, I'm batting a thousand in the childbirth department.

So as not to make it totally about me, newborns are pretty amazing as well. Their liquid, knowing eyes and scrunched, old man faces speak of the secret of life and new beginnings. My girlfriend and I have discussed that the day you give birth you feel like a doorway between life and death and there is a miracle-like quality to the fact that, through you, comes a whole other person ready to begin their life. I will miss those magic first days in the hospital growing to love the new stranger I had known for so long.

Packing away the baby clothes to give to my brother in-law I had more than a few teary moments. Smelling the combination of Dreft and Balmex, folding tiny outfits I can remember putting on my oldest just yesterday I realized soon all I will have are memories of the sweet, toothless smiles and the feel of an infant nuzzling at my breast. And I wonder, am I ready to close that chapter of my life?

What really makes me know I am done though is that while these tender moments do occur, when I receive the good news that someone has delivered a new baby, my second thought after remembering how special that time is is, "Thank GOD I'm done with that." No more engorged breasts, episiotomy stitches (oh, grow up), sleeplessness nights and days spent trying to care for older children in a zombie-like state. I love the place I'm in now with everyone sleeping through the night and on a predictable schedule. Being the control freak I am it's all I can do to maintain my sanity when I never know what the next few hours will bring. Will he sleep? Will he eat?

I, of course, had those same difficulties to remember when I decided to have my third, and decided a few months of struggle was worth having a new member of our family, but when I think about having a fourth there is of obstacles that I previously did not have to contend with. My other children are getting older and the demands of the outside world are increasing as they reach school age. I already want to tear my hair out every Thursday when my oldest's "Letter of the Week" collage is due, I can't imagine when I have to help her do a report on Colonial America, my middle one figure out a fractions worksheet and quiz the little one on his sight words. I also know my luck is going to run out soon with #1, who is my homebody, as she starts to become more independent and expresses a desire to join a team or take a class or some sort. And while I am vehemently opposed to the rampant over-scheduling that goes on these days, even with one activity per child I'd be at my breaking point. So how could I possibly throw one more into the mix, parent them the way I want to, and not lose my self or my mind?

Perhaps I will change my mind three years from now when my son is ready for preschool and my arms ache to hole another little one. And to plan for such an occurrence Hubby and I have decided against anything, ahem, permanent, if you get my drift. But for now, and I think moving forward, it is our little unit of five. And I think it's just right.