Last night, as I was rocking a sick little boy, trying to wait for a cue he might throw up, (those cues I missed the night before when he did throw up, all over me...), I thought back to a conversation I had with my mom on Easter. We were at my grandma's house, and she was resting on the couch. We were sitting in the middle of the chaos of five children, 5 and under, running around and creating general mayhem. Out of the blue, my lovely mother said four very shocking words: "You should have another."
I looked around in general disbelief, wondering who she was talking to. I could see my three children: Connor, fighting with his cousin Lexi, over who got which Mickey figuerine (they were basically the same), Keira, marching around singing her made-up song and eating a pretzel stick, crumbs flying everywhere, and Colin, standing on a small chair and falling backwards into my arms because he thought was a fun game, over and over again.
I responded with, "Thanks, but I'm good."
She looked at me with the all-knowing eyes of a mother. "But you want another one, don't you?"
Truth be told, I do and I don't. I grew up with one sister. In my head, before I got pregnant with Connor, I told myself I only wanted two kids. Keith was fine with that as well, coming from a two-sibling household. But then I had Connor. And decided I wanted like a million of them. I had an awesome pregnancy. I was trotting around Disney World, six months pregnant, felt fine the whole time, went into labor the day after my due date, and was up and walking around after giving birth within an hour or so. I could do that again and again.
Keith and I wanted the kids to be roughly 2.5 years apart. I got anxious though, and we started trying just a little earlier than we should have. The morning sickness the second time around was awful. We were planning on our second baby coming in July of 2008. In my heart, I knew I wanted at least three, Keith was still set on this was our last. Surprise, suprise, that 20 week ultrasound showed our two little miracles! I thought twins was God's way of giving me three kids without having to fight Keith for another one! For a twin pregnancy, it was a pretty good one. I worked up until 36 weeks, had the twinkles (no c-section!) 6 days later, and except for Colin's two-week stint in the NICU, had basically healthy babies on my hands.
After the twins were born, and we made it through that first (tough) year, I waited to get the baby urge again. I still don't have it. In my heart, I go back and forth between wanting and not wanting. I think my family is complete with the three we have. But other times, I think, maybe when the chaos is over, and the twins are potty-trained, and I'm not so exhausted all the time... maybe then.
But I think that Keith would leave me if I did get pregnant again. (Not really, because he is not like that. But he might consider it!) He's made it clear he is done. He wants to officially be done DONE, if you know what I mean. He is weird, he is not into adoption. I could see that in my future as well. Maybe if I don't want the morning sickness, the pregnancy exhaustion, the one in twelve chances of having twins again, I could still have another child. I know I've got the love in my heart for him/her.
My mom's comment makes me wonder how many kids she really wanted. Why she stopped at two. Could there have been more? She had preeclampsia with my younger sister, so maybe she was advised not to have another. She is one-third of the daycare team that cares for my kids while my husband and I work. And at this time in our lives, we have to work. She seems stressed out quite a bit on the days she gets 3 kids at a time, could I imagine adding another to a mix? Probably not.
For now, I will just be content with my family of five.