But I digress.
Vinny opted for this procedure since we are done having
kids. At least, we say we’re done
having kids. Vinny has always said
we’ll have two and that’s it. I’ve
always said we’d take it on a case-by-case basis. I never had a specific number of children in mind. What if I had a baby and then decided I
didn’t love being a mom as much as I thought I would, or if the baby was
particularly demanding, or we didn’t have the money, or… It never seemed right to put any kind
of parameters on the potential size of our family.
Vinny’s stance has never changed. As for me… it’s not as simple.
Almost immediately after Sophie’s birth I said, “I’m
done.” My children seem to have a
harrowing (to me) way of arriving into this world, and there is a part of me
that does not want to press my luck.
We’ve all come through unscathed so far and I am thankful each and every
day that Eli, Sophie and myself came through those experiences in good health.
So there’s that.
Then there’s the part of me that longs to be younger and
richer so we could have more kids.
At this point we’re comfortable with two so it seems a bit impractical
to push things that way.
And then there’s the matter of actually caring for these
children. They’re exhausting. I already feel guilt on some days
because I rarely get to spend any one-on-one time with each child and feel as
though my attention is usually in ten different places. I’ve had several people say to me,
“After two kids it doesn’t matter, it’s all really the same,” but I can’t get
behind that statement.
When I think of my attention being divided further by
another child I wonder how I would actually do it. Check that. I
know I could do it, but whether or not I would do it happily is another
question.
So there are all these reasons not to have another child. And they are good, solid reasons. To be honest, there is no further justification needed
beyond Vinny not wanting more children because, really, we both need to be on board
for a decision of that magnitude.
And yet…
When I think about not having that moment of learning I am
pregnant again, I get sad.
When I think about not feeling a little babe
kick/move/punch/roll around in my belly again, I get sad.
When I look at my maternity clothes and remember being
pregnant with Eli and Sophie, I get sad (and nostalgic).
When I think about how awesome our kids are, how good we are
at making kick-ass babies, and then realize we aren’t going to do it again, I
get really, really sad.
For some crazy reason I like being pregnant and having
babies. Nevermind the insomnia,
morning sickness, insane heartburn, carpal tunnel, massive weight gain, general
aches and pains, etc. I love
it. And I have to add that I do
have easy pregnancies, despite those ailments. Really. I am
lucky.
In spite of all these things I know the best decision for us
is to not have more babies.
It doesn’t mean I still can’t be sad about it.
I never anticipated being the one leaving the urologist’s
office in tears (and for those of you that know Vinny, you will appreciate that statement to the fullest ... and for the record he did fine). But there you
go. As we drove home from Vinny’s
procedure last week I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my face. It was a bittersweet moment for both of
us. Then Vinny managed to lighten
it with a joke: “I’m not sure if I just did that because I don’t want more
kids, or because of the ones we already have.”
It didn’t stop my tears, but it did put a smile on my face.
