Two’s Company, Three’s A Crowd

by Cookie

This totally what would happen to us if we tried for a third mentalfloss.com

This totally what would happen to us if we tried for a third
mentalfloss.com

I know it’s kinda early to be thinking about this, but we’re already on the subject of “are we done?”. Ridiculous, I know.  He’s only been enjoying life on the outside for less than 7 weeks.   I haven’t even had much time to adjust to two children driving me up the wall, let alone consider the possibility of adding more.

But I guess the thing is that we aren’t in our twenties.  We’re close to the end of our reproductively viable years, so I guess the decision has to be made for reals.  Do we close up the factories?  Leave it to chance?  Wait to see if we win the lottery first?

Here are some points to consider against more:

1.  3 kids means bigger car.  Bigger table.  Bigger house eventually.

2.  3 kids means we are ALWAYS outnumbered unless we can convince one of our parents to live with us. Grandma?

3.  3 kids means improbable that I will ever fucking sleep through the night again until I am 60.  Currently, I’m on pace to sleep at about 50.

4.  There is a real probability of multiples.  Which means instead of a third child, we’ll end up with seven.

5.  Buddy wrecked me. At 9 pounds, it’s like he took every single one of my joints, unhinged them, and they are slowly and painfully putting themselves back together.

6.  The baby will probably be 11 pounds.  My vagina doesn’t want to go there.  Neither does my perineum, if I ever find out where that is.

7.  I think Husband doesn’t want any more kids. I’d have to trick him, and I don’t like to be sneaky.

8.  I’m not sure I could drink enough alcohol before passing out to really believe it’s a good idea anyway.

9.  Can I give birth to a 6 month old with a full set of teeth that’s potty trained so I don’t have to deal with the newborn stage, teething , potty training or anything else that sucks? NO?  Dealbreaker.

10. After 35 means greater chance the child is retarded for real.  Not just in the cute Destroyer way.  But in the real medical way.

Points for more:

1.  My hormones are telling me that my womb is empty, and I must fill it.

2.  My hormones are telling me that birth is awesome and I want to do it again and again.

3.  It’s nice to be fat and eat everything you want and have everyone tell you you’re beautiful anyway.

4.  Babies are cute.

5.  I’m obviously insane.

Realistically, I think this is it.  I’ve even started bagging up my maternity clothes.  But there is something in me that keeps telling me no.  Don’t decide yet.

Thoughts?  Did you? Would you?  How many kids did you have, and how did you know when you were done?

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