Today we went to a local farm where a woman with a maybe four-month-old baby in an Ergo stood next to me during the cow milking demonstration. *Note to nursing mamas: Watching a cow being milked is kind of a painful and bizarre experience when you’re nursing.
I looked over at her little baby, and he looked just like little Fuzzball when he was that age. He had a little sweet blonde fuzzy head and he was just leaning on his mama’s chest and looking around.
It made me want another one.
(Sound of a record screeching back to the beginning)
Hold up. Just cuz I said that, doesn’t mean I’m having another one. At least, not anytime soon, okay people!? Having another baby would mean being pregnant again.
Although…it is quite bittersweet to see the Fuzz growing up so fast, and my three-year-old, too. (Sound of my birth control dropping into the toilet bowl)
WAIT. (Screwing my head on properly)
I’m going to miss my babies as babies forever, but I’m not sure that missing my babies is a good enough reason to have another one. If I have a third baby, he or she will grow up too, and then what? Another baby? This is addiction, folks.
I come from a family of two, my husband comes from a family of two. My sister’s husband is also from a family of two. My sister and husband have two. My Dad is one of two. The only family that has had more than two children is my maternal grandparents, and my Mom would be the first to say: “It was a bad idea.”
For the most part, I’m really happy with my two handsome handfuls of boys, but part of me is curious what it would be like to have another. In case you’re wondering: No, I’m not interested in “trying” for a girl. I’d love another boy or a girl, if we made the choice to add to our family.
Incidentally, there’s another essay published this week on this very topic.
If you have three (or more), what made you want a third?