Tuesday was a bit of a family day for us. We went to the park so Jett could play. It started sprinkling while we were there, so we decided to leave the park and enjoy a rare dinner in a restaurant. Lately, we don't get much fancier than Chik-fil-a, so that's where we ended up.
The topic of expanding our family came up as our little foursome dined on chicken sandwiches and waffle fries. Jett was screaming furiously because he couldn't open a ketchup packet, and Dax was fussing at the idea of his mouth not having a boob in it for five minutes so I can shove some fast-food poultry down my throat.
Needless to say, it was an interesting time to discuss having more children. Interestingly, though, I can't bring myself to say that I'm done. Even now - I'm typing one-handed while I hold Dax, and Jett keeps handing me a McDonald's kid's meal toy, screaming because the rubberband that he insists on having around its head keeps coming off - I want more. I just do.
Tim does not.
No more. None. No mas bebes. If we had the money, he'd find a doctor willing to preform a vasectomy right now, at 11:12pm on a Friday night. He'd be there - pants off, bare butt on the operating table - before I could say "it's okay, honey I'll get an IUD, and we can revisit this later".
I may be exaggerating just a smidge, but he's not far from that.
I'm even willing to wait about ten years. I'd be 35, and the boys would be 12 and 10. They could take care of themselves more effectively, and they might even help out. Tim says that by that point, we'll have our sleep back, no diaper duty, and children that can feed themselves pretty well. So, obviously, we won't want to give that up for another crying, sucking, poop machine. Strangely, I'm still not so sure.
Maybe it was the extremely positive birth experience that I had with Dax (I'm planning to post that birth story here very soon). I absolutely loved giving birth to him. As much as I complained about being pregnant, I wouldn't trade it, and I can't imagine never feeling a baby move in my belly again. Despite the raging nipple pain and engorgement (among other things) associated with breastfeeding, I don't want Dax to be the last baby I nurse.
Maybe it's because I'm completely fascinated by pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding, and the overall workings of the human body. More specifically, I'm enraptured by the female body - my own body - and its ability to nourish another human from conception on through to breastfeeding and beyond.
Sigh.
I still hold out hope that Tim will change his mind. I don't think he'll feel this way forever. Even if he doesn't, maybe I'll eventually share his sentiment, and we'll both feel happily done having children. We'll see.
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2 comments:
I wish the best for you both - that seems to be finding a middle ground to settle on for the time being.
Hi, I felt the same way. Not quite sure if 3 was all I wanted. When hubby got a V on his 40th b-day I knew it was a done deal. We had talked about it first. We are much older than ya'll tho. I will say knowing my youngest was my last I nursed him much longer than the other two.
P.S. I am friends with Tata.
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