I had been feeling sick lately...tired, nauseous, headache...just generally unwell. I occurred to me that I hadn’t felt like that since I was...OH GOD! PREGNANT!
I immediately called my husband and demanded that he pick up a pregnancy test on his way home and he laughed. Laughed!
“I’m serious,” I said. He laughed again. Of course he’d think it was funny. He didn’t have to do anything. He didn’t have to suffer the migraines and the morning sickness and the fainting (yes, I faint, frequently, while pregnant-it’s a tad inconvenient).
And then there is the soreness and the waddling and that whole painful “giving birth” thing. He could laugh because he’d already done his part and I might add, enjoyed every second of it.
This was no laughing matter.
I have three kids. I’m happy with three kids. I’m completely insane with three kids. I can’t have four. No. NO! I wouldn’t survive, couldn’t survive four kids. Where would we put the fourth one? We don’t have any room. Was I going to have to clean out a closet so we’d have a place for another crib? Was I going to have to buy all my maternity clothes back on Ebay? NO! God, no. I couldn’t have another. I didn’t want to be pregnant again. I didn’t want to do the baby thing again.
That next morning, with shaking hands, I peed on the stick...and waited the two minutes. I had to leave the room so I wouldn’t sit there are stare at the test, praying that there was only one line. (Whether or not you’re hoping it’s positive or negative, the few minutes you’re waiting for the results are always the longest in your life.)
I tiptoed back into the bathroom, sneaking up on the test...and there was ONE LINE! I wasn’t pregnant! Oh...I’m not pregnant. OH! Oh...oh. Well, it wouldn’t have been that bad, I thought. What if it was another girl? You’d have two of each! That would be ok...the baby is over a year old now. They’d be spaced just right...
I’m done having kids. Aren’t I? Three is just right. Isn’t it? Isn’t it?? Am I disappointed? Yes. I realized.
I was. I am.
So, what does this mean? Do I want another? I was so sure I was done; I sold my maternity clothes and gave the baby clothes to a pregnant friend. Replied in the negative, vehemently, passionately when people asked if I was going to have another. Hell no. HELL NO.