Dear Diary (that's what I call all of you),
My name is Darling. Not really, but for privacy purposes I'm changing our names and Darling reminds me of a nice 50s Housewife. I have a handsome husband, we'll call him Daddy, and together we have three beautiful children. Little Miss (a 4 year old girl), Junior (a 2 year old boy), and Lovie (an 11 month old girl).
About a year ago, Daddy and I decided to take a leap of faith and no longer use any form of birth control. We have always felt that children are a blessing and that if a "whoopsie" happened we would be fine with it. But back then we still used condoms and/or I was tracking ovulation, and it almost felt more stressful. We tried planning when the best time to have our next baby would be and how to best avoid morning sickness during our vacation, delivery during the busy time at work, etc. And it was STRESS! After Lovie was born we decided we would never be sad or upset to learn we were pregnant and it would be liberating to let go of that control we had over the exact timing. For the last 11 months we have focused on being husband and wife in its purest sense.
On the one hand, I'm completely ready to have another baby. I'd be thrilled to find out tomorrow that I'm expecting again, making my 4th pregnancy in 4 years. On the other hand, I am really loving our life right now. Lovie is finally old enough that we can leave the house for longer periods of time without me desperately looking for the nearest exit and Junior and Little Miss are beginning to mellow out more and more with each passing day. I'm starting to actually enjoy trips to the playground and spontaneous visits to the Zoo. These visits would not have happened even just a few months ago. Or if they had, I would've left in tears, vowing to dig my own backyard grave the second we got home. This new normal is easy. It's comfortable. It almost has me convinced to schedule the big snip-snip for Daddy. ........
But then someone announces they're pregnant on Facebook or I see a sweet little newborn baby at the grocery store, head smelling like bottled Heroin, and I feel that little twinge in my ovaries.
...and then I'm fucked... Literally.
How do you decide when your baby-maker has seen it's final day? What is your motivation behind the decision? Please share your thoughts.
Love and Blessings,
The Clucky Housewife
