When Hubby and I were engaged we both knew we wanted four kids. I always thought big families seemed like so much fun, he is from a family of four brothers who are all still close friends, so four was the only option for us. And we were going to have them close together.
So we had our first little blessing--G. He was a beautiful, easy, eventually very happy baby. Right on time and according to plan Little Missy entered the family. G loved his sister, no sibling rivalry, Little Missy was another beautiful, easy, very happy baby. But we were busy. Having two children does not double your work, it quadruples it. As Hubby said, the first six months were easy because she was sleeping all the time. But then she began staying awake more and more during the day and demanding more and more of our attention, then she started crawling and walking and one day we looked at eachother and realized that we had no time to ourselves. NONE. Quietly, mostly to ourselves and in small little jokes to eachother, Hubby and I both started questioning whether we wanted to double the number of our children.
Coming to terms with the fact that I was only able to handle two children -- only capable of being a loving, calm, not-constantly-screaming mother to only two children -- was difficult to come to terms with. I remember walking into church one morning behind a gorgeously put-together pregnant mom with her three adorably put-together children and her handsome husband, all quietly and peacefully walking into the building together like it was no big deal. I'm not sure if all four of us had bathed that morning. I looked at that mom and wondered why she was able to keep it all together with three and one-on-the-way when I was barely keeping it together with two.
Now I am comfortable with the knowledge that I am not built that way. I want to be an excellent mother, capable of calmly handling all my children's requests and needs, giving them lots of individual attention, all while having plenty of time alone and with my husband. The sad part is that when I have an amazing husband like I do, asking him to be okay with the fact that, at least right now, we cannot have any more, is not a fun conversation. At the end of working 10 hours a day, after not having a day off in weeks, he walks in the door, gives me a kiss and immediately plays with the kids. He takes them outside, roughhouses inside, reads them books, gives them baths, puts them to bed. Hubby would be an excellent father to many more children, and he is an excellent husband for understanding that his wife wouldn't be an excellent mother to many more.
We are both okay with this. Our family is beginning to feel complete, we're enjoying their personalities and how they interact with eachother, we're loving their growing independence. So of course now is the time G is beginning to ask questions. A few months back we were walking down the stairs when he asks me why some mommies and daddies have lots of kids. As the answer was coming out of my mouth I KNEW to shut it, wait until I had come up with a better answer, but "Well, I guess it's because they have lots of love to give so they want lots of kids" comes spilling out of my mouth. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't process what I just said, but then I saw it register.
"So are you and Daddy going to have more kids?"
"No." And then I redirected his attention to food. I'm not eloquent on the spot.
Last night he asked me if any more babies were going to grow in my tummy. I looked at Hubby. "WHAAAAAAT?" I mouthed to him. Hubby whispers across the room that G had asked him if we were going to have any more babies. I look at it as he loves his sister sooo much that he wants another sibling to play with. And I'm hoping he stops asking questions.