What if my eggs are exponential? I know that I would be able to handle one more child fairly easily. We are baby experts at this point. It would really be more of an accessory than a person to me. I may even keep it in my purse, like those small yappy dogs (the last two sentences were a joke to display how easily I would be able adapt from 3 to 4 kids, don't alert CPS). But if by some freak of nature I end up pregnant with twins or higher order multiples I would be seriously tempted to throw myself down the stairs. Do I ever want to join the working class? Theoretically, I am only a couple of years away from being able to getting a job and contribute to the household (well I contribute by doing this: http://www.etsy.com/shop/BigDayInvitations, go buy an invite). I am more referring to my lofty goal of teaching the youth of America Algebra and History and fixing the public school system, totally achievable, and being outside of my house. I am not one of those women who is very good at being domestic nor do I enjoy it. I hate cleaning, but I am anal retentive about the house being clean. I don't/can't cook, but like my kids to eat healthy (not saying I can't be easily talked into ordering a pizza). If these tasks that I deem horrible I could pay someone else to do while I work at a job I may or may not like (assuming it doesn't involve cooking/cleaning I would most likely love it) that would be ideal for me. Also, I feel it is important for me, my family and my marriage to be independent at times. I am a working woman at heart, I love my kids and I love that I am able to stay home with them when they are little, but for me, once they start grade school it is time to start focusing on a career, mainly so one day we can send them to college. However, if we were to have another baby these hopes and dreams of a two middle working class parents would vanish for another five years. You may ask why don't you just stick that 4th kid you obviously aren't going to love as much as the others in daycare? Well, people, daycare is super expensive around these parts, don't think I haven't checked.
Right now my life is pretty easy. Not as easy as being childless and single and mortgage free, but easy compared to two years ago. We have a home big enough for us, but would probably be a little cramped if we added another human. Since January I have not changed a diaper. Which is a HUGE deal, because I changed/bought diapers for 6 years before that. If I spent $30 a week on diapers (which is conservative, with twins) since 2006 I have spent well over $9,000. NINE GRAND on something my children shit in, it angers me just typing that sentence. In addition to the fiscal drawbacks, our kids get along really well and can play for hours with little encouragement (nagging) from me. It's kind of nice not being needed every second of the day. The twins are not that bored when Kaeden is off at school because they have each other to mess around with and when he gets home they missed him so much they just want to hang with him. This is probably my biggest concern if we were to have another person. Who would it hang out with? How would I be able to work if the infant isn't accepted into the gang by the others. The lines are already drawn, the twins are a closed party and Kaeden is in school and not too fond of babies as it is. I fear the child may be neglected by it's siblings, leaving all of the socializing to me (which is not really what I am looking to do, I kind of just want to snuggle and love the thing, not be it's buddy). I never thought this gig would get easier, but turns out the twins are pretty awesome little toddlers (I wrote this before they shoved a whole BOTTLE of medicine, a million bobby pins and all of Baileys hair accessories down the toilet, forcing Matt to remove said toilet from the ground and to fix it).
I HATE being pregnant. Totally would rather do anything else than gestate for 9 (really 10) freaking months. I realize that I am one of the lucky ones. The one who can get pregnant with a thought and a smile, not only that but I can carry twins in my uterus (which in mom world is a big deal), but it is zero fun and not something I am particularly proud of. I get violently sick and cranky and fat and I have to feel my emotions. This is the top of the list on why I don't want to go another round. There is not one thing I like about being pregnant (ok, the feeling the kid kick you is cool for about a week and the "I made a person" thing is awesome, but other than that, nothing) The reasons for having a child are (to me) fairly obvious, to everyone else I seem borderline crazy:
I want a super big family. Really big and loud. I want to have Thanksgiving at my house in 30 years and not have enough space for everyone to sit down and eat "big". Matt argues that we already have a big family. And we are very loud. Maybe I should readjust my thinking in this area, but it is a weird thing I have. Without my obnoxiously big family (extended mainly) I would have had way less fun and turned out way more screwed up. Our brothers/sisters are not procreating anytime soon so I feel the need to provide this network for my kids with my own aching uterus. If Matt and I turn into really shitty parents/people one day, they will need each other for support.
I love my kids a lot, and I am a pretty damn good at raising them. Not saying I am going to win any awards or god forbid ever open/go near/think about a daycare, but my kids are all healthy and happy. And that is my main goal for this age group. Eventually I would like them to contribute more to this world than their own health and happiness, but hell, isn't that what my whole blog/life is about. Being happy? Whoa, deep. On a non game changing note, we make extremely attractive people. Like surprisingly attractive. Matt and I aren't winning any beauty contests (however, I dare you to go into a wit/sarcasm contest with us) and yet we produce really good looking humans. This world needs more blue eyes and dimples, right?
I don't "feel" done. I think this is probably normal for a 27 year old to feel, but most 27 year olds don't have three kids and if they do they are likely not the type to really think thoughtfully about getting pregnant again (I can stereotype like that because they are my people). My friends my age are just starting to "settle down" and by "settle down" I mean they are considering not binge drinking every night, so I am still years away from being surrounded by lots of friends babies (a favor I have been doing for them for years). So if you are in your late 20's/early 30's, are my friend and in a somewhat committed relationship, I kindly request that you start making some babies.
This not so sudden urge to expand the family once again can be attributed, in part, to social networking. The constant pregnancy updates and newborn baby pictures of my Facebook friends are doing nothing but adding fuel the fire that is my burning ovaries. Seeing a small baby on a screen, quiet and looking peaceful and snugly is far from the reality of a newborn, but that is all I see when scrolling through the hundreds of baby pictures at my finger tips. I also design baby announcements and baby shower invites all day, so I am constantly sifting through someone else's baby happiness. The babies on my computer screen are sweet, innocent beings. I am aware that they projectile poop across rooms and are opposed to sleeping, but this doesn't translate when I am navigating the complex web of the babies that live in my screen. The irony of it all is when I meet someone, in real life, with four kids or hear someone is having a fourth child I literally gasp. Gasp, as in aloud, shocked like. I assume they are either apart of a certain religion or obviously had a birth control mishap or actually insane. But when I think of it for me and my family I feel like it totally makes sense.
Good news: In recent days I have swayed more to the side of barrenness. I went to a baby shower recently and did my normal snuggling of the babies, but it wasn't so much of a "I am going to sneak your small baby in my purse" snuggle as a "You are tiny and I love you, where the eff did your mom go" snuggle. I was also not feeling so hot to begin with and between the babies and the heat I felt like the walls were closing in on my already lost youth. My knee jerk reaction was to do something irresponsible (think go to Mexico for a taco or spend the grocery money on booze) but I didn't, because I have responsibilities, and for being youth killing leaches, I couldn't get home fast enough to see them.
And on a completely unrealated note, HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY D!
To my most loyal reader (who is not contractually obligated to proof read for me, cough, Matt, cough):
I could not tell you exactly when we met (and I have been trying really hard to remember, because I thought it would be a fun anecodote to start off with, but , alas, I cannot recall), all I know is that since that time we have never not been friends. You are the person I call on good days and the bad. Even the times I call you and say sentences like, "I may be pregnant with a stranger's baby" or "I think I am going to sell my body for cash" you never lecture or degrade me, but calm me from whatever drama I have created. You never say anything behind my back that you wouldn't say to my face (well, I don't think so, if you do, don't tell me). And I know after you read this post I will get a text with sarcastically hilarious encouragement on how I should most definitely continue populating the planet, because no matter how bad an idea is that I have, you always think it is a good/funny one. I hate when you call me "sweetheart" and a "paper pusher." I hate even more when you don't respond to texts promptly or even suggest that I get an ankle tattoo. And don't get me started on the cigarettes, but despite those annoying habits, there are few people who love pop music, country concerts, football games, golf days, seedy karaoke lounges and a good book as much as me and you (read "The Hunger Games" goddammit). Thank you for being brown, it makes my always growing liberal heart happy. You are the only person who thinks me throwing my golf clubs across the green is hilarious, instead of what it actually is: an adult temper tantrum. I am fairly confident that you like me more when I am beyond wasted and/or writing blog posts, so happy birthday old man, this year you got both. You are loyal and kind and witty and smart and I cannot imagine my world without your friendship.
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