At work today, I got the question that I get at least once per week. Some people ask me this question multiple times. I suppose they are testing whether or not my answer will stay the same. The question is, “Are you going to have another one?” The answer is, “No.” Now, these people do not know if there is a medical, psychological, physical, financial, or any other reason behind this answer, but it does not stop them from chuckling. They laugh, as if thinking, “Oh, she does not realize that in a year she WILL want to have another child.” Or, perhaps, “I know how that feels, and then I had TWO more!” And, my neurotic self thinks, “Wow, she is dramatic about how hard it is to have babies.” I have arrived at a place where I can say, “No,” and leave it at that. I own it. No explanation necessary. There was a time, however, when the thought of having “just one” bothered me very much. About 5 days after having my son, I thought, “I don’t think I can do this again.” This thought chilled me to the core. It scared me. What kind of mother am I if I choose to only be a mother to one? Does this say something bad about my mothering abilities or instincts? Am I going to be able to be a good mother to even just one? Of course, these were the thoughts rushing through my chemically imbalanced hormonal head as I rushed home from Target (to get colic water), unshowered, and panicked because if the baby woke while I was gone my husband would have no way to feed him since I had become a 24 hour feeding machine. And the only reason why I was the one to go to Target was because my husband practically pushed me out the door so I could “get some fresh air.” I think he was scared too. So, for now, the answer is “No,” and that feels good. I have my baby, he is my world, my love is focused on right here and now – my husband, my son – enjoying each other and planning our future as a family. We are a small family, and it is enough.
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