I am 99.9% certain I’m done having babies. After all, I have my hands full with my three kiddos, who are 9, 5, and 3.
I am 99% certain I’m done having babies. I’m on the cusp of 35, and I understand that it only gets harder and the risks increase for both babies and moms as women age.
I am 99.9% certain I’m done having babies.
That is, until I hold one in my arms.
As long as I can remember, I’ve always been baby-obsessed. In middle school I wrote my future baby names in my diary, tiny hearts dotting the letter i. In college I started imagining my boyfriends as future fathers (luckily, in a few cases, that was a good litmus test to move on).
In grad school my thoughts turned toward a time in my life when I’d finally be through with exams and ready to be settled, and I pictured four sweet children running toward me for a hug.
Life, though, doesn’t always turn out as expected. The reality of two working parents and three children is a bit more unruly than in my fantasy. When my daughter was born 3 years ago my husband and I both felt that our family was complete.
Most days I’m happy with my family of five. Most days my heart overflows (not to mention the toilet that’s been clogged with action figures).
But when I hold a baby, smell its head, feel its weight in my arms, the .1% rises up inside me.
I know that it’s normal for women to feel this way, but I keep waiting for that tiny sliver of uncertainty to leave my mind. How do I close this chapter in my life, that for so long has been such a part of me?
For now, I’ll hold my babies close. I’ll read them bedtime stories, and if they let me, I’ll rock them to sleep. I’ll find peace with my wonderful family as it is, and my desire will fade away.
I’m 99.9% certain, anyway.