Many of my friends are on their second, third or fourth (!!!) pregnancies. I am overjoyed for them and go to bed at night feeling peace that we have made the right choice in our family of three.
When people ask why we will not have more children, I have started to say that we like our small family and all the opportunities it affords us. We can take fantastic trips, live wherever the Professor finds a job, and help our child with college or whatever she choses to pursue, etc. One child makes lots of sense for us. I have stopped mentioning my infertility and the fact that having more children is not really a choice we have been given.
And I am ok with this.
But lately, in this surge of pregnancy announcements and blooming bellies, I find myself pushing our days to the limit. I try to keep life as busy and adventurous as possible for Sabine because, you know, she is it. I want her to feel she has a full life. I want the Professor and I to feel we have a full life. I want to live up to that stock answer I give to the question “will you have more.”
While I am ok with this to a certain extent, I realize plowing along at this rate is unsustainable but it is so hard to slow down. I worry if I stop for too long the emotion of being “done” with bearing children will overwhelm and honestly, who wants that. Instead, Sabine and I are going to go play with play-doh and plan tomorrow’s adventures.