Two. We were supposed to be done at two. I was supposed to be done at two.
Just moments after E was born, I scooped her up into my arms and looked across to my husband.
“I’m never doing that again. I’m done.” (To be fair, my fanny was still stinging.)
Hubby nodded. “Two is a good number.”
14 months on and I have that oh-so-familiar ache. I’m longing for another baby. I don’t feel done.
It’s impossible to ignore, believe me I have tried.
And I often think that this feeling will pass, eventually. When the girls are both older and life gets easier. When nappy changes and night feeds are but distant memories. Maybe I’ll just look back and think “those days were hard” and never want to put myself through it again.
But right now I cannot ignore my feelings.
Stephen and I both like the idea of having a big family but (being far more sensible than I am) he worries about the practicalities of having a third child. Space, money, effort. I do think about those things too but my ovaries chime in with “WE’D MAKE IT WORK, SOMEHOW!”
Is being broody enough of a reason to have a third baby?
Although, this feels like more than just broodiness. I’m not getting ‘clucky’ at the sight of a newborn. I’m thinking about growing our family every waking second of the day. This is all-consuming.
Even on the hardest days.
When the kids have spent the the entire day squabbling.
Or E’s kept me awake all night.
When I’m so tired that my head pounds.
I. still. want. another.
We were supposed to be done at two. I was supposed to be done at two.