This past weekend brought to me a startling realization. Delaney may be my last baby. This breaks my heart. I’ve always wanted AT LEAST 2, most likely 3, but finances allowed, 4. My mom was one of 6 six kids and I always loved her large family. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday just because of the family. My sister and I have both always said that we wished we’d had more siblings like my mom did and I’ve always wanted that for my kids.
B and I have mentioned more/no more kids vaguely, but it’s never really been discussed. This weekend when my friends’ husband asked him if we were having more B stated “No, we’re done.” All I could think was “what if I’m not done?” I do know that there will have to be a compromise and that the fact that he never wanted kids to begin with and now we have 2 is amazing in itself, but I don’t know if I’m ok with saying “we are done.” Obviously this doesn’t mean it can’t be discussed, it was just a comment, but it was a blow to me. Yesterday when I was packing up Laney’s clothes for my two cousins that are due this fall, I realized I may not have a reason to save them for myself, but giving them away seems so final to me. Like I’m resigning to the fact that we won’t have any more and it left me with that very big empty pit feeling in my stomach.