I have 3 girls. I love them dearly. Most of the time. Right now the 3 year old is riding hard on my last nerve, and most days I can scarcely make it through without reprimanding her at least a few times. That's my literary way of saying I have to tell her to knock it off repeatedly, or she's grounded.
She doesn't care, because she doesn't know what grounded even means. Perhaps I should use a better tactic?
Anywho, people ask me all the time if I'm ever sad that we don't have a boy. They think that Sean needs a son, or that somehow our family isn't complete because we only have girls. I say we're done.
Yeah. There's a huge but. That's b-u-t, not b-u-t-t, which I don't have because I have no butt. But I have a but when it comes to the family tree. Last night we were watching the Duggars (whom I love to pieces, as we all know) and Sean starts in that he wants another baby. He doesn't even care if it's a girl or a boy.
Let's revisit the last pregnancy, shall we? Weeks 3-7, miserably sick. Weeks 7-16, still sick, bedbound and unable to walk or get dressed or bathe or cough or sneeze without screaming in pain. Weeks 17-24, pleasant and comfortable. Weeks 25-36, bedbound again with blood pressure through the roof, culminating in a birth a month early. And what did all this misery get me? An annoying 3 year old.
Yeah, lets do that again.
So I say we're done. Sean says that's fine. But if he brings up the baby thing, does that mean we're not done? Do men get a say in this? Or should I just junk punch him in his giant inflated scrotum and tell him to mind his own business, because it's my uterus?
How did you know when it was time for another or when you were done?