Oh, the age old question. To have a third baby or to not have a third baby? My heart says, "Babies smell like sugarplums" and my uterus is saying, "HAVE YOU LOST YOUR DAMN MIND NO." It's a discussion that comes up frequently enough that I now instantaneously break into a cold sweat every time I hear the word, threesome. I can't imagine how tired my brain would be caring for another baby, or how sore my nipples would become after breastfeeding a third time. They drag on the floor as it is, and I'm not pleased with the dimpling. Oh, Lord, the DIMPLING.
The only thing that keeps the conversation alive for me is the idea of my two sons with a baby. It would be so unbelievable to see my eldest with a new sibling. My younger one, however, has categorically said, "NO." That's NO to the baby, NO to being a middle child, and NO to everything else that he can possibly say NO to. He's two and a half, so that's par for the course.
My oldest wants a baby sister. He wants a little girl to play with, no doubt, but mostly he's in it for the clothing and accessories. He has become THAT kid, who loves pink, plays with girls, and wants to wear dresses and rainbow shoes. He also wants hair down to his butt, which will never happen in my lifetime. The amount of time it takes to coif a girl's hair may seem entertaining for a day or so, but then the braids start coming, and it starts cutting into your Downton Abby time and forget that garbage.
So, a third might also bring us a much sought after girl. It's a fifty-fifty shot, which is better than my odds of winning Powerball, so I've got that going for me. But in all honesty, I doubt that I would be able to hold back my fainting hysteria if I got on that sonogram table and saw another penis on the screen. My fear would be that the fetus would hear my groans of disappointment and immediately begin plotting how he was going to underachieve his entire life, just for spite.
Another reason not to have a third would be that my age puts me in a category that gets me booked into the high risk pregnancy doctor's office as soon as my test turns positive. Having to double and triple check everything I do and eat and not eat every minute of ten months is not my idea of a good time.
Would my body love having another baby inside it? Yes. I was one of those annoying pregnant women who had a great seven or eight months before things started getting ridiculously big. But would my body love having another baby outside of it? No. No, it would not. I have flaps, dimples, and sagging in places I won't mention, mostly because when I do I tend to burst into tears.
Also, I like sleep. I like it a lot. I want to marry sleep.
But in reality, our finances are so thin I doubt the third baby would get anything to eat or wear other than hand me down, ripped, stained boys clothing. We'd have to hide the baby in a Jansport backpack in lieu of a Bjorn because we have sold or given away most of our baby things as the boys have outgrown them. There would be no money for gas, so our main mode of transport would be a Red Rider Wagon or a Skuut bike, jerry-rigged with four seats and a infant carrier. Not a pretty image.
But OH HOW ADORABLE that baby would be. The fattest cheeks, the soft tufts of hair. Ugh, I'm battling the major cutes. And this fight is so unfair.
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