I told someone today that we're moving and they asked "Why not get a 4 bedroom so you can have another baby?" Why is the usage of my uterus anyone's business, anyway? It's not like they're giving me helpful health advice. If anything, another child would only push me farther into the sleep deprived insanity that I'm currently embracing!
I never really liked kids. I could never interact with them with out feeling really awkward. I never babysat even though my brother is 13 years younger than me. I always said I never wanted kids. Then I turned 18. Something clicked. Something went seriously wrong in my teenage mind that made me want a child. I was still a child. When I was 19 I got pregnant. It was on purpose, I was engaged and I was going to have a happily ever after and ride off into the sunset on a white.fucking.horse. Yeah, right.
I have P, and my husband has 2 amazingly crazy boys who I love to pieces. So why do people keep telling me I need more? We both started early. We're out of diapers, baby food, 3 am feedings, engorged breasts and shit in our hair.
I gave myself a cut off for more kids by 25 when P was 1. I turn 25 next week. I did it because I wanted a 2nd child, but I wanted to make sure I was sure. 4 more years gave me time to see what the first 5 years are like. I also did it because I'm selfish. I had P right after I turned 20. While my friends were going to college parties and traveling, I was clipping coupons to buy groceries. I did things backwards. I want the chance to have some freedoms in my 30's and 40's. I don't regret or resent her, or my choices, but I don't want to start all over again.
I want to spend my 40th birthday on a beach in Mexico with 20 year old P drinking mother-daughter margaritas, while I laugh at my 41 year old husband trying to keep up with the 19 & 21 year old boys.
I want to spend my time with the little turds we already have and I don't need more. I also value my sleep and the small freedoms that have come with the kids becoming more independent. Hell, P made her own lunch last night! Poorly, but it was cute.
So next time I'm asked if I'm pregnant because I'm eating pickles, or told that my clock is ticking, I'm just going to throw up a middle finger and say "I'm 25! I'm too old for that shit". Then I'll take a sip of wine and try to regain some sanity at the end of my already hectic day.
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