Funny thing happened over dinner the other evening.
The family took a ‘hands up who’ vote and decided unanimously that I need to get knocked up again.
Like they fancied planting a few herbs. A patch of carrots or spuds perhaps.
Who fancies growing something?
Sure, let’s get a little allotment.
Oh it’s a baby you want?
I am not your baby allotment people.
I am no machine.
And how they laughed and giggled and planned and shouted.
“A sister this time!”
“Another brudder!” (Note to self, work on Morgan’s pronunciations this summer. This, That, These, Those.)
And there I sat.
A uterus without a vote.
A womb without a voice.
Well, sorry my little nurslings, mommy is all done.
Finally, I can laugh (not hysterically now but with reasonable abandon) and remain in close control of my bladder. And allow me to tell you, close control is better than no control after the near 10 pounder and the one then who left me prolapsed.
Finally, I have a small child who can do a pretty decent job verbalizing his injuries when he comes crying and sobbing and I don’t so much need to do the ‘where does it hurt’ pat down, feeling for lumps, protrusions, broken bones.
Finally, in a matter of weeks, I will successfully have reared two children safely to school going age. Two healthy, bright and clever children that I have not ruined or broken will be in full-time education.
Finally, Oh finally, I am within a year shot of regaining a little bit of… what’s it called… you know that thing… that um… used to have plenty, then had kids… Oh Yeah… Independence.
In another year I’ll have the ‘baby’ in playschool, a few hours to myself, time to do stuff, options on kid free coffee mornings, maybe an outside the house hobby and even…brace yourself husband, even a few date nights.
Oh, how I am finished having the babies! Before 2 came along and even before 3 turned up (‘cos you know, these babies just turn up knocking and all!) I used to wonder how people knew they were finished? How could you be sure?
I have three.
I am surrounded.
Always out numbered.