Oh, the third baby question. Life as an adult seems to consist of inevitable question after slightly irritating and nosy inevitable question, doesn’t it?
Starting with ‘When will you get a job now you’ve graduated?’ (Answer: ‘Erm…right after I’ve watched this Friends repeat, again’) and ‘Do you want another drink?’ (‘Make mine a double!’) to ‘When will you get married?’ (‘Don’t ask me! No, ask me, please!’) and ‘Are you buying a house?’ (‘I can’t seem to find the deposit down the back of the sofa…’).
And then inevitably, when you read a certain age or stage it’s ‘When are you having a baby?’ (‘Do you mind? Awkward’) Then no sooner have you had one than you get ‘When are you having another?’ (‘Guys, my stitches haven’t even healed yet….and I’m still dealing with all of this‘)
People kind of lose interest after you have two as they assume that that’s it, job done. So where it should be a refreshing breathing space, it’s a surprise to myself that the person asking the inevitable question this time round is…me. And I’m very persistent. ‘Are we having another?’ (Answer: ‘I have no idea what the answer is!’).
And I really don’t. Having a third baby is a big step and there are so many signs that it is not such a brilliant idea (for *us* – obviously it works for lots of people, all babies are lovely and I’m one of three). We have two amazingly happy and healthy children, but then I think when both are kicking off in tandem and my mind is about half a second away from flying out of the window because I still haven’t had a full night of sleep in about 400 years and we’d need to move house and we could never go anywhere because I only have two hands and it’s not practical and it’s getting so much nicer now they’re older and brilliant to chat to and fun and I don’t have to watch them every two seconds and I’d want a big gap and I’m kind of getting on a bit now, and wouldn’t some sleep be nice? And, oh yeah, my husband isn’t keen which is kind of a big issue, really.
90% of the time my ovaries are brandishing a placard saying ‘Out for lunch…FOREVER.’
…10% of the time they’re whispering in my ear, saying ‘Oh hey there, just us! Saying hi.’
Have you ever seen Avenue Q? It’s like the Bad Idea Bears – the two bears who pop up and suggest those tantalisingly tempting things, like ‘one more drink’ on a school night – just sitting there on my hormonal shoulder, reminding me that they’re there:
- Me: That’s it, I’ve decided. No more babies. Just not practical. I’m hanging up my Pregnacare!
- Them: But you loved pregnancy
- Me: Erm…I guess that’s kind of true
- Them: Imagine never doing it again
- Me: You guys! Shh, stop it…
- Them: Newborn babies…
- Me: ARGHHHH! *Runs off screaming into a pit of indecision*.
Do you ever know for certain if you’re done? I’m not sure if that’s the best judge of anything because I’m not sure you ever feel done and that could lead to a long and complicated time of being hostage to your hormones, when there’s so many practical things to take into consideration. But what I think is apparent is that everyone I know who doesn’t want another definitely doesn’t want another to the extent that they know for sure, by 110% at least, that they don’t want another.
Whereas I’m just sat here with my 10%. It’s a question I can’t ever see myself answering either way.