I distinctly remember being in the hospital after giving birth to our third son thinking, “I never want to do that again.”
Within six months of having our first and second sons, I desperately wanted another baby. Not right then, of course, because I could imagine the havoc of multiple children that close in age, but I knew with everything in me that I wanted more children. After my third, not so much. Not after he was born, not when he was six months old, not when he was 18 months old. Not to try for a girl, not to have an even number, not to feel the magic of a baby growing inside me again. We were having serious “are we done?” conversations.
There were so many things associated with having another baby that I wanted to avoid: the stress over whether the baby has IVA, making plans for the baby’s care just in case he does have IVA, the prenatal testing for IVA, oh, and let’s not forget the actual labor and delivery part of it all.
And yet, here I am celebrating the Christmas season of 2016, easing out of the first trimester and, Lord willing, going to do it all over again.