I am done having babies. I know it deep in my heart and mind that our little family of four is complete. There's no yearning, no baby fever, no twitchy ovaries, zip.
I'm happy with that decision.
I thought I'd have a difficult time having Andy come around because I know that he has always really wanted to have a son. He loves his girls to pieces, but I know deep down he wants a son to do "boy" things with. For a hot minute he was really on the fence about having a third, but since Arya is nearly one and still isn't sleeping through the night, he's come down off that fence.
There's something really bittersweet about knowing that Arya will be my last little baby. It makes me slow down a bit more, enjoy her a bit more, savor each stage. It also makes the annoying phases and habits seem trivial in the larger scheme of things.
I don't feel sad or sentimental when instead of packing away her clothes for a future baby, I donate them. I keep a few outfits that are attached to fond memories and off the rest go. When I see a pregnant woman I don't envy her. When I hold a newborn baby I have no qualms about passing her back to her mother.
I'm enjoying this stage of our family where we are still growing into ourselves, but not continuing to multiply.
Now we just need to do something about a permanent form of birth control. Andy has agreed to get the big snip. He actually had an appointment in February but chickened out at the last minute. Candy ass. But apparently he's gotten his courage up and is ready to give it another go. I told him that if he doesn't get it done by June I'm getting my tubes tied, because I've only had one period since the baby was born because I'm still nursing and I don't like not having a monthly reminder that I'm not pregnant.