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Saying Goodbye to the Third Baby
I only ever wanted two children. Two is a manageable number. It’s perfect as there is one child to each parent when you go out.
I am lucky to have two lovely children, a boy and a girl.
“That’s great” the friendly girl who works in a local cafe told me when I told her I had had a girl, “it means you don’t have to have any more.”
So I should be done having children. It’s not that I have collected one of each sex. That just seems to cement the view of the outside world to make it harder to argue.
Last week my period did not come when expected. I dreamt there was a beautiful little girl growing inside me, although I never really believed it or felt it. I both dreaded and loved the idea. The baby would be born in a cold snowy February, just before spring. She would be beautiful.
There are so many reasons not to have another child. I have never enjoyed being pregnant. Pregnancy is full of anxiety, nausea and constant rising acid in my mouth. More children means we need more: more money, more space, a bigger car and we cannot afford it. The biggest problem is that I need more energy. I am always exhausted by my two. I am also finally past the sleepless baby feeding nights and cannot imagine going back there.
