Day Twenty Nine- Serious Post #1- Good Bye Baby Making, Hello Child Rearing

When I found out I was pregnant with baby #3, I was ecstatic. Somehow I knew, all along, that I was not done having babies, whether Bryce agreed to it or not. Call it a mother's intuition or sixth sense...whatever. As soon as Samantha was born, I was already planning on when I would want to become pregnant again.

My goal was to have four kids; Bryce's was two.

Somehow, without knowing it, we met in the middle. Yes, he was in complete denial for two weeks that I was even pregnant, but after he accepted it, he admitted that he had only been mildly against having a third child. But he was set on one fact: there would not be a fourth.

At first, I only agreed with him to placate him. But somehow, throughout that pregnancy, I came to feel the same way.

I thought, 'I'll REALLY make up my mind when the baby comes.'

And Scarlet has arrived. In fact, she's been here for over a month already.

Have I changed my mind? No.

I'm actually more adamant about not having more kids now than I've ever been about having them.

Enter the post title.

The way I figure it is that I'm going to be 30 next year. I think that is the perfect time for ME (not every one else) to start a new phase of life. We planned our first two ladies, was surprised by our third and I am actually very okay with not having any more.

I'm ready to have a normal body. I'm ready to enjoy my girls growing up (not that I haven't, but having a newborn can be extremely preoccupying). I'm ready to enjoy more time with my husband. I'm ready and I'm excited. I can't wait to see what this next phase is all about.

It's kind of like finding out you're pregnant for the first time. You're excited and nervous. Are you ready to accept responsibility for more than just yourself? Is it going to be hard? Is it going to be easy?

This is exactly how I feel about raising my girls. I'm excited and nervous.

And a little bit sad.

Even as I'm sitting here typing all of this up, I'm getting a little choked up. No more babies. No more excitement of seeing that positive sign on the pregnancy test. No more cute maternity clothes. No more wondering if it will be a boy or a girl.

Sure, I'll bet a million bucks that I'll be sad about it every once in a while. But it has to happen at some point, right? I mean, there's no way I want to be like the Duggar family. Lord bless 'em and that's the life they want; but it's not for me. I don't even think I could handle a fourth kid, let alone nineteen.

So I'll cry when I feel like it. Eventually, there won't be any more tears. Eventually, I won't miss it at all. Eventually, when my sisters are complaining that they don't get any sleep, I'll be commiserating on the outside, but shouting HALLELUJAH, I'M FREE on the inside.

Okay, I lied.

I'll probably be shouting it in their face while dancing a jig.
Just 'cause I'm mean like that.