I’ve been a little MIA lately. My friends noticed it first and then I knew it was bad when the lady who works at the front desk at the gym noticed (which is pretty impressive – and makes me feel a wee bit embarrassed about not going to the gym more often). And maybe you have noticed that this blog has gone – um – unattended for a bit? Or maybe not. Either way, I’ve been in hiding.
I’ve been suffering from – ta-da – pregnancy. Yes, that’s right. Let’s just call it what it is. It’s not morning sickness (and whoever came up with that misnomer has really done women a giant disservice). It’s good ole fashioned pregnancy sickness – nausea, tiredness, crankiness, carbohydrate-craving madness for a full 12 weeks.
So, yes. That’s right. Wrap your head around it. J and I took the plunge into the deep end for the third time.
What made us decide to do it? Well, it wasn’t the extra bedroom upstairs that’s going unused (however, it did make it a little bit easier to justify).
Really, it just felt like we weren’t “done”. Like our family wasn’t quite finished yet. Our girls are magnificent and have brought such joy into our lives. And yet, there was something or someone missing. But still, the answer for me wasn’t quite THAT simple.
Kids are a LOT of work, and they are expensive. And – let’s be honest – the world is easier for families of four. Restaurants have more tables for four people, hotels book for four people, and cabs fit four people. And of course, there is this terrifying survey that says moms of three report the highest stress levels (even out-stressing moms of four and more kids). The idea that you wouldn’t physically have enough hands to hold your kids to cross the street – I mean, people, come on!
And on top of that, three kids blow my mind a little (OK, a lot). Although I had siblings, they were much, much older. So I grew up feeling like an only child. Most Americans are with me on this one. Here in America, white, college-educated women—a good proxy for the middle class—have a fertility rate of approximately 1.6. That’s a declining fertility rate. Most middle-class Americans aren’t having two, let alone, three, kids.
Still, this past year as I watched my girls grow into preschoolers, I couldn’t shake the feeling that our family didn’t feel complete. So – after much deliberation on the subject of number three – we bought a minivan and we decided to go for it. And a few weeks ago, we found out we would be adding a little boy to our house of princesses.
And just like that, any reservations I felt about having three children immediately melted away. We will be complete as a family of five.
…even if we will have to lie about our family size to get a decent hotel room.