"So, do you think you guys are done?"

This is a question we have been getting a lot lately.  Well, by lately, I guess I really mean since Josephine was born almost 14 months ago.  And, some early outliers asked while I was pregnant with young Jo.  However, I find that the queries have been coming with increased frequency as she moves out of babyhood.  I was asked today - I was asked twice last week. 

(If you are reading this, this post is most certainly not directed at you.  Although I may not give you an honest answer, I do not begrudge the question - at all.)

I've been pretty secure in my feeling all along that I do not want to go through another pregnancy.  I know some people out there think that this feeling will pass, and I can acknowledge that I want to wait until I am at least a few years out to make a permanent, basically irrevocable decision.  But, nonetheless, I am entirely certain that it would take a monumental change for me to want to become pregnant again. 

Where before I was giving a rote "no" response, I've had to really confront my emotions lately.  I have many friends that have had babies recently, are having babies any day or in the coming months, or are announcing their pregnancies.  I am a young woman, with many potential childbearing years ahead of me.  I had Sophie at 22, Eleanor at 24, and Josephine at barely 26.  That makes me 27 years old.  Hardly in my late 20s.  But, close enough to my 30s to begin to think I know what I want.  So, as friends years my senior are just beginning their families, it is strange to fear that I am possibly arbitrarily ending the growth of my own.  Hence, the confrontation with my own psyche.

Why is it that I don't want more babies?  Do I feel overwhelmed by the two children in my charge?  Certainly not.  Although I may have made it seem that way when asked, I am very comfortable with parenting -- it is just easier than getting into my feelings with a well-meaning friend.  Do I worry about finances?  No more than the average parent, with wonderful family, good jobs, health insurance, etc.  Do I think I am physically unable to handle another pregnancy?  No way.  Despite how much I joke myself for being lazy and unathletic, I bounce back well from pregnancy, and I feel pretty fantastic health-wise.  Nope, none of that.

I mean, sure, there are real-world, run-of-the-mill concerns that would be inconvenient about a pregnancy.  Do I want to be up all night?  Not really.  Never, if not for sweet baby breath.  Do I want to give myself daily injections of pig intestines?  Not so much.  Do I want to drive five hours a week to doctors' appointments?  No joke, my car would not make it through another pregnancy.  Do I want to pump for another year?  My boobs would fall off.   Do I want to endure the inherent dangers of another high risk pregnancy?  When I am real with myself and acknowledge that 1/3 of my pregnancies ended in tragic loss, absolutely not.  Do I want to put graduate school and my career on hold for another few years?  Of course not.

But none of that is "it."  So, again, I had to think about why I really do not plan to get pregnant again.  I say "plan" because, of course, if it happened by "accident," it would be a blessing and I would do all of the above with pleasure, after the initial shock, anger, punching (of Bill's face), scheduling (vasectomy for Bill), and expletives.  I digress.  And, ramble.

I don't want another biological baby because I've had my share.  Three is just right.  I know, people say "Three throws off the dynamic," or "Someone can end up the odd man out."  But, you know what, I love being the odd man out.  I'll take odd man out any time.  And, these kids are half my awkward, loner, introverted DNA.  Chances are, they'll want some odd man out time themselves.  I love the idea of three.  Smallest.  Smaller.  Small.  Big.  Bigger.  Biggest.  A, B, C, 1, 2, 3.  Three magical little blue eyed sisters - nothing could be better.

Now, of course, I am not totally insane -- I know, as much as I dream, I'll never get to deal with the reality of three kids.  Whether people want to "count" Sophie or not, I "count" her.  And, I'm never going to stop.  I can't say "I have three kids," as people are wont to do when referencing money, school, busyness, etc.  But, if you know me at all, you know I have three kids.  I think about Sophie as much I've ever thought about anything.  And, I love her that much too.  She will never stop being part of me.  Or of Eleanor.  Or of Josephine. 

I've had my perfect three.  My little trio.  I always thought I'd have three.  And I do.  Or I did.  Whatever that means.  Sure, I want three living children.  I desire that more than even I can grasp or make sense of sometimes.  I still weep for my sweet lost girl.  It still isn't ever fair, or reasonable, or right.  But, if I keep having children, trying to catch up, I will be doing all my children a great disservice.  Not because I will be busy or broke - we parents can handle that.  It's not about what it is to have and love more children - we can handle that too.  It is about filling a need in me. 

I would be looking for something I'd lost through the lives of future children.  And that is selfish.  And I could never stop.  If I keep planning pregnancies, trying to get back to a place of having all my children here with me, I will always be one short.  If I give in to that, I will never be complete, and I will drown myself in that need.  If I stop now, where I know in my heart I would stop unhaltingly, if not for Sophie's death, I have a better chance of sanely balancing memory with love with energy.  And, I think that is the best thing I can do - for all of my girls. 

As I said before, I suppose my feelings on pregnancy could possibly change.  And, as I've also said, I'd happily welcome more babies or older children into our family other ways, as in adoption.  If that felt like the right decision down the line.  But, for today and tomorrow, I will stay a mother of three, two sleeping in the room next door, one sleeping in my heart.  Three, and done.