Does anyone know a good urologist in our area? The last time we talked about it, Greg told me he was about 85% sure he doesn’t want any more kids. I am less sure what I want, depending on the time of day. If it’s afternoon nap time, I might think I could have another some day, maybe when Eliza’s in pre-kindergarten. If Eliza’s choking Zach’s neck for the 13th time and it’s only 8:30 and I have breakfast all over me even though I haven’t eaten anything yet, I am generally of the mindset that Greg should get on the phone and make an appointment for a vasectomy.
This morning brought unplanned-for chaos, and I was ready to make an appointment myself an hour ago, but now I’m not so sure. (It’s nap-time.) My neighbor, Chelsea, is expecting any minute (she would say yesterday, even though she’s 37 weeks), and around 7 this morning her contractions dictated a hospital trip. She needed someone to take her two daughters, so of course I said “yes.” I put on a big pot of oatmeal and told myself, “I can do this.” I had planned on heading to the grocery store because we’re hosting a friend for dinner, and our cleaning ladies were coming, and it’s rainy, but whatever. I always quote to myself, “The best laid plans of mice and men … ” despite never having read that book. And I have a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde internal power struggle between the laid-back-take-things-in-stride person I want to be, and the type-A control freak I generally am, wondering this morning if I could keep from playing favorites, and how I was going to keep the house picked up enough for the cleaners to actually clean, and how I could feed four kids at the same time, and why in the heck Greg was still in bed, because there was no way he couldn’t hear the extra voices downstairs.
The five hours were crazy. Chelsea’s eldest, who’s nearly five-years-old, asked “Why?” at least 15 times. She asked me why Eliza had four time-outs. She asked me why we weren’t going to play with Play-Doh. She asked me why I couldn’t whistle, and when I said her mom and dad were special because they could whistle, she said, “You’re not special?” And I said, “No, I guess I’m not, at least not in that way.” To which she responded, “No, Eliza’s mom, you are special to the man who’s Eliza’s dad.”
Chelsea’s soon-to-be middle child (because the baby hasn’t graced us with her presence yet!) and Eliza fought over every toy that sparked either one of their interests today. Eliza pushed her multiple times and kept ripping toys from her grips (hence the aforementioned time-outs). I got to the point where I just took everything away that any of them fought over. It didn’t really deter the fighting, but maybe it will some day.
But even after all of the tough moments, and all of my “Because I’m in charge” and “Because I said so” comments (things I vowed never to say as a kid when my own parents said them to me), I sit here in a moment of clarity knowing how special each of these kids is. I couldn’t imagine a world without any one of them, and so that’s why I really don’t know if I want more. As crazy as life with three or four (or more if that were God’s plan) would be, I know He wouldn’t give me more than I could handle. But it’s so hard when you’re in the middle of a challenging scene, because you feel like things are so out of control, and you can’t handle another request to go pee, or for more food, or to get down, or another “She pushed me,” or just plain “Whaaaaa.”
I think if we’re supposed to have more kids, God is going to have to make it abundantly clear. For now, I pretty much do cartwheels every time I get my period. But maybe someday I won’t, and I’ll long for another one. I guess if Greg were to get a vasectomy (a very BIG if) and we got pregnant anyway, I would know for sure it was meant to be. 😉