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They Say You Just know

I know that Dan is disturbingly good at Connect Four. I know that the addition of cheese to nearly any food can render it edible. I know that, in a pinch, my t-shirt serves as a handy nose-wipe. I am certain that Magoo's head is harder than most household surfaces, though he feels the need to continually test this theory.

These people need more friends.

I know that I am not done having children.

How do I know?
• I am jealous of uncomfortably large pregnant women.
• At my last yearly exam, I felt guilty visiting my OB/GYN with no baby news to report.
• I find myself staring at delivery room photos with nostalgia, remembering only the "magic" of childbirth; the months of painful recovery strangely blurred in my memory.
• When I watch Laylee and Magoo playing together, I feel this urgency to hurry and make them some more friends...from scratch. Luckily Dan is often at work so I cannot commence this process impulsively.

More experienced moms often tell me that when they were done, they just knew. They had their two or three or 12 kids and then they just knew it was time to stop multiplying. When I think of the nearly unbearable cuteness my children possess and the overwhelming desire I have to keep growing our family, I become afraid that I will never feel done.

Is that possible? Is it possible to keep wanting to have kids forever and ever until you're too old to conceive naturally? And then use all the tools of modern medicine to prolong your fertile years, eventually freezing your eggs in carbonite  (à la Han Solo), waiting for a day when the magic of science will make childbearing possible for a woman in her nineties?

Fat with Magoo
Blissfully pregnant with 10.5 lbs of man-child.

Am I scaring you? If your name is Dan, you can stop raising your hand. I already know how you feel about that possibility. Right now, I remember feeling great and attractive when I was pregnant. Dan says this was not the case. He reminds me of the first trimester and bonus month of nausea. I concede that during the four months of fountainous vomit, I was a little down on the whole pregnancy thing. But that was just 16 weeks of torture. The rest was wonderful. Dan reminds me that I complained of constant heartburn and joint pain during the last trimester, and in the last month I could hardly walk. But that was just 12 weeks of discomfort. The middle was a breeze. Dan says it was more like a short break or perhaps a series of short go to the bathroom.

Honestly, if you add up the time I spent using the restroom throughout my pregnancies, the real breaks were the rare moments off the pot.

But the whole experience was WONDERFUL.

I know I want to do it again and possibly again and again. How will I know when enough is enough? One thing's for sure. If my stretch marks ever make it up past my chin, I'm raising the white flag.