I never thought I'd be one of those women who just knew when she was done having children. I never wanted a huge family, sure, but I always sort of thought that, whatever number of children we had, there would always be some lingering, wistful longing for...oh maybe just one more? I always figured that feeling that another little person was standing just out of sight, waiting to join our family would never really go away.
Logistically, though, two was good for us, so we "took measures" to stop at that permanently last summer. (Such a euphemism. Sorry.) At the time, I was not actually 110% sure that I did not want to have another child, but I was absolutely sure that I did not want to be pregnant again, so that was good enough to...um, you know, do the thing.
Given all of those mixed-up feelings prior, the strength of my feelings right now--and for some time now, really--has caught me a off-guard. I don't think it's supposed to be this easy, but I'll tell you what I know:
This is our family.
Happily so. Contentedly so.
We four against the world, and so on.
I keep pulling my thoughts and feelings about this out and looking at them from all sides--like a Rubik's Cube that's been solved through pure luck--but I can't find the flaw. Ten years of thinking about getting pregnant, being pregnant, having itty-bitty babies....and it's over. No wistful sighs over onesies. No longing sniffs of small heads.
I get to just be his wife and their mama. We get to raise them and love them and watch them grow. There's no one else that we're waiting for. We're on to our next adventure. And that makes me effortlessly, without-regrets more happy than I ever thought it could.