If Three is the New Five...

… then raising my two darling daughters is the equivalent to 3⅓ kids in the 1950's.  Perfect, we are just like the Drapers! 

Is this what three would look like?

In the past few months several of my friends have found themselves knocked up with number three.  In turn, each of then inevitably questions the timing of my next byproduct.  In no uncertain terms I politely, yet firmly, explain that my uterus is closed for business.  

Many say that parenthood gets easier with each additional child.  I can slightly see how this is true.  The director of the preschool we send our daughters to is an Orthodox Jew and has seven children, only two more and she will have her own baseball team.  Maybe it is the religious quality of the family's life that makes it look so doable and enjoyable, but when her last son was born, she was back teaching within two weeks.  And, it's true, the older children were helping with the younger ones.  

Even though I am resolute very in my decision not to experience the “joys of pregnancy” again, each time I hear about a pregnant friend, or hold a newborn baby, part of me longs for just one more infant to call my own.    

Cons of having a third child	Pros of trying for the tripod
Maisy is just reaching the age where traveling with her isn't a life-shortening catastrophe.	Babies smell nice, are soft, and don’t talk back.
I'm not sure that I have more attention/love to give.	Deep down I know that I would love the third as much as my other munchkins.
Studies have shown that the happiness levels of both the mother and the couple decline with each additional child.	If two of the children are fighting/crying/whining, there is still one good kid
It doesn’t seem sensible to let the children outnumber the adults.	More siblings = more playmates?
I would need a bigger car.	I've had my eye on the new Highlander Hybrid.
A third would make Maisy a middle child.  Numerous psychologists have found that the “middle child syndrome” is no myth.  These children often feel ignored, left out, and resentful of the family dynamics (think of Jan Brady).	Maisy would be able to be an older sister, a role she often plays with her dolls.
I like when my body belongs to myself.	I’m desperately searching for a positive spin here, but I just hate being pregnant.

 

 

A couple of weeks ago I had a cold that seemed abnormal in length and for the summer season.  Being anxiety prone, I began to worry that a few of my husband's sperm may have passed my protective barriers.  After a few days of worry, I decided to just, you know for fun, take a pregnancy test.  When two perfectly readable blue lines appeared on the stick, I began hyperventilating.  "Ted!!!" I screamed,  "What did you do to me?"

Ted hurried into the bathroom panicked. "What?"

Accusingly, and with shaking hands, I handed him the stick.

At first his face fell, confusion filled his eyes.  Then he just smiled and said "You bought the cheap test.  A positive test shows a plus sign."

And at once life was once again good.

The lessons I learned from this wasted panic attack?

1. When a test is really important, always read the directions!  
2. Time to purchase a chastity belt.

Coming this week- the only child syndrome- fact or fiction?