The Last Birth Day

I delivered my second baby, a boy, 10 days ago.  After a brief stay in the NICU, he is home with me, with us, his family.  We are now a long-awaited family of four.

It wasn't easy to get these two babies here.  Our first arrived just in time to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary with us.  And now, just in time for Pumpkin's third birthday, #2 (who still needs a proper nickname) is here to complete our foursome.

Having gone the fertility treatment route both times, there was no doubt in my mind that this would be my last pregnancy.  The expense, the emotional and physical turmoil... once was difficult, twice was slightly less so, but after having achieved two healthy pregnancies, I thought it best not to push my luck.  Besides, we had one girl, and were expecting one boy.  "A perfect set!" people would exclaim.  And I agreed. 

And so every aspect of this past pregnancy was met with the expectation that it would be the last.  The last go-round with fertility treatment.  The last pregnancy test.  The last time my physique would begin to assume the customary "smuggling a basketball under my shirt" shape (hopefully).  The last ultrasound to determine gender, the last of the nausea and heartburn, the last of the pregnant waddling... and so on.

But despite all the pregnancy drawbacks (including the fact that the second time around is so much more difficult, since there's already one child to chase around, not to mention that this time around, I'd officially earned the "advanced maternal age" designation on my chart), there were other things, good things, I'd miss.  This would be the last time perfect strangers would chat me up about my impending bundle of joy.  The last time I'd feel the flutters, then the kicks, of this child-to-be.  And the last time I'd experience the adventure of labor, the excitement and anxiety of meeting my new child.  The last time I'd sustain and nurture a life from within, so much a part of me, and then the absolute wonderment and thrill of feeling that child emerge from me, into his first moment in the world.   

At one of my last OB appointments, Pumpkin danced around the waiting room, lollipop in hand, chattering amiably to all who would listen.  "What are you having?" a middle-aged woman asked me.  "A boy," I answered.  "One of each, and now we're done."  "That's what I used to think, too," she told me.  "I have two girls.  My youngest is seventeen.  I'm waiting for her.  Times like this, I wish I had had three."  I could be wrong, but I think one of my ovaries skipped a beat.

At home snuggling with our two babies this past week, I remarked to my husband how happy I was, how lucky we were to have two beautiful, healthy children.  And how blessed we were to have completed our family.

"You're going to want a third," he replied.  "I know you."

Maybe.  Maybe not.  Maybe there's room for one more one last time.

An original DC Metro Moms post.  Diana regularly sporadically blogs about life with a toddler two kids at Caffeinated.