Many of you that know me are aware that Randy and I have always said we were a "one and done" family. When we found out I was pregnant with Keagan we staunchly reported that this was it, unless there are twins in there, this is the only child we will have.
As several of my friends can attest, my resolve weakens every now and then. Like when a bottle (or 3) of pinot grigio is involved. Or we meet a new little bundle that our friends have blessed the world with. Or on a Tuesday.
My most recent weakening occurred last week when a dear friend of mine announced she was pregnant with her second child. Miranda and I were pregnant together the first time. We compared notes on our exhaustion, our ridiculous hunger pains and of course our long-lost love of wine. We welcomed our sons just a few weeks apart from one another (both giving birth to toddlers nonetheless). We've gone through the infant stages, the "OMGWTFAMISUPPOSEDTODOHEWON'TSLEEP" stages, the toddler stages. Together.
Seeing that my friend, a woman that I've never "met" but that I've shared so much with was pregnant brought tears to my eyes and gave me goosebumps. I was so happy, so elated for her. Enter the resolve weakening, stage left.
I started thinking about another child in our lives. A little brother or sister for our little man. Another little son or daughter in our family. It was a nice picture...a really nice picture.
I know that we will probably never have another child. Not because we don't have enough love for another child. Not because we couldn't afford another child (though to convince Randy of that may be another story). And most days I'm ok with that. But that picture in my head? It's a good one.
Then my son comes around the corner, just looking to give me a hug. Or runs up to me before dropping him off at day care demanding "one more kiss." Or says in his little man voice "I lub you." It makes me realize, yes, another child in our life would be nice...but the one I have now? He's pretty darn perfect.