Growing up, I had a clear vision of the life I wanted to build: a successful career, a comfortable home, a loving husband and four beautiful kids?ideally two boys and two girls?all close in age, spaced out in perfect little every-other-year gaps. I imagined they?d inherit big brown eyes from my side of the family and be remarkably, improbably, well-behaved siblings who somehow never fought or bickered. (LOL.)
Four kids seemed perfect in every way. I wanted a big, lively household full of warmth and love. As the oldest of three kids growing up, I developed a mostly arbitrary opposition to odd-numbered sets of children?we?d always wanted one more brother or sister so our teams could be even. (Totally logical thinking at the time, OK") Four kids seemed like a lot, but a manageable level of ?a lot,? by my then-childless, totally inexperienced standards.
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It took me five years to feel ready for a third kid?but I?m glad we did itFlash forward to reality: I have two children. I will not be having any more. And you know what" I?m really happy about it. In fact, the idea of having a third child (let alone a fourth or more) puts me into a sheer panic because honestly" I am DONE. My hands are full?wonderfully, happily full?and I am not ment...