Stick a Fork in My Fallopian Tubes, Because I’m DONE
Each time I am pregnant, someone inevitably asks me, “so… you gonna have another one?”
With the first pregnancy, the askers were all shiny-eyed chipmunks, kind of like that Michael Jackson Gif from Thriller, waiting to see if I’d make it as a mom or totally lose my shit Rosemary’s Baby style:
During my second pregnancy, people asked that same thing again. This time, they looked happy, but also with that upraised eyebrow to suggest I remember the hallowed Californian guideline of Two And You Shalt Be Through. This is also when people seemed to think it appropriate to ask about my birth control plans (Hey, have you considered the IUD? It’s good for five years!) during circle time at Mommy & Me. I guess they just assumed I was going to be part of the Two and Thru philosophy.
When I turned up pregnant with my third, people asked, “so… you gonna have another one?” like I was going to start shooting kids out of my vagina gun, rapid fire. Follow up questions about whether or not I watched the Duggars show was a 65% probability. I mean, not all people were like that. Most people were nice and some just looked mystified, or curious. But I definitely felt the social pressure starting up: When will your mad baby lust be satisfied?
And every time anyone asked, all I could say was, “I don’t know.” And let me tell you, seven consecutive years of saying “I don’t know” when people are asking you about your own body, and you are supposed to be a responsible adult, in charge of yourself and those around you, ‘I don’t know’ can sound pretty stupid. Or like you are playing coy. Or like some veiled ‘none of your business’ remark. But the truth was, I didn’t know.
Secretly, I yearned to be one of those women who said, “I know X pregnancy will be my last. Tie my tubes while you are in there getting that last kid, please!”
I wondered if maybe I would never know when I was done, and how horrible that would be – to either keep going until I was living like the Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe. Or the alternative, to wake up in the middle of the night, wondering what was missing. And maybe hunt around the house, panicking: What had I forgotten? And then finally realize: I’m missing a kid I was supposed to have had. But whoops! Too late! Because in the middle-of-the-night scenario, I am 47, tubes tied, and planning my daughter’s wedding or something.
So, in the context of fearing that phantom child who never got born will haunt me all my days: Good News! Because my youngest child is now 7 months old, and just about every third day of the last 7 months, something has happened that has made me think: Wow. This is totally my last kid.
Sometimes it is a tiny thing, like just looking down at her sleeping in my arms at two in the morning and thinking, I love this so much, and I am on the very cusp of being too old for this shit. And sometimes it is a huge thing, like all three kids have a hard day and I think: I am stretched tighter than the asshole of a gnat getting cornholed by an elephant. And I realize, I am barely keeping up with their needs. If I had four, one could slip through the cracks. Even with three, I am unsure if I am good enough to watch over them in the way that they need.
Sometimes they are sullen, and I send them to time out. And it is not until days later that I hear about the fight, or the embarrassment, and I think: I missed it. I only saw the angry behavior, and I was too tired to look for the hurt.
I know that you cannot protect kids from everything, but this does not release me from needing to try, and I guess I got sidetracked with that line of thought. Forgive me – I did not get much sleep last night. Again. For like the seventh month in a row. But here I am this morning, certain in my bones that I do not have what it takes to have another child.
And also knowing that my husband wants four. That for him there is going to be a phantom child out there that was meant to be born but never made it. And I am going to cause that to happen. But I have to. I have to cause that to happen. Because I am so completely done.
24 Responses to “Stick a Fork in My Fallopian Tubes, Because I’m DONE”
I’m still in amazement that you’ve been able to handle having three. I fall into the “mystified” category. I guess ask the husband if he’d rather have a 4th or a sane wife?
And bwa ha ha! I’m still laughing about the rapid fire birth canal comment. You are too funny.
Maybe I’ll have #4 for him – since I felt that I was destined to have none, and now the possibility for one is opening up. (Though in a very small, still incredibly unlikely, snowball in hell kind of way. But at least now it’s a possibility!) Isn’t that the way that it’s supposed to work?
I have two kids and don’t know if I’m done yet. My husband, however, is completely done. He would have gotten a vasectomy within the first week of #2 being born if I would have agreed. I’ve just always liked the idea of having 3. But two is freakin’ hard, so maybe not. I guess I’m where you were a couple of years ago…not sure.
I have two close friends who each have three kids, and they get the same reactions that you do to having three. People can be unbelievably rude about it. And we’re in the midwest, not CA.
When you’re done, you’re done.
Although I want four or five or twenty.
I’m from a family of five, and quite fond of it.
But maybe I’ll only have one, since one is what I have.
“like I was going to start shooting kids out of my vagina gun, rapid fire”
Isn’t this kind of how the last one was born?
I was so done at one. ONE. They delivered him C section and I said “Tie those babies OFF while you are in there.” But I am also 45 years old and the first one nearly killed me, so I really SHOULD be done. You are allowed to be done whenever you know you are done.
Ohhhhhhh, and I’ve wondered the same things, and felt that same pressure.
There were two very disturning things about this post: Michael’s demonic lear on a loop tape and that image of the elephant cornholing a gnat. I am so having nightmares tonight.
But yeah, I look at my two kids and see how gorgeous and unique they are and I just want to see what a number 3 would look/be like.
Then I remember I am 110 years old and I am just starting to sleep through the night…
I am secretly jealous you took the plunge and that your hubby wants to keep knocking you up (roar), but considering where we are now (1 1/2 bedroom apt.) and that I wouldn’t be able to have the 3rd five years from now like I would like, I am resigned to projecting my maternal yearnings by becoming a cat lady.
Love the phrase of the day: “I am stretched tighter than the asshole of a gnat getting cornholed by an elephant.” I might have simultaneously snorted and peed my pants a little.
Yeah, I was done at one. Actually before One was even born. My body and my psyche tag teamed me for all 10 months of pregnancy and beyond to make damned sure I knew that they were not up to handling this ever again, and maybe not at all.
You’ve done good. Has the husband had solo 3-kid duty much? I’m sure he’s great and all, but the day-in, day-out stuff can really make a person realize just how done a family is.
I know exactly what you mean.
Yeah, you’re done. Wow, my mom should have been done at one – then two put her over the edge and she left. Just said goodbye and left us on our own. I’d like more, but my husband says no he’s through with two. I’ll get a puppy before I push that button too hard.
I’m in the opposite place from you, having felt always that three was the right number for me, and married to Mr Two Is Just Right And Any More Is 100% Pure INSANITY. He is pretty adamant. I still feel the tug of the ghost. But, frankly, since you have to carry it, nurse it, and handle the early years, I think you get the final vote. That’s only fair.
my husband used to say, “let’s have another. we need to have four, because four is an even number.”
to which i say, “oh honey, why didn’t *I* think about that? i am just so fucking selfish for not considering your weird obsession with having an even number of kids. jeez, i am just SO sorry. how unfair that i would put my need for sanity above your cute little quirk!”
i also told him that if he wanted a fourth kid, he’d better find a girlfriend so smoking hot and fertile that banging her would undo his vasectomy and get her instantly pregnant.
this uterus is out of business.
You, know, when I was pregnant with my fourth (at 33), I knew I. Was. Done. I didn’t feel that way with the other 3, but I still, to this day, feel that way. They 4th is 3 1/2, the oldest is 15, and I. Am. Done.
One of my friends said, “I guess I’m selfish. I only want two. I want to be able to afford to send them both to college.” This was as we were discussing ME having a third, and yes I was offended by the not so subtle cunty face slap.
For the record, I’m not done. California standards be damned!
“Oh, oh, oh, it’s ‘logic’ “:
one true plus one false = false (negative as in “No”)
We keep getting hit with the other side of the California guideline: if you’re going to have kids, you should have two. “You ONLY have ONE??? Oh, er, how nice for you…” Makes me so angry, every time. I don’t feel like explaining to every stranger that we wanted two, but it didn’t work out. So not their business!
I think you need to warn us when you’re going to use a phrase like “I am stretched tighter than the asshole of a gnat getting cornholed by an elephant.” Some of us have minor bladder issues after giving birth to more than one child.
For several months after my second one was born (in 11 days, she will be a year old!), I thought I wasn’t done. Which was pretty amusing, considering I fought tooth and nail about having more than one. I really didn’t think I wanted two. We postponed my husband’s Big V for a few months, then after almost a full year of sleepless nights, I finally decided I couldn’t survive another newborn. But I still might want a third. So I’m pushing the spermless wonder for adoption of a third.
My kids are 13, 10 and 6 months. I think we will have one more because the age difference is HUGE and for me, raising one like an onlyish kid isn’t what I want.
I have HUGE amounts of help though. It’s a completely different scenario with much older kids.
I never really thought I would have 4 but it looks more and more like that is what it will be (though I think all the time I am getting too old for this.)
So, I will be the “Duggar” freak of the commenters posting here. I have nine. Yes, nine, as a gasp is heard around the world. People always ask if we are done, if we know how it happens, if we are a daycare, if we watch tv, if we have multiples. Forty years ago, this would not have even been a blip on anyone’s radar. Now it astonishes people.
I will say this: after four, it gets much easier, because the older ones can help a little. Toddlers love to run for diapers, and our big kids think it’s cool to carry a baby around. I have not slept in 19 years, and I do fantacize about sleep, but each one has been so delicious, and lovely and wonderful. Two are college girls now, and lovely young women.
I really don’t know what to say when people make rude comments, as I have never commented on anyone’s procreation, or the lack thereof, I just figured people do what is best for them. For me, I have loved having a big family. I am best friends with all three of my siblings, and I know that no matter what happens, my children will never be alone. They will have each other.Blessings to you all!
There is a mom that I want so badly to be friends with (we keeping having tiny babies at the same time and so we always have a great time talking, but never any scheduled dates) who has six kids. She is so great at it is the thing – unlike me, who looks like I got hit by the no-sleep-dump-truck. This mom does kind of seem like the Duggar mom (up beat and energetic and kind and organized) Her clothes even match! I can’t even be jealous because she is so awe inspiring.
That said, I always feel like a huge ass, because I keep introducing her as the mom who has six kids. I guess that is probably worse than introducing a big-boob friend as the girl who has triple F’s or something. It’s just my awe talking! Out of line, and around my foot.
Anne
This is such a great post, because I think the truly sane ones among our lot do indeed know the limits to what they can handle. You know you’re done. You’re at your capacity, and that’s totally cool.
Me, I’m probably good at handling the two I’ve got at most, but still, some lingering craziness keeps me wondering, should we have another? And, unless my husband suddenly agrees to do me without a condom, two is where it’s at.
My first time at bat, I had twin boys. Then, I had a girl 8 days before their 2nd birthday. People still think I’m nuts. They think I should have thanked my lucky stars I knocked out two with one whack and should have been done after that. I wanted another one. And you know what. I’m kicking it single mommy style now and I still don’t think I’m done. I may find someone I might procreate with again later (post-divorce, etc.) and have a fourth. I don’t mind having 3 under 3 and I’m tackling it on my own and doing rather well if I say so myself. My mom always told me that I would know when I was done. I’m glad I didn’t cut the option out because I’m not so sure I’m done and the uncertainty is ok with me.