"I think we're done," I keep saying. Sometimes I'm smiling. Sometimes I'm looking at Thomas and quietly crying. Sometimes I'm watching all three of them - playing, loving, laughing together. Then I add, "but I'm not sure." Sometimes immediately. Sometimes hours later. Sometimes days.
I want to make a decision, but I can't. I've been giving away all the baby clothes. I think we're done. But you can buy new clothes, new toys, new cribs. I keep that in the back of my mind.
"I think we're done too," he keeps saying, "but we'll wait until you're sure."
"What if I'm never sure?"
"Then we'll just always keep a loaded gun."
"We both know how that ends...with more babies."
"Then we'll have a big family. Who cares?"
I don't know.
We're in this waltz, going in tight circles. I think we're done. He thinks we're done too. We move from one side to the next. He's not sure we're done. I'm not sure either. Step one two. Step one two. We don't go far, neither of us leads.
Sometimes he'll put his hand on my stomach, and I'll brush him away and get angry about it. It's not just because I don't like my pudge being touched (which I don't, mind you). It's because one of these days I will forget to be angry. I'll remember what it feels like to have a tiny life inside me who curls instinctively into the palm of his hand. And I'll want that again. Of course I will. I will never stop wanting these things.
But does that mean I really want another baby? A whole new family member who is going to break my heart by growing up? Until we do this all over again because the ever-changing nature of motherhood is just too much loss to handle?
I feel ready for a new chapter of my life. I feel ready to move forward with my career. I feel ready to set my sights on my own future.
I think we're done.
...but I'm still not sure.