Nothing to See Here…

It’s official. It’s settled. It’s AGREED upon.

No more babies.

Now, you’d think perhaps someone like me with FIVE of them should be able to come to such a conclusion easily. “Wow. Linda must be a little dim. Didn’t she learn her lesson the first five times? Her damn vagina is like a clown car; they just keep coming out and coming out… When’s the madness going to end?”

IT ENDS RIGHT HERE, BUSTER. This crazy parade has enough floats in it just how it is.

I don’t really have baby fever yet. Heck. My little Raena isn’t even two – she’s still a baby herself. But since I’m now 41, I was organizing a preemptive strike of baby fever. “Oh, you know you’ll have The Fever again in a couple years when your ovaries are shriveled up raisins – you’d better make your decision NOW.” {queue up the Under Pressure music}

My husband is the last male in his branch of a family tree that traces itself to the Mayflower Compact. Before he would propose marriage to me, he made sure of two things: first, that I would go with him to eat sushi whenever he wanted; and second, that I would bear him children and if one was a male agree to name him William Hunter, Jr. and call him Hunter. He wasn’t smart enough to ask that ‘spit or swallow’ question back then and, quite honestly, has been kicking himself ever since.

It never occurred to us that we would defy all odds and spit out female children at the same alarming rate that Tom Cruise spits out stupidity.

We were supposed to be done after #4, our Jadyn, but then I changed my mind. I think Bill went along with my crazy plan because he figured that, given my infertility issues (it took over 4 years to get pregnant with Jadyn), he’d get lots more sex if we were ‘trying’ (little did he know about ‘saving up’ for the big monthly ovulation event back then).

That last pregnancy was a doozy. I’m still surprised we all survived it. And, pffft, I don’t even want to talk about that first year, back to work, breastfeeding issues, business travel, pumping, sleep deprivation. It was pure hell.

So anyway, the question recently came up again. I’m a pushover and if the breeze blows in the right direction, I could be talked into popping out another child. I was convinced that HE wanted another one (he meaning my husband). So we had a few serious discussions and came to a final conclusion:

JustLinda’s uterus is now CLOSED FOR BUSINESS (can we all bow our heads for a moment of silence?)