I hoped the feeling would pass. After all, two children was our plan. Andrew and I are educated, supposedly responsible adults, and decided that two children is a smart and manageable size for a family... from house size to vacations to college tuition. Two is perfect. And our children are perfect. Why would I want to change that?
So I let a year go by without saying anything. I began to notice how pregnant women and newborn babies started to make me feel envious and sad. I visualized myself giving birth one more time, even planning the birth (perhaps a home birth this time, I thought). I convinced myself that all women think these things, even those that don't have children. It's maternal instinct. Right?
The following year I got our family a dog, hoping to fill the void. It didn't work.
Wesley asked me one night at dinner if he could have a baby sister. I cried.
And so, last Winter I cried to my husband. I'm not done. In my bones. In my heart. In my blood. There is one more child to fill the empty seat at our table... to fill our hearts. Another cheek to kiss goodnight. Another voice to be heard. Another best friend for our boys.
Andrew questioned our plan. He wondered how we would pay for college. I explained that this was SO much more than that. Reminded him that he was the third child in his family. A few months later, he told me he truly wanted just one more too. And with happiness and determination, we've been trying ever since...
:: Aren't these paintings on motherhood by Katie M. Berggren just beautiful?