I am being consumed by the overwhelming urge to procreate again.
For the final time.
And, for the past few months, I have internally debated with myself on a daily basis as to whether I truly want a third child.
Whether it would be the right decision for our family.
Whether I could mentally deal with the perinatal depression again. The increase in my anxiety again. The postnatal depression. Again.
Ever since I held Busby in my arms for the first time, I knew that I wanted more than two children. I could picture three little people running around. Causing havoc. Tucked up in our bed on a Sunday morning, reading The Tiger Who Came to Tea. Big family Christmases when they were older, with children of their own.
But H-Bear was such an exhausting baby with his reflux, his allergies and his hatred of sleep that I wonder whether I could actually do it again… And come out of the other side intact.
Then my ovaries and my heart start shouting over the sensible, practical dialogue in my head.
“PRO-CREATE!” they bellow.
And my mind becomes rose-tinted: remembering pregnancy, remembering H-Bear’s amazing birth, remembering the tiny fingers and toes.
I am reminded of what a chilled out baby Busby was. Of the newborn days with both, snuggled up in a baby bubble. Of the first smile, the first giggle, the first gabble.
But when would be the right time for a third? Do I want to do what I vowed I never would and be pregnant with a two year old again? And with the added fun of a four year old too?
Or should we wait until they’re both at school and then my days are more free to concentrate on a baby? But in that case the age gap is greater. The baby years are strung out for longer. And I sort of see my thirties (I turn 30 next year) as my time to get my business properly going, without having to stop and start to have a baby. My ‘Career Years’.
Is that selfish?
When head, heart, ovaries and husband align (it’s a rare occurrence) it is clear that a third child is on the cards. But I’m beginning to wonder whether there’s such a thing as an ideal age gap, an ideal time, an ideal month – or whether we should just take the proverbial plunge, throw caution to the wind, and surf the waves of pregnancy, motherhood and fatherhood one final time.