Never Say Never

There's a bit of a conflict simmering in Mandyland.

Chad, in an effort to reclaim the garage - in particular, the area surrounding his dartboard - has decided that we need to sell all of the baby gear that Elizabeth's outgrown.

"I don't want to re-buy things when we have another baby," I explained.

"What do you mean when?  Don't you mean if?"

"Well, at some point, maybe in a year or two, aren't we going to try for another..." I trailed off as Chad shook his head.

"I really don't think that's going to happen."

"But...I just can't accept that we're done.  I can't think that I'm never going to be pregnant again and we're never going to bring home an itty bitty baby and....and..."  Tears welled up in my eyes.

See...here's the thing.  I grew up with three sisters.  I always assumed I'd have at least four kids.  At one point, the number was set at half a dozen, but I started a bit too late for that.  I love the idea of a large family.  I love the noise, the chaos, the love.

When Chad and I discussed our future family, we spoke of things like "affordability" and "college funds" and "the gas mileage of vehicles that seat more than two children".  I agreed that two would be enough.

After having Joseph, I thought one would be enough.  I would have been content to keep our family as a little trio.  Then...I had Elizabeth.  And I can't imagine not filling our home with more children.

Although the argument could be made that our home is pretty much at capacity currently.

Still...

Selling all that baby paraphernalia - the swing, the Snuggle nest, the bounce seat, the clothes - all those clothes! - is tantamount to slamming the door on that part of our lives.  Or, if not slamming it, then saying that it'll be some time before we go there again, which, at my age, is pretty much shutting the door somewhat firmly closed.

And that makes me teary-eyed.