Knowing you're done

The other day a colleague brought her newborn niece into our staffroom. While I watched everyone fussing over the tiny little thing I felt pangs of actual pain in my stomach. So much so I actually got up to have a chat to someone on the other side of the room just to take my mind off it all.

It was the end of a long day and I could have just gone home, but I felt a sort of internal conflict going on in my body - some sort of strange baby-magnetism kept me there, despite my feet wanting to take me elsewhere. M, a new grandmother whispered to me as she sidled past to get a closer look at the little poppet. "It's ok - we know you're a breeder," she winked conspiratorially.

It's true. I think that had I been born a hundred years ago, I would now have ten or eleven children. All driving me insane. Perhaps I may not have wanted ten offspring, but some sort of biological urge would have kept me permanently knocked-up, I am sure of it.

I know that for my circumstances, three is my absolute limit. When Small Boy was born, I wished that we had the opportunity for one more - for a little 'mate' for him to play with. I've always loved that closeness my older two share. As time has gone by, I've realised that one more would have meant that I had no time/energy to do all the things that Small Boy needs me to do for him. But part of me still wonders what just one more would have been like.

I am so lucky - THREE little children to call my own. I know I am blessed with the most amazing gifts that life can offer. I feel greedy even thinking about wanting a fourth when I know so many people are desperate to have even one.

There will be no more babies (Hubby has seen to that). I am perfectly content with my three little people who I love wildly. At least until the next little newborn visits our staffroom ;)

This is a self-portrait I took while 32 weeks pregnant

with little number 3. He was a whopper!