When you're with someone, everyone asks if you plan to get married. Once you're married, here come the questions about babies. Have a baby and get prodded on when you'll have another. I want to know, at what point, how many kids before people ask, "Planning on tyin' those tubes?" When you sign a contract with TLC? Hanna and Neno Plus Too Many to Fucking Count.  

I'm going to remain calm -- MIND YOUR BIDNESS! YOU DON'T KNOW ME; SIT DOWN!-- but like, apparently the wrong answer to the question about when another spawn will be gracing your womb is not, um, never.

People can't handle that. Not even my husband.

When the pediatrician asked how many we plan to have, I responded with one, and then seeing her horror, I quickly changed that to an unconvincing, "Uh, two, maybe?" Her response?

"No, four. Four kids is good." She's the pushy Filipino mother I never had.

Edit: This gets rambly, so reader beware.

Right now I'm in the thick fog of sleep deprivation, poopy diapers, nipple biting as my minion discovers her teef, and cleaning food off the floor and walls non-stop, so I understand that perhaps my thoughts will change once I've had a night of sleep and a solid four to eight years to forget and romanticize. However, I feel fairly strongly about not "wanting another," so I don't know. I worry that seems negative and almost as a diss to Felicity. On the contrary, I love my little family and feel it's complete. I want a career and the ability to do things I enjoy by myself and with my family (reading, traveling, running, etc),  and I also want to be a good mom and give enough love and attention to Felicity. I hate feeling spread thin. I don't want to always perform under stress. I want Felicity to have and to afford many opportunities. Want to play all the sports? Go for it, girlfriend. I got time.  I don't want to divide our attention. I don't want to worry about money. I could go on, but these are my main points and what I constantly think about. I have a perfectionist personality. I know this about myself. The idea of having more children, more plates to spin, totally stresses me out.

I even read a book about this decision, One and Only by Lauren Sandler. I read it in four days time, exclusively during middle of the night nursing sessions. Maybe reading a text so convincing and in line with my own thoughts and feelings while feeding my nursling who didn't get the judgy "should be able to sleep through the night by now" -- to quote the pediatrician -- memo, wasn't fair timing? Perhaps the other side didn't stand a chance. The author uses research and data to debunk many negative stereotypes and myths surrounding The Only Child. It was a good, reassuring read, especially from my perspective of only wanting one but constantly hearing about how a child needs a sibling not to be lonely, which is basically Neno's main argument. Talk about a guilt trip, mom denying Felicity the sibling experience, but we can not guarantee that it will be the right experience. So that argument is weak, even though it still leaves me feeling bad after I rationalize it away. On the flip side, there will certainly be attention and money and opportunities denied to Felicity as well, if we procreate again. It's a toss up, so why go with the choice that makes me want to cry?

I'm being dramatic, and this is not a decision we have to make right now, but I do get anxious whenever I hear the question. And obviously I hate that Eugenio and I do not agree on the answer.

We could totally go the other way and have 20 kids and get a show on TLC. That would be a good way to keep track of everyone and pay for food. What an experience that would be! Oh, wait, my ovaries just committed murder-suicide.