Are we done?

A few days ago, one of Matt's co-workers approached him and asked that inevitable question: Are we done having kids? Will there be a third? Matt's response was appropriate. He told his co-worker that if he was a betting man, he'd put money on no more kids. I thought that was a good way to describe where we stand right now.

I really dislike speaking in absolutes, because there are so few things in life that are definite. Years pass, people grow, minds change. Well, I can say one thing with absolute certainity: we will never, ever pursue fertility treatments again. That chapter of our lives is closed, for good-- I'm sure of that. But, as for more kids? I sincerely doubt it, but I won't say absolutely not.

You see, I love our family right now. I love that I have a son and a daughter; I love that Matt and I aren't outnumbered. More importantly, I love our family dynamic. When the four of us are together in a room, I look around and feel like This is my family. It feels whole, complete. Two children is a good fit for us. I am more than just content-- I am fulfilled, happy.

Two kids is a good fit for us for more practical reasons, too. We want to be able to pay for our children to go to college; we want to be able to provide nice things for them. We can do that for two children. Having more than two kids would require us to buy a new car. That may seem like a small thing, but it's still something to consider. Another child would also mean delaying my career even further-- which I certainly wouldn't protest-- but having a double income again when Camden and Macey are school aged will be extremely helpful to our family.

Then there are the intangibles. Effectively dividing my attention between Camden and Macey took some getting used to, but we've got it down now. I feel like I'm able to provide each child with a lot of my time, affection, and love. That's so important to me; I don't ever want either of them to feel like they're not getting what they need from Matt or me. Some people are able to effortlessly divide their attention between three or four or five or six kids-- I know I'm not one of those people. I don't want to spread myself thin between several kids; I'd rather devote myself fully to two.

Of course, when I think of never having another child, some nostalgia inevitably creeps up on me. I will miss the excited, on-top-of-the-world feeling that comes with seeing a positive pregnancy test. I will miss falling in love with the tiny form on the ultrasound screen, my eyes locked on the fluttering heart. I'll miss the growing belly, the kicks, the excitement of the gender reveal ultrasound, and the anticipation of meeting a brand new family member. What I'll miss the most, though, is the moment-- that final push after hours of labor, the cry that fills the room and immediately fills your heart so completely that you feel like it might burst, and then it happens: your baby is placed on your chest, your eyes lock, and your life changes. Forever. There is nothing else in life that compares to that moment. I've experienced it twice, and I think a part of me will always long to feel it again.

But, while I may feel nostalgic, I don't feel sad. There's a big difference, I think. I read other women's birth stories and tear up, but I don't think I wish it was me. I hear about friends who are trying to conceive and I get excited for them but I don't think I want to try again, too. I pack up old baby clothes and maternity clothes and I pull out certain sentimental outfits to keep forever but I don't cry.

So, that's where we stand right now: never say never, but don't place money on Baby Three for us if you're in Vegas. Or: we have gently shut the door on the possibility of another child, but haven't locked it yet.

What about you? How did you know that you were done? Or, conversely, how do you know that you're not done?