Time for a Third??

I have two beautiful daughters. I am proud to be a Mum, and despite their challenges, I wouldn’t change either of them for the world.

In a matter of weeks, Erin, my first born, will be turning five. Erin, the tiny bundle who was so reluctant to leave me. The bump that stayed with me for 14 days past her due date, eventually entering the world in the early hours of the morning after numerous sweeps, a 36 hour labour, vontuse, episiotomy and the ultimate threat of a c-section. The daughter who I never dreamt would be a girl – convinced that with her Dad being one of three boys, my bump was more likely than ever to be blue. The daughter who my Mum helped me deliver, sharing that moment with us and announcing her gender when Mike was too broken to do it.

My youngest, Neve, is now 20 months old, and we are slowly saying goodbye to the baby days, highchairs and pushchairs and hello to big girl chairs, running and climbing. Neve – the bundle who refused to look downwards during pregnancy, the baby who desperately wanted to enter the world bum first, and even when we finally got an elective section booked in, refused to wait until the planned date to make her arrival. Neve, the one who I joke desperately tried to kill me, yet became my rock during my prolonged sepsis hospital stay. The child now who is one of the most stubborn children I’ve ever met, yet also so loving and affectionate.

In recent weeks, two close friends have given birth, meaning my hormones have taken a little surge of that “new baby” emotion. That baby smell, their tiny little hands and toes, plasticine wrists and involuntary movements. We’ve joked that I shouldn’t get too close – like holding a newborn would be some kind of contagious infection that would soon result in another pregnancy of my own.

I must’ve been asked about 10 times in recent weeks – is it time for Number 3?

Our answer – a strong, resounding No.

Before I had the girls, I always fancied the idea of three children. I loved the idea of busy family Christmases, three excited faces waiting at the end of my bed to go down and see what Father Christmas had bought. I imagined our family holidays, the three of them building sandcastles together, the elder two getting frustrated whilst the youngest trampled them all down. But the reality is, there won’t be a third baby sharing any of those moments with us.

Here’s why we are stopping at two…

1. My labour experiences (and the aftermath), with Neve in particular, were pretty horrific lets face it, and I think I can be forgiven for saying that I never want to go through that again. Not only did I contract sepsis from an infected c section scar, but I also suffered from an incredibly rare and hard to diagnose back problem, leaving me completely immobile and unable to walk for a number of weeks. The rehabilitation I went through to get back on my feet whilst attempting to look after two young children was incredibly difficult, and some of the hardest weeks of my life. Whilst the chances of contracting sepsis again are no higher than they would have been previously, having been described as being ‘just hours from death’ is something that doesn’t leave you quickly. The thought of leaving my two girls behind for the sake of having another just isn’t worth the risk.
2. The Sleep. My god the sleep deprivation is BRUTAL. When we got pregnant with Neve, everyone joked with us – you are due a good sleeper and don’t worry, your second can’t possibly be as bad as Erin was! Turns out they lied. For some reason, whether it be my own personal failure to teach my babies to self settle, my extended breastfeeding or something in their genes I’m not sure, but we appear to have bred two little sleep avoiding demons. Erin didn’t sleep through till she was 2, and Neve appears to be even worse, still waking regularly through the night despite fast approaching her second birthday.
3. The morning rush – I can just about (literally just!) cope with one school run and one nursery run. Add another child into the equation and I fear that in the morning madness either a) they would get forgotten home alone style, b) they would leave for school without any pants on or c) I would get all of the uniforms mixed up.
4. The guilt. One of the hardest things about being a Mum of multiple children, is the inability to be in two places at once. There is always that level of guilt that you have when you sometimes need to pick one, pick the most needy, tending to the baby whilst the eldest lies in bed alone. Wishing you could breastfeed your youngest and simultaneously read a bedtime story with your eldest. Add a third and I worry that this guilt would only intensify.
5. The Germs – We’ve just had a challenging week with not one but two simultaneously poorly children, and the worry, the sadness and the care duties that come with this, particularly as an emetophobic are huge. We all know children don’t like to share, however it appears that when it comes to germs, they have quite the opposite approach.
6. Cost – lets not forget a huge reason for stopping at two – having more than two children is expensive. The minute a third child enters the world, you have to make a whole heap of financial changes. The house – too small. The car, needs to be bigger. Holidays – suddenly hike up in price. Britain caters well for the traditional 2.4 children, but go beyond this, and you quite literally pay the price.
7. Feeling left out – in the same way that people say only children are spoilt, I would worry about the concept of twos a couple, three’s a crowd. Having grown up HATING the game piggy in the middle, I worry that my third child would feel like their entire life was a constant game of playing piggy, and for me that doesn’t sound very appealing or fair!
8. The washing pile would be EVEN bigger. I fear I might go missing, only to be found days later lying face down in a pit of washing having choked on one of the 23 individual socks for which we are unable to find the matching pair. Our home is in an almost constant state of washing pile rotation as it is, and with another child, there would just be even more piles to move around (and never ever get put away!)
9. The Noise – sometimes I just want to watch Neighbours in silence whilst I eat my tea. Instead Neve is singing along to the Shimmer and Shine theme tune and Erin is humming or reciting her phonics rhymes and I don’t hear ANY OF IT. Not a single word. If one more child’s voice is added into the equation that stops me from finding out whether Karl Kennedy has survived his deep vein thromobosis then I might actually lose my beans.
10. Time for my partner – I have to remind myself regularly that before there was them, there was us. Just me and Mike, and we had a fab time together. These days it’s very rare that we get a date night, an afternoon away from the girls, or any real quality time together. Add in a third child and the odds of getting a babysitter are pretty much slashed in half.

So there you have it. No more babies.

None.

But still, despite all the above, there is that little tiny person in my brain; the devil’s advocate, the stubborn one, the maternal one, the sentimental blubbering mess that keeps reminding me “Theyre sooooo goddam cute!!! (STOP IT – argggghhhh!!!!!)

Lucy