The other day, I mentioned (offhandedly) that I’d like six kids, to The Husband. He looked at me like I was insane, and I could tell that he was thinking about this:
(My favorite part of that is when Steve Martin says, “Twelve kids later and we still got the heat!” and does that funny little dance).
His mind goes there, even though I in no way want TWELVE kids. Goodness gracious.
In any event, I don’t normally tell people I want more kids. For a few reasons.
Like, because last year, I didn’t want more kids.
Or the fact that Thing 1 is now 5 and will turn six in September, and that’s a bit of an age difference (although my older brother and I are 7 years apart in age, and my little brother and I are 5 1/2 years apart in age).
Also the fact that babies are *expensive*, in case you didn’t know.
Babies also cry. A lot.
But, that’s just the not-so-great parts. The great part to having more babies is that babies are adorable. They are sweet. They smell good.
I knew when I got married that The Husband wanted a big family. After we had Thing 1, he changed his mind. Although I was ready to have another baby almost right away.
Same thing after Thing 2.
It’s definitely something that most women won’t admit to nowadays: wanting babies. Lots and lots of babies.
It’s not politically correct to want more than the “nuclear family” — two kids and a dog or cat.
In any event, it’s a secret, one I’m not too keen on sharing, that I just shared with the entire internet.
I suppose that sorta defeats the purpose.