My mind is a ocean of thoughts right now. Ollie and Eden are
cuddling sleeping as I’m relaxing enjoying some moments of solitude, and feeling a little guilty, like I should be sleeping as well. But whatever the reason. I’m still awake.
While I’m sure there’s a product to review, a book to read, or probably something to study. I feel content writing a journal entry. An entry with very little direction.
One thing that has been bothering me lately has been people’s reaction to this pregnancy and the reaction that we’re actually considering this pregnancy to be the final pregnancy. While it’s the constant “Two are enough.” Our reasoning for not wanting more makes perfect sense, or so I thought.
Our whole reasoning not wanting more. It’s all me. As much as it sounds like somebody’s pointing fingers it isn’t all like that. Years before I met Ollie, the doctors explained to me that it might be tougher to conceive but not impossible. So once were together having sex, we never used protection, since we both knew we were clean.
Even though it only took four months of actively trying, to conceive Eden, I don’t want to actively try again once she and this one are older, just to be let down. Could we just try again later in life just for fun and play a game of Russian Roulette with pregnancy? I suppose we could, but it’s best to logically tell people, that I don’t want more.
While our dream number of kids is 3 for Ollie and 4 for me. I’m starting to realize despite the fact we’re both getting older, two may be the prefect number. I guess in the long run we’d eventually learn how the cookie’s going to crumble.