You know, as much as I really don't want to go through a fourth pregnancy right now, or even think about paying for private school or college for four children, I really think we are going to have to have one, out of spite.
Fun Sink is just totally awful about it. Some random asked me about whether or not we were "done" or will "go for a boy," and, you know, I was just making conversation. First off, I hate the "going for a boy" question--why can't three (or four, or however many) girls be enough for people? I assure you, if we "go for a fourth" it will be because we want a fourth. Not because we necessarily want a boy. I like to clarify that to people.
So this random asked me if we wanted a fourth, and if we were going for a boy. Not knowing (or really caring, or paying attention at all) that Fun Sink was within earshot, I said, "Oh, we might go for a fourth, but it won't necessarily be for a boy--I'm not sure we'd get one. If we do it, it'll just be because we want a fourth." I turned around at that exact moment and saw Fun Sink do a full-body shudder--the same visceral reaction of disgust that someone might have from, say, gulping rancid fish through a straw. Not what you'd expect from an enthusiastic grandmother. She muttered something bitchy under her breath, and my FIL laughed, and then I'm sure she went into a finger-pointing diatribe, right in my FIL's face. What else could he do but laugh, really? I don't blame him--I'm sure it was self-preservation, and I doubt he really considers it his business. But how hurtful is her reaction to someone who is eight months pregnant?
I don't even know for sure if I have it in me to go for a fourth child, even though I have always wanted four. I know I'd love having such a big family, but the thought of another pregnancy and then another infant stage after this one is just exhausting to me. But every eye roll or full-body wretch makes me all the more determined to do it. If she would just control herself a tiny bit, I probably wouldn't even seriously consider it. But I need her to know that Mr. Twinkle and I make the reproductive decisions around here, and it really is none of her damn business.
Mary Lou told me I could have twins next time around, if there is a next time. As cool as twins would have been two pregnancies ago, or one pregnancy ago, or this pregnancy, I know that five children would be beyond the limit I can do or want to do. So I guess MIL can thank Mary Lou for that warning--although y'all know she'd think consorting with clairvoyants is ridiculously frivolous and a big waste of time and money. When's our next Mary Lou party, again? I feel like stirring the pot, somehow, and unfortunately I can't get pregnant again for at least another six months.
My stick figure family is going to be off the hook.
Edited to add: I don't really have a stick figure family. Just wanted to clarify, in case any randoms happen upon this blog and mistake me for a stick figure family type. Although, if Fun Sink hates big stick figure families as much as she hates big real families, I may have to reconsider my position.
No comments:
Post a Comment