No, I will not have #2 and here’s why.

Let’s face it. If we all remembered what having a child did to our brain circuit, we would adopt China’s policy that requires families to adhere to the “only 1 child” law. Fortunately (it depends who you’re talking to and  could possibly be an unfortunate thing) for the masses, you tend to forget about all the fun you had to go through and it isn’t until that 34th week of pregnancy where you once again question your sanity.

But there are the few of us that remember quite well what those days were like and the thought of reproduction #2 is enough to send the hubs to the nearest snip snip clinic. As everyone watches your child hurl herself to the floor in the ice cream section of the supermarket, the question always arises: “So when’s #2?” Ahhhh..the never ending question. So here’s my answer to all those nosey nellies as to why #2 is never, ever, EVER happening.

1. I will never have to deal with the loving punch of a child’s fist pounding my bladder to bits. Thanks to a good solid 2 months of boxing lessons on my poor innards, I still have my dear daughter to thank for peeing myself when I look at a skipping rope. No, kegels are not the answer to it all. Trust me when I say I could probably pick up a penny with my hoohaa, but give me a skipping rope and guaranteed there will be spillage. Obviously my thought skips (no pun intended) to the thought of the damage another child would do to my poor bladder. So lets just keep the pee to a minimum and call it a day on that topic. Nowadays, it’s not just my bladder that takes the cake. Now I get to be walloped in the boobs, the ribs, teeth that just had their braces tightened, my frickin’ vagina! I mean, why the vagina? What the hell kind of position are you in to be able to connect your, feet, fist, head to my nether regions? Back it up kid! For that matter, just get back in my uterus and take it out on my bladder.

2. Did you have an enjoyable childbirth? No? Didn’t think so. If I ever come across a woman who tells me her birthing experience was wonderful and orgasmic (It’s true, read Inna May. There’s a whole chapter on this woman having orgasms through labour), I’m bound to get out the white glove and challenge her to duel to the death, because that’s the only way she will get to experience the true feeling of childbirth. What starts off as a calm twist in your abdomen soon becomes the sensation of being ripped in two, because THAT IS WHAT’S HAPPENING! 3 hours, 36 hours, whatever. It all ends up being a horrific scene. With a wonderful ending. Until that ending shrieks no at you for asking if she would like eggos for breakfast and demands cheerios for the 104th time that week. This one is truly a toss up as to which one is worse.

3. Sleepless nights. Aren’t those the fondest memories? When you look at your child stirring in their sleep and your instant thought is “this little child better not wake up”. And the day comes where you have the delusional belief that sleepless nights are at an end and your little darling has finally slept through his/her full night. Halleluha! Or so we think until your child realizes they are alone, or there are monsters under the bed, or they need to pee with you holding their hand because God forbid they actually pee without you looking at them with resentment and loathing for the regular 2am potty moment no matter how much you withhold that damn sippy cup.

4. Diapers. Barf. If there is one thing I can happily never look back on in fondness is diapers. We, being the hippies that we wished to be, decided to use cloth diapers and waste loads of water and detergent trying to get that forever lingering pee/poo smell out instead. It has officially scarred me for life. The day of breaking out the fine wine when your child poops on the potty is a sweet day indeed. Gone are the days of making sure your child’s rear end is immaculate. Now are the days of finding two rolls of TP in the toilet and your daughter’s butt still full of poop particles. Or the day diarrhea hits and there is only the thin layer of you and cotton to keep it from leaking all over your nice new pair of white jeans. Now that I write this, I think we might just stick her back in diapers.

5. I will never have to warm up another bottle. Yes, I get it: breast is best, Blah blah. Yada yada. Anywhoo, I am amazed at the equipment that is marketed for warming up a baby bottle. I swear I just saw a Keurig type bottle maker. Now that is something I would have invested in! Preset timer to crazy 2 am screaming baby mode and Voila! Insta bottle at your fingertips. Anyway, back to the warming up bottle. There is nothing like the joy of hearing your baby squirm and having to rush to the kitchen and a) use the fancy new marketing ploy that you purchased in hopes that it will warm the bottle to a perfect temperature in .5768 seconds flat, or b) use the good ol’ stovetop method of warming up the formula in a pot. I am glad those days are behind me and now I can focus on trying to get my 3 year old to ingest anything other than cheerios and fish crackers. I mean, come on! Who lives on Cheerios? A 3 course meal has just been served on fine china for your enjoyment and your choice of words are “that’s disgusting!” while you hurl said china and all its fancy food onto the floor? Have you lost your everloving mind, child?  I will smother you with puff pastry salmon and honey glazed brussel sprouts. No, wait!  Don’t call CPS! I’ve calmed down, counted to 100, and now we are all enjoying a bowl of delicious Honey Nut Cheerios.

So now I don’t know if  I just talk myself into having another child or giving my current kid up to the gypsies? I’m screwed no matter how you look at it

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