A couple of dear, dear friends had a perfect little baby boy on Thanksgiving. A week and a half overdue, after 30 hours of labor and an eventual C-section, an adorable little cheeseworm has joined our extended family. A few years from now, he and Samson are going to cause SO. MUCH. TROUBLE.
I've been breaking into their house every chance I get just to sit and hold the baby. I drop Samson off at the nanny share and then promptly drive to Cheeseworm's house and grab him from his sleep deprived parents--they're far to weak and wonky at this point to protest or even know what's going on--and I sit in the arm chair and hold his tiny little head in the palm of my hand and cuddle him and tell him how perfect I think he is.
Sounds like somebody's ready for another baby.
Which I'm totally not though. Samson is walking now, damn near hugging and cuddling us, and nice, friendly and fun. I'd be an idiot to ruin this dynamic now by adding another baby, let alone nine months of tired, anxious and moody. I can definitely see why some people choose to have only one child. And I can also totally see why some choose to have twelve.