When I was pregnant with Rosemary, D and I were pretty adamant that she was going to be our last. Days leading up to her delivery my Dad would joke with that I wouldn't let my sisters beat me and I'd have that third child. I scoffed at him and told him unless someone else was going to be carrying that child, Rosemary would be my last pregnancy.

Then I went into labor. And it was easy. Well, easy compared to a 36 hour event followed by blood transfusions, antibiotics for double pneumonia, Post Partum Depression and let's not forget pumping for 6 straight months until my milk dried up. So, yeah, easy. Like, 14 hours of labor easy with only 2 of those hours being painful, easy. No blood transfusion, no illness, no depression and a baby that latched right on from the moment she was born and has nursed perfectly every since (can I also mentioned that I've never had an bleeding or soreness with nursing her?).

Days, weeks, and months following her birth I've found myself holding her tighter and longer hoping she doesn't grow up to fast. I've been trying to just absorb every single moment her babyness. With Camille, it was a different mix of emotions. Once I got through the Depression and began enjoying motherhood, I looked forward to what each new month would bring us. I wanted her to grow up quickly because I was so excited to see what was around each new bend. I still feel that way about Camille. Each milestone is so exciting to watch, especially since I'm solely responsible for these new things she is learning. I don't feel sad when she turns another year because I know with it will be new adventures for us. With Rosemary, I want to hold her back as much as I can.

While driving down to my sister's for the holiday weekend, D and I were talking about our future and where we wanted to be in five years (we have these discussions at least once a month). D, being more adamant than I about the size of our family, shocked me when he revelaed his desire to possibly want another child. Before, my teeter tottering always landed on just two because I knew he wasn't going to change his mind. It allowed me to keep that door closed and not even consider the possibility. Now, with his unsureness, that door now has a few cracks in it.

I go back and forth. A third means so many changes and brings so much uncertainty. I'm one of three kids and know the unique make up that brings. At times, being the youngest, I've felt like the odd man out and the the two older ones sometimes pit themselves against me. But on the flip side of that, I always had two older ones who pit themselves against anyone who was against me! I think of Rosemary and how another child would affect her and her standing in this family. That darn middle child syndrome haunts me and I begin to wonder how much validity there is to it.

I look at my two girls and I become so thankful for healthy children, two healthy pregnancies, why temp fate? We've lucked out twice, but is three times really a charm?