“I’m tired of be­ing preg­nant,” I thought as I watched my hus­band eat all the sushi he wanted. “Tired of watch­ing what I eat, and watch­ing my hus­band eat what I can’t have but so des­per­ately de­sire. Maybe we should be done with chil­dren af­ter this one.”

“That was aw­ful!” I groaned af­ter go­ing through yet an­other Pitocin-heavy la­bor, and en­dur­ing lonely hours dur­ing re­cov­ery in the hos­pi­tal while hooked up to ma­chines. “I don’t know that I want to go through it ever again.”

“I’m done with this!” I cried as I dealt with breast­feed­ing is­sues all over again, all while sleep-de­prived and hor­mon­ally un­sta­ble. “We’re not hav­ing any more chil­dren!”

“Maybe just one more child,” I thought as I snug­gled my baby’s soft head against my cheek, and gazed down at her tiny, trust­ing face.