If you are trying very hard to have a baby, don’t read further.  What follows is a selfish, angst filled, wishy-washy rant about my fears to have a 4th baby.  Not good content for someone desperately desiring their first, or another child.

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I am a BIG CHICKEN.  I’m going to have to be drunk, and in the throes of passion for another baby to happen.  Kind of like our second baby.  In my mind, I CANNOT commit.  I am afraid of being sick again.  The recovery from a fourth c-section.  Sleepless nights.  Hormone havoc.  Not being able to keep teaching the children effectively.  So therefore, dumb as stumps children.  They’ll never get a job.  Never leave our house!  They’ll be unproductive menaces to society, worshipping the likes of Kevin Ferderline and Paris Hilton.  They’ll act like that Ozborne kid.  Because I had to go and have another baby.  I’ll have a wreck of a house.  TV dinners and Happy Meals 3 times a day.  Dust bunnies that come to get us in the night.  Weeds wrapping around the house.  Creditors coming to get us for my not being able to stop yarfing long enough to pay the bills (Mr. 4tops says he’s about to take this over, but I’ve been holding on in a somewhat controlling manner).  Irritability. Lack of smiling.  Snapping at the children.  Something going wrong because I’m 35 now.  And have 3 previous sections.  Placenta Previa.  Accreta.  Abruption.  Hysterectomy.  Worse.  And worst of all, not being able to loose the weight.  Now THAT’S serious.  More stretchmarks.  Varicose veins.  Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

In my heart, I know these things to be silly.  Panic-y.  Temproral.  My in my everyday life, they are very real.  And Mr. 4tops is too much of a gentleman to just say get over it woman, so it is somewhat in my camp to come to terms with.  

Last night we were tired.  A bit bitchy.  Tense and stretched thin.  He was a bit short with the children.  I was not so perky at his arriving home after work.  There was dinner, clean up and all the baths.  A bomb of toothpaste, water, mud and dirty clothes in the bathroom.  And the whole time, I’m thinking what if I were really nauseated right now?  Exhausted?  Too huge to get up the stairs?  To cook?  To launder?  What if I’d been up 3 times in the night and a baby was having a witching hour in the middle of this chaos?  I. CAN’T. DO. THIS!