As I waited outside preschool this afternoon to collect DS2 (the only mum there without a baby in a buggy), I had the opportunity to listen to this conversation:
Yeah, I wanted mine close together. 20 months between them. What’s the age gap between your three boys?
Three years each time.
Oh yeah, that’s good. Time for another soon, ha ha!
Ha ha ha! No I don’t think so.
You won’t have any more then?
No. I just feel like I’ve been really lucky, you know. I don’t want to push my luck. When I was doing the night feeds with my third, I was like… I can’t believe I’m doing this again, ha ha ha.
Ha ha ha. Yeah. We’ll probably wait til this one is at preschool before we have a third.
And so it went on.
Two women, one with three kids, one planning three kids, not a hint of trauma or worry between them. They just get pregnant, and out they come 9 months later.
How lovely it must be to be like that.
Sometimes I wonder what the gods are playing at up there, sticking conversations like that in my day when I’m trying to get my shit together.