I am immersed in what I’m calling a “Procreation Nation.”
There are a HUGE number of people in my social circle expecting babies, or who have recently delivered.
And you know something? It makes me kinda sad.
Please don’t hate me- I had fabulous pregnancies. I wasn’t sick. I gained about 30-35 pounds with each pregnancy, and lost it all quickly after delivery. I loved being pregnant, and watching my belly writhe with alien-like movements. I would giggle at poor J, who had hiccups through most of the third trimester, making Santa jealous of my jiggling like a bowl full of jelly. Pregnancy? LOVED it.
I would seriously consider being a surrogate if the right person approached me. Because I loved being pregnant, and I love my children, but I don’t want any more kids. Our three are perfect for us, and I can’t imagine adding another child at this stage of the game.
But pregnant? I could do that part.
(Now, I need to take a moment to restore both my husband and my mother to a normal blood pressure: Guys. Relax. Just thinking on screen here. Any further babies in this fam will have to come from my brothers.)