Okay, sometimes I crack myself up so bad, I have to share. This was an e-mail I sent to my friend (and boss) not too long ago…

God. I was all over the “one more” thing until I was dealing with a newborn again. Then, I was like, “Huh. I am too old to do this again.” :grin: I dunno — in my head, I always pictured a lot of kids (think half a dozen). Bill’s head did not contain the same picture, so we came to a compromise (Tricia, then one more). Turns out, my head doesn’t contain that picture anymore, either. :grin:

ANYway, I also believe God talks to people. Maybe not all “Hey, Moses, it’s me, God. The burning bush over here? Yeah, totally me” style, but still. And I think He’s been telling me for a while to quit after Tricia, but I didn’t listen until I was told I have a prolapsed uterus. (Grody story there.) The convo went like this…

God: Steph, I’m going to saddle you with puking 24/7. It’s called hyperemesis. I’m trying to tell you to quit having babies.
Me: :urp: Man. I’m not gaining any weight with this pregnancy! Squee!
God: Hokay. So, that didn’t work. I’m going to try prenatal depression now.
Me: :urp: This is what therapy is for.
God: :growling: Fine. Stubborn cow. Let’s go with a week and a half of prodromal labor, how ’bout it?
Me: :urp: Mmmm…morphine….
God: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! Fine. Let’s try PPD.
Me: Woo! No more puking! And YAY therapy and drugs!
God: Oh, for the love of Mike. You’ve forced me into this. :prolapses Steph’s uterus: Bet walking around feeling like you’ve got a tampon inserted improperly will make you rethink more babies.
Me: Oh. Eww. Why does my cooper feel funny? Heyyy — God, were you talking to *me?
God: :repeatedly thumps head on wall:

Yeah. I think I’m over wanting more kids. :grin: