I turn 35 this month. It feels like a milestone birthday: equidistant between 20 and 50. When I was 20, I could not have imagined that I would be married to my college crush (we met 15 years ago this summer) and that we would be raising two boys together. Life is weird. I can’t picture what 50 will look like, even though life has more constants than variables at this point.
35 also marks the impending decline of my fertility, according to some studies. To have or not to have a third: that is the question. I love the idea of a family of five, but what about the reality? We’re in a pretty good groove right now, and the thought of hitting the reset button seems exhausting. But, on the other hand, it’s only tacking on two more years (give or take) of diapers, inconsistent sleep, and baby/toddler wrangling. What’s two years in the grand scheme of things? And, Henry would be out of day care by the time potential #3 came along (unless I got pregnant within the next couple months, which is not happening absent a miracle), so it wouldn’t be an added child care cost, just a delayed savings.
As we go back and forth on the pros and cons of adding another human to our family, we’re (not so) patiently waiting for spring to make an appearance. I don’t mind the cold and the snow, but I’m ready to be able to leave the house without rounding up a million layers of outerwear.
There are some signs of spring: maple sugar open house weekend, the occasional brilliantly sunny day, and spring fevers (literally).