When I was younger, I always said I wanted a large family, with at least 6 kids. Needless to say everyone either thought I was crazy or that I’d come to my senses after I actually went through the process of having a baby.
As I matured, I decided maybe 6 kids really were too many to handle and I needed to lower the number of members in my imaginary family. So I decided 4 was a much more reasonable number and congratulated myself on being so sensible.
When I got married and had my first child at the age of 28, I finally understood why everyone kept telling me that having babies (and raising babies) wasn’t exactly easy. So I reevaluated my life plan a little and conceded that maybe aiming for 3 kids was a much more realistic goal.
Fast forward to today: as I sit here at 1:36am, massaging my aching back and trying to will away my pregnancy insomnia, I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, 2 really is the perfect number after all.