Not because I want to be pregnant again.
Not because I want swollen ankles or no waist again.
Not because I want bloody nipples or leaking boobs again.
Not because I miss flipping one out every two hours or using that damn pump again.
Not because I miss the pitter patter of little feet.
Not because I never want to sleep through the night again
Not because I miss wearing puke on my left shoulder.
Not because I love scraping peanut butter off the bottom of the fridge.
Not because I enjoy spending all my money on people who are thankless.
Not because I love spending my nights administering medicine.
Not because I love nagging.
Not because I love driving them to all of their activities and in the process have forgotten to have life.
Not because I love doing their homework.
Not because I will (hopefully) miss those three hour long dinners waiting for the picky one to eat enough to sustain a gerbil.
Not because I have too much time on my hands.

No, the reason I have decided I want another baby is that both my other kids were c-sections. The next one is an automatic c-section. That would mean I would get up to 5 days in the hospital. 5 days of someone bringing me meals. 5 days of no cooking, cleaning, nagging, driving, worrying (yeah I know that one isn’t true).
And that will be like going to a spa for a week.

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