I just watched an episode of 19 Kids and Counting! I haven’t done that in quite a while. I enjoy watching it up to a point. I can only take the mom’s nice voice for so long before it starts to grate on my nerves. Can anybody really be that nice all the time? Maybe it makes me feel guilty for not being so nice. Not that I’m not nice, just not all the time. I’m not judging her; I think it’s great that she is so nice. I’m also not judging her for having a large family.
Most people consider my bunch with five kids a large family, but I don’t. My husband and I both came from families of ten, five girls and three boys in his family, while my family had an even four and four. Hubby and I always said we wanted at least four or five. We were blessed with four pregnancies and five children. The first one was planned and the others, well, they were more loosely planned. Extended breastfeeding delayed my return to fertility which spaced them a couple of years apart. Since each child nursed a little longer than the prior one, the spacing of their births also got a little further apart. Oldest son was 2 years and 3 months old when Second son was born. Second son was 2 years and 7 months old when Middle son was born. Middle son was 2 years and 9 months old when Daughter and Youngest son were born. (They were born almost an hour apart.)
With a first and even second pregnancy, everyone is excited and happy for you. With a third and heaven forbid, a fourth, people, especially strangers begin to give you that look. You know the one; it says, “Really? Another one?” Family and friends may feel like that, but if they do, they usually do a pretty good job of hiding it. At some point, they realize that you’ve raised a great bunch of kids and sometimes I see a new look in their eyes, one that says, “I wish I’d had kids like that.”