“How many kids is the best number? Which one did you struggle most with? Is 5 really harder than 4?” It’s the million dollar question. I have no idea why people ask me this – they mustn’t read my blog.
I’m hardly the Carol Brady of a large family.
The answer I’ve had for years is anything but three. I was one of three and hated it. I was the middle child and despised my position. They hated me. (translated I was a bitch) It’s an odd number. Kids play in pairs. I was so opposed to having three children after #3 was born I was already thinking of #4. And I got my 4th plus a bonus. The odd number still bugs me.
Just not enough to ever breed again.
When I get asked this I give different answers every time. If I’ve got the day off its 5. If I have them all with me its none. 3,6,22? I don’t know and I don’t care how many kids people have. Stupid questions deserve stupid answers. That is until my daughters asked me the other night how many times they should procreate. Then I was all ears.
The only thing I fear more than getting pregnant ever again is all 5 of my children knocking out 5 babies each. That’s 25 grandkids. And it means when I’ve finally got mine off my hands I would have an entire school class to divide myself between. 25 birthdays. 25 Christmas presents. 25 of EVERYTHING. There goes my bingo time. Life over.
I’d been planning my answer to this question for sometime. I just had anticipated (hoped) it might have been asked when they were in their twenties – not at 7 and 9.
“The perfect number of kids is two. Two children, preferably the same sex. Girls or boys – it doesn’t matter. Two kids means one for you and one for your husband. Or your wife. Or whoever you have kids with. When you’re out in public you can each hold a kids hand – if your partner is working or isn’t around anymore then you have two hands, one for each child. Two kids fit in the back of a normal car, with room for a friend. You won’t have to drive a bus like me that you can’t park because it’s bigger than a truck. You won’t have a partner you don’t see because he’s working 37 hours a day to pay the food bill. You can fit in one hotel room when you go away, and not freak out about interconnecting rooms. Random strangers won’t ask if you have a TV set, or if you’re Catholic. You will have a life because two kids is normal, three isn’t an option and any more than four and you are in the freak show category.”
“Do you understand me?”
And they looked at me like the crazed lunatic I was at that moment. And the one who was my only hope for listening to a word I ever said opened her mouth.
“I think I’m going to have 10 mummy, it’s an even number.”
She better be joking.