Never again

On a day in late September, I sit beside my husband.  I know that what I am going to tell him could cause an irreparable tear in the fabric of our marriage.  But I know that I must say it.

This is what has happened to me over the last several weeks:
After we lost the baby, I was hell bent on getting right back on that horse.  We were going to make a baby, damn it, and nothing was going to stop me.
I visited with my new doctor, and she said that she recommends waiting through two cycles before trying to get pregnant again.  I am unhappy about this because I am on a tight schedule- and I need that baby to be here by June- and November is not going to cut it!  But I listen. I don't want to lose another baby because I am too impatient to do it right and make sure it has the best environment to grow in.
I ask my doctor if I am likely to have another miscarriage.  She tells me I am not.  She tells me that it happens sometimes.  I think the most surprising thing isn't that I had a miscarriage this time, but that I made it through six previous pregnancies without a single loss.  I have defied the odds, and it was time for me to pay the piper.
Then, I started to think about actually raising another child.  My daughter is a senior this year, and I am about to send her out into the world.  I have spent the last eighteen years raising my three children, sometimes with a partner and sometimes alone.  I have spent eighteen years putting myself last, spending all my money and time on my kids.  I have spent eighteen years tending sick children, staying up late at night when they have fevers, taking them to practice, and loving them with all my soul.  As I think about eighteen more years of waking up at night, eighteen more years of exhaustion and giving and aching, I think, "no, I don't want do this again."  I am old.  I am tired.  I want to enjoy time with my husband and my big kids.  I don't think I have the energy to chase a toddler again.
After that, I think about having another miscarriage.  I can't do that again.  I can't do that again.
I realize somewhere at the end of September that I am done.  I am happy.  I love my kids.  I love my husband. I love everything about my life.  I have just climbed the mountain of post partum depression and survived.  I am finally healthy. I am finally whole.  I don't think that I want to chance messing this up.
I think of all the bad things.  I think about losing the baby again, but further along.  I think about having a damaged baby because my eggs are so old.
I think about so many things, and in the end, I decide I do not want to try again.  I do not want to have a baby.  I want to be done.  I want my life, my beautiful, amazing life, and I don't want to break it.

Fast forward back to now.
I am sitting on the couch next to my husband.  And I say it.  "Love, I don't want to try to have a baby again.  I want us to be done and be happy with our life like it is."
And I brace myself for what he will say.  He says, "Okay."
And I remember why I love him so very much; he sees me, he knows me, and he is willing to love me just exactly as I am.  And he picks me over every other dream.  Oh, how I love him.
And we plan to snip, snip him.  And we are done.  And I am at peace.
I will never again be pregnant, and I am happy with my choice.

Look at this beautiful life:

How could I ask for more than this?