I’ll regret this when they’re all home screaming tonight, when Roo is crying at 3:00 a.m. and I’m being kicked in the head by one boy or another as I try to let him fuss his way to sleep.

I’ll think, “Thank God we’re done!”

But walking out of Bryan after my follow-up today, I was genuinely sad to think we’ll never leave there with another baby again. Officially. Like, not possible at all.

It’s occurred to me along the way, of course, but given the total irreversibility of everything that’s happened in the last few weeks, this felt very final. I quickly imagined life without Roosevelt or even J–two kids who were probably our biggest surprises–and envision what the next one would have been like. And it’s kind of a bummer we’ll never know.

My body had had enough, clearly. And I’m extremely grateful we got the kids we got before my insides said, “Yeah, sooooo, FYI, we’re done.”

But six would’ve been a fun number too…

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