I often speak about how I do not have the “I’m done” gene when it comes to babies. Whenever I have a newborn, I think, “Yeah, I could do this one more time”. The problem is, I say that EVERY time – whether it’s baby #1 or baby #6. As a result of my gene-lacking situation, some practical decisions had to be made so I wouldn’t one day find myself in the awkward position of being unsure if I was pregnant or experiencing menopause. Because Daddy-o is sensitive about this topic, I need to remain somewhat elusive. Having said that, I’d like to share my feelings about a minor surgical procedure that he *may* or *may not* have had. Having the baby door slammed shut on me didn’t hurt the way I had expected it to. I thought I would mourn the end of an era. Seems quite the opposite happened, as evidenced by a few things: 1) I packed up all my maternity clothes to give away and didn’t secretly hoard my faves “just in case”. That is how I always packed away my maternity clothes in the past. I didn’t really pack them away – they were never too far out of reach. 2) I got rid of my newborn baby clothes and blankets and didn’t shed a tear. In fact, once I cleared out all those teeny tiny things, I gave myself a pat on the back for decluttering and then repurposed the plastic storage bins. 3) I acquired a baby niece and didn’t abduct her. This was the true test. When my sister had baby Isla in January, I was worried. Usually when I hold a newborn, I can feel myself immediately ovulate. But I’m fine. I’m actually GOOD. I don’t need to have one of my own! Remarkable. I believe that as long as the possibility of another baby existed, I would always have thought “Maybe just ONE more”. Strangely, as soon as the option was taken off the table, it’s as though I got injected with a healthy dose of the “I’m done” gene. This was a huge surprise and wonderful relief – or a certain Daddy-o *may* or *may not* have found himself back at a clinic getting another surgical procedure to undo the first surgical procedure.