I was never one of those women who dreamed up a house full of children running around while I coddled and cooed over them. In fact, I was never really one for young children at all. Despite all of that, I still knew that I wanted a family that extended beyond my husband and me. So we actually took the steps in planning to get pregnant, which ended up taking a little longer than we anticipated. But I dutifully took my temperature every day, and charted my cycles, and finally our little boy was conceived. It was worth it, and we were happy.
It was then, once my son was born, that I was able to start picturing the future, and it only ever involved the three of us: me, my husband, and our son. The thought of having a second child entered our minds, but only in a fleeting “do we have to?” sort of way.
Then it started. If I had thought that all the presumptive questioning (along the lines of “when are you getting married?” and “when are you having a baby?”) would stop once I was legally hitched and had popped out one kid, I was wrong. Once our son turned two, the questioning began again. Only this time, they were less questions than they were opinions cloaked in concern.