the. bungalow. post.

It is such a trivial thing.  I am foolish to obsess over it.  Fear of the future dims the lights and I can barely see my feet when I walk through this life.   If I can just find the answer to my question, I'd find the light switch and I'd quit chasing shadows.

Chalk it up to post partum, but I can't seem to shake the question "Should we have another biological child?"
"Who cares?!!"  I scream at my thoughts.  More softly, "Rest your mind, rest your heart on the amazing lifeforms that run around making a mess of my unfounded pride".

The other afternoon, Ender joined me on the bench swing in the backyard.


"Are we going to have another baby after Sam grows up?" he asks.

"Uh, I'm not sure.  Should we?"  (I'm losin it, asking family planning advice from a four year old)

"No, three is the rule"  He pipes.

"Oh really?  Who told you that?"

"Nobody.  Its just the rule."

"Well what if we had a fourth.  Then what?"

"I'd be happy"

"What about Three is the Rule?"

"Then Four would be the Rule"  he quips.  "THEN TWENTY ONE HUNDRED!"  (Thats his favorite number to yell)

Thank you my sweet boy, my little teacher with twiggy limbs and stinky breath. 

You're right.  Whatever we have, we have.  That is the "rule".