Three kids and still counting...

I'm experiencing something for the first time. My youngest child is approaching 17 months old and my desire to have another one is virtually non-existent. I was pregnant with Lily by the time Anna was only 14 months old. When Lily was only 13 months old, I became pregnant with Rachel (surprise!). Although the latter of the two announcements came as a bit of a shock, I greeted it with a bit of reluctant excitement. (Can those two words go together?) Reluctance because early pregnancy is no cake walk but excitement at adding another child to our family.
I held and stared at a number of babies this past weekend. They were absolutely precious. But as soon as I passed them back to their mothers, I recalled the sleepless nights, the constant feeding, the complete dependence that accompanies such a wee thing. And I don't want any part of it. Not yet, at least. Is it the third child that did it to us? Is it the vivid memory of how she almost starved her first night home from the hospital because she couldn't figure out how to eat? Is it the fact that she still wakes up by 6:30 a.m. every day? Is it the close spacing of our children that makes adding another one to the clan an almost-unbearable thought?
Not to worry. The fourth installment of the Egbert family will come. In due time.