The first couple of years of CSPP were rough. The truth is I'd secretly been hoping I'd inherited an old family heirloom, low fertility, which would give me a comparatively easy ride through this zany confession I got yanked into. Bad Rebekah. Our first two kids were 18.5 months apart. I know there are people whose spacing is even tighter, and I loved our superior babies, but Concordian Sisters are always doing math in their heads. A kid every 18 months for the next 15 years? What if it's even longer than 15 years?! The meltdowns were melty. Like a Taco Bell commercial, only angrier.
The next few kids had a somewhat wider spread, and I've also mentioned how having older ones around really stabilizes the family unit. I've calmed down. I can't remember when my last full-on meltdown was (Dad could probably tell you). I've recovered my sense of humor enough to say completely insane things around our extended family to lovingly help them get past their shock and prepare for more baby announcements. I'd say I've plateaued.
But if things keep going this way . . . I'm not ruling more meltdowns out of my future. For some reason 35 sticks in my mind as the age past which I'm going to get really unstable again at the prospect of baby after baby after baby. I think members of our extended family can get their minds around the idea of six or seven babies, but 8+ would probably be difficult for them.
Holy cow. 8+? Difficult for them?? A 20-year-old when I'm sixty? 63?! My years are not my own. None of them.