Why am I so reluctant to give my protesting uterus up? If only this simple question had a simple answer. Is it pride? A fear of losing control? Sadness? Fantasy? Narcissism?

Like females I’ve seen in movies and read about in books who, upon hitting menopause, feel their worth as a woman slide way down into the depths of nothingness, I am struggling with similar emotions in having a hysterectomy. Won’t the fact that I don’t have a uterus make me less desirable in the eyes of a potential partner, particularly if that partner doesn’t have any kids himself and wants them? Wouldn’t I be, at least in a sense, depreciating myself?

Worse, if I’m completely honest with myself, the idea, no matter how ridiculous or crazy, of having another baby someday gives me a giddy, daydream-like feeling (you know, it could happen, even though it won’t). To take away that potential for another child, even though he or she is very likely merely a flitting fantasy, is worthy of a good bawl, I feel. Who am I if I am incapable of having more children?

Of course I realize, in my head, that there is far more to me than the ability to produce and carry a baby. But, as I said yesterday, none of this is logical. Not one teeny, tiny bit. If it were, I’d be scheduling surgery tomorrow.

Several readers wondered about my age as it relates to this dilemma. I’m 34. Young enough that I still have over a decade of reproductive years left, but old enough that losing my uterus isn’t necessarily that big of a deal, particularly considering that I started having kids at 22 (not to mention the fact that I already have four cherubs running around, but, you know, that’s just a small detail in this whole illogical mess). Then again, I’m 34, which means I have a good 15 or more years before the end of  my tribulation is in sight. That’s a long time to be fighting what looks to be a losing battle.

Though I never thought, really, that I’d have another child, this looming knowledge that my ability to do so is probably close to an end leaves me grieving and empty. It’s far worse than the feeling I get when I hold someone else’s newborn baby, that sadness that inevitably steals over me as I realize more definitively with each progressive baby I cuddle that the era of onesies and spit-up, developmental milestones and over-vigilant photo snapping, staring in rapture at my new little one and smelling that incredible newborn scent, is over for me.

It’s not that I have my entire identity vested in motherhood either. Of course, it’s my most important vocation, but I’m also a writer, a friend, a daughter, a sister. I am many things, and that’s how I see myself. Not being able to have more children is certainly not the worst thing that could happen, not by a long shot.

Spending the past three days writing about my uterus, which seems to be determined to go out kicking and screaming, still hasn’t gotten me any closer to a decision. Like many situations in life, there is no easy answer. Every choice has its strengths and its drawbacks; I just have to decide which drawbacks I can best live with and which strengths I can best live without.

P.S. Now that I’ve finished this post, one thought is echoing again and again in my head: I already have FOUR kids! Why is this even an issue for debate? It’s sheer madness to wish for any more, even in daydreams!

And yet…

Along with the crimson vision-inspiring claims were a couple laughable ones. The author claims that part of the reason why women become bumpaholics is because they relish the attention they get while pregnant.

Come on. Seriously? Anyone who needs that kind of attention badly enough to procreate in order to get it needs some therapy. Not to mention that I and every mom of 3 or more kids that I know would prefer to not get any attention at all. I hated being noticed when I was feeling like a beached whale. I just wanted to hide, not have every smiling stranger come over and pat my belly or people move way out of my way in their effort to give me room.

Also, the amount of negative attention you attract when you’re already carting around 2 or 3 kids and visibly expecting another is much more than I ever dreamed. When I was pregnant with Logan, my fourth and last, I can’t tell you how many rude, insensitive comments I got. Things like, “You do know by now what causes that, don’t you?” Even my own mother said that I looked like a walking advertisement for why people should use birth control (though, admittedly, I laughed when she said it).

Another line from the article that I thought was absolutely ridiculous was this one, also playing into the attention argument: “Spouses and partners dote on you, gladly delivering soup at 10 a. m. or antacids at 11 p. m.” Oh, please! I’m sure there are partners who do that sort of thing, but I would bet that the majority don’t. Even so,it still would not make up for how uncomfortable and painful pregnancy and childbirth are. Certainly no woman in her right mind would become pregnant just for that.

To turn having a large family into another mainstream addiction is appalling, unfair and ridiculous. It seemed to me that the author twisted all her source’s words to fit her own motive. Even the experts she quoted were clearly talking about the few women who do have a problem with procreating to fill some need/void, not any woman with more than 2 kids.

Bumpaholics, indeed. We’re not all Octo-Mom, for pete’s sake.

What do you think of this recently coined term for moms of larger families, “bumpaholics?” Is this theory ridiculous in your opinion? Entirely plausible? Just another ploy by the media to gain readers? Share your thoughts!

Her most recent coup is an essay she wrote for Babble.com as a rebuttal for the offensive piece that Women’s Health ran recently on women who have large families, dubbed “bumpaholics.” Meagan was quoted in the aforementioned article, entitled, “The Belly-Rubbing High;” however, most of her comments were left out as they most certainly would have disproved the author’s theory that women who have large families have emotional, psychological and/or intellectual issues.

There are so many offensive parts to this article, I could probably write a doctoral dissertation in my efforts to refute it. The bottom line is that though I’ve no doubt there are women who fit the writer’s description of loving the attention pregnancy brings and trying to fill a void in their lives with babies, the generalizations that prevail throughout the piece feel like they’re aimed at ALL mothers of large families, myself included.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure here, let me say that before I had kids, and possibly even when I only had the girls, I was completely and utterly boggled by big families. I felt very critical and superior toward them, particularly the large families in my community who I knew didn’t have a lot of money.

“Why would they have so many kids when they can’t really afford them?” I asked my husband multiple times. He, who is from a large and not super-prosperous family, always defended these families, saying they probably loved kids and that was more important to them than having money. I’d just shake my head, feeling sorry for these people who clearly didn’t know how to use birth control. To me it seemed irresponsible to have a bunch of kids, especially when you weren’t able to provide well for them.

Now here I am, the mother of four, and vocal about my desire to have more. Craaaaazy, right?

My point is that I know what it’s like to be on both sides. I think our society has taught us to value material possessions more than personal relationships and this can translate into the decisions we make about our offspring as well. Larger families are looked down upon in general because they often have less and seem chaotic and crazy, at least one of which is pretty close to true for most of us, I think.

Here’s the part of the article that really lit my fuse more than any other: “But plenty of couples stop at one or two children, despite the fundamental drive to reproduce. This is because we can use our higher brain functions to keep those instincts in check, reminding ourselves that children cost money—about $950 a month until they’re 18—and require an extraordinary amount of time and energy.”

Oh, OK, so evidently I’m not intelligent enough to keep my instincts in check? Yeah, I’m not at all insulted by that generalization.

I can,  however, use my higher brain functions to save mega bucks by swapping baby clothes, toys and necessities with my extended family members; forcing my children to save up their money and buy their own high-dollar items; buying clothes and shoes on clearance; getting food in bulk; and a zillion other tricks I’ve learned over the years. $950/month per child? Seriously? That’s absolutely crazy. There’s no reason on God’s green earth that a child should cost that much unless he/she has some major medical issues.

More on this another time …

As I handed each of the kids one, Cody said, “Are these babies?” I told him they’re baby chicks. He said, “Well, I’m not going to eat them. They’re babies and I love babies. I don’t want to eat them, I just want to love them.”

There is an open box of blue Peeps next to me, and the reason I know that it’s Cody’s box is because the chicks are uneaten.

Except for the one on the very end whose head has been bitten off.

Either he couldn’t resist having a taste (though this is the kid who consistently takes the red gummy bears out of the bag and refuses to eat them because they’re his “friends”) or, more likely, Logan took a chomp, despite Cody’s urging him not to eat the poor little baby chicks. (I put a damper on that right away. Just because Cody doesn’t want to eat his candy/friends doesn’t mean Logan should feel bad for eating his.)

“I don’t want to eat them, I just want to love them,” he told me again.

Priceless.