There is a line in Sarah Jio’s book The Violets of March that stuck with me. Well, the gist of it stuck with me, because I can’t find it again (I guess this is a time when an e-copy comes in handy, to search out phrases). The main character knows somebody who had three kids and thinks, You’d have to be crazy to have three. Which I found funny because Jio herself has three kids, and so do I.

If you have more than 2 kids, a lot of people do think you’re crazy. (Except Catholics or Mormons. Many of those families are a lot larger, so three is quite small in comparison).

After our third child was born, I schlepped her along in her infant seat to a farm field trip for Son’s preschool. Another mother, who had two older kids, looked her over, commented on her cuteness, then shook her head.

“Man, you guys are crazy!” she said, in a not-terribly-joking tone. “Three kids.”

The truth is, we are kind of crazy, aren’t we? We had two kids, a boy and a girl. They were out of diapers. They were almost all out of preschool. I had lost all the baby weight and was very healthy again. My body hates pregnancy– I gain a ton of weight, my joints loosen for like 5 years, and I had ulnar nerve problems (in my elbows).

So why did we have another?

I couldn’t sit at the dinner table without looking around for who was missing. Then I realized all four of us were there.

And I couldn’t shake the feeling.

Little Girl is different than her older siblings. She is more physically daring, more like Cadillac than like me. She’s a blondie.

I guess there’s also this: you never regret having another, but you might regret not having one.

But I wouldn’t go all judge-y on you if you had two. Or three. Or six. Or one. Or none.

Before Number 3, Cadillac used to say if we needed to have four, so nobody would have to ride alone at Disneyland. But that’s gone out the window.

Three is our magic number. We are done. Cooked.

It’s easier to just bring a friend to Disneyland.