I know. That’s not exactly breaking news, is it? It reminds me of when, several years ago, the top story on E! News Live was “Gwyneth Paltrow is NOT adopting a baby!”

When my first child was 15 months old and in that super-cute phase, I had no idea that he would ever be any other way. He was sweetness and light incarnate. He was justification for labor pains, nursing, sleepless nights, and the nap wars. He was so delightful, we just had to get busy and make another one.

Two years later, we know better. Our second child is at that same age now, and we will not be fooled again.

So it’s newsworthy to admit to myself that I am not, as I had thought I might be at this time, ready to have a third child. I must congratulate myself for the admission, nay, the declaration, because it is a situation in which mind has triumphed over matter, which has been hard for me in these last four hormone-ruled years.

I am 36. My husband is 48. Our children are 3 and 1. I have fashioned a schedule for our family that works for us. We have enough money to get by and to save a little for the future. We have two car seats in each of our four-seater cars. My husband and I are enough to provide a man-to-man defense when needed, and a sturdy zone when possible.

For the past few months, as my baby has approached and then flourished in that Super Cute Phase, that phase in which he is all sweetness and squish and not yet bratty and tantrum-prone, my body has asked me daily: “So, are we getting pregnant soon?” I’ll spare you the goopy details of the physical signs my body sends me. If you have ever gotten pregnant, you may remember them anyway.

But my body sends me other messages, too. It refuses to lose enough weight to get back into pre-pregnancy clothes, as if to say “Why bother? We’re just going to get fat again anyway!” At times, it cramps up and makes my boobs sore. “Just reminding you what it feels like! Remember how exciting it was?”

And then there are the hormones. Yeah, they’re still around. When my baby smells powdery fresh and snuggles up against my bosom, the hormones flood through my body, filling me with such intense physical love that my eyes tear up and my skin tingles and a lump forms in my throat. I feel like I’m going to burst with an overflow of love. How can I not have another baby to absorb the excess love? WHAT DO I DO WITH ALL THIS LOVE?

I haven’t talked about these thoughts with my husband, not in so many words. Back when we were merely planning to have children, we decided to have two. “A boy and a girl,” I said, as if saying it would make it so. After two boys, I secretly think I am not done yet, not until I get my little girl… or my third boy. But I suspect my husband is happy to stop here.

Besides not having both of us on the same page, at least not out loud, there are many reasons why it would be wise to stop making babies. First of all, I’m spent. I don’t think there’s enough Sane Mommy left in the bottle for a third child. I’m holding on by a thread sometimes as it is. I’ve developed a new coping mechanism recently – when my frustration level rises to the point of Defcon 5, I calmly walk away from the offending child and go to the farthest point in the house from him. Then I close the door, and scream at the top of my lungs. Hey, it works for them, why not me? It makes my throat sore, but it’s strangely calming. If you try it, just make sure it’s when your neighbors aren’t home, or you might get a visit from a concerned police officer.

As for more tangible resources that would be taxed by another member of the family, the list goes on and on. Our cars would not fit three children so they would have to be replaced, because it’s not legal to strap one to the roof. I’d have to work more and harder to afford daycare for three kids, which seems beside the point, and if you’ve read this column in the past you know I am not exactly effective as a full time stay-at-homer. While I am not worried about having enough love to spread around, I know that realistically we would not be able to give as much time and physical attention once there are three children who demand them.

Yes, “realistically” is the operative word. I am an emotional person, but as the mother and CEO of this family I have to make its well-being my top priority. See? Mind over matter.

But that matter, those hormones, they sure are strong. I haven’t spoken of these things aloud with my husband yet because I honestly don’t want to decide just yet. What if we sit down to have The Discussion and he says definitively no more? I’m not ready to tell my ovaries and uterus to pack it in, find a nice retirement community in Florida, and enjoy the early bird specials.

But what if he says he does want to have another child? I’m not ready for that, either. So for now I’ll do what I do best: procrastinate. I will find a day on the calendar that is at least a few months away and pencil in “Third Baby: To have or not to have?” Maybe in the meantime my body and my mind will come to some kind of agreement. There’s a first time for everything.

– Kim Tracy Prince

Liked this? Read More: Check out the outtakes from Kim’s latest column on her blog houseofprince.blogspot.com

Kim is the loving mother of a very energetic toddler and baby boy. She has worked on the hit show, “Bringing Home Baby.” Have a comment for our very blunt Mama? kim@themommytimes.com