You’ve got to know when to fold ’em

The Bandit has started riding in the third row seat of our Durango all by himself.  This has been going on for a couple of weeks now.  I suspect he got tired of his sister torturing him in the seat next to him.  God I wish there had been a third row seat when I was growing up, but we never had station wagons. 

From way back in the back of the car, I hear his little voice.  I turned down the radio so I could hear him.  “Mom, are you and Daddy going to have any more babies?”

I snorted.  “No.”

“Why not?” he asked.

I looked at him in the rearview mirror.  “Because we have you and Sassy.  Two is plenty enough babies for me and Daddy.”

“Two is for quitters, Mom!” he hollered.  “You’re a quitter!”

I barked out a laugh at how adamant he was.  Honestly, this was the first conversation we’d had of this kind.  He’d never asked about more brothers or sisters, consequently, I had no idea of his strong feelings on the matter.

At dinner I told his father about the earlier conversation.  The Bandit again expressed a desire for a younger sibling.

My Honey began to inform the boy of all the things he would have to give up if we had a new baby.  As far as I am concerned, all of this conversation is a moot point.  The baby factory is closed.  I’m too old and too selfish and too desirous of never having another nine months of torture to go through that again.  I’ve successfully made two miracles, I have no need to tempt fate again.  But The Bandit doesn’t know any of this history, so his daddy hit on all the things that would matter to a five year old boy.

“You’d have to give up your room and half your toys and move in with Sassy.  All those vacations to Disneyland would stop.  Santa Claus couldn’t bring you as many presents…”  The list went on and on.

Still The Bandit wasn’t deterred in his opinion that his father and I were quitters and he deserved a younger sibling.

But I hit on just the thing to make him see the light.  “You know, Bandit, there’s no guarantee the baby would be a boy.  You might end up with another sister instead of a brother.  Then what would you do?”

“Yeah,” My Honey agreed.  “Then you’d be doomed!”

That did it.  The conversation is off the table.  Apparently, he’s not a gambler.