How I Know She's the Last

I guess I've never learned to say "when", but it's always been a mystery to me how people know when their family is complete. I've heard friends say that they had always planned to have a certain number of children. Or some say they really wanted to try one more time for a certain gender. Others say they knew when they were "maxed out" and had taken on all they could. I've never felt sure in any of these ways...until now. (The hysterical weeping for joy you hear in the background is my husband.)

Here's why.

My last child is a daughter I call "the trial of my Faith". She has a strength of will like Joan of Arc, the emotional volitility of an 8.2 level earthquake, the sense of entitlement of a communist dictator, and the energy and volume of a pack of hyenas all trapped in a two-year-old body. The world that she resides in is a little different from the one you or I would recognize.

For one thing, she thinks that clothes are something you wear only when you leave the house and that sleeping and jumping on the trampoline requires the removal of every stitch including underwear/diaper. And speaking of which, she insists on wearing panties even though she has no interest in using the toilet. She even managed to shed a diaper I had duct taped on her. Needless to say, I am grateful for my carpet steamer.

She thinks that the purpose of a fan, the household type that are used everywhere in Hawaii, is to yell into it at the top of your lungs. She thinks that any and all pairs of shoes that she thinks are pretty are hers. She wrestled her 7 year-old sister to the ground to get at a new pair of pink flip-flops she was wearing. And she thinks any and all bodies of water from mud puddles to beaches with 12 foot pounding waves are for jumping head first into in the deepest part.

A shopping cart for her is just a jumping off point - a means to reach things she otherwise could not. And she escapes with a skill worthy of Houdini from all belts and buckles no matter how tightly they are strapped. Tooth paste, Desitin and Kraft Singles are mediums for art spread on the walls, the counters, and herself. And baby wipes are for frolicking in.

So I think I finally figured out how to call it quits - when mothers of teenagers look at your toddler and say, "Good luck when she's 13!" Although I will not actually declare myself "done" because I know as soon as I do, I'll get pregnant. Just ask Ambie, she knows what that's like.