Another one? Another baby? Surely I misheard. The ink on my first kid’s birth certificate had barely dried. But I didn’t mishear. And now that my son’s approaching his first birthday, I field that question nearly weekly. I do realize these inquiring minds mean well. I get it. We’re programmed to love babies — the human race couldn’t continue otherwise. I should just take it as a compliment that people trust me to mold more young minds. Or chalk it up to natural curiosity or slightly outsized smalltalk. But perhaps some people underestimate the weight of this question. Maybe my family feels complete with the kid I’ve got (he is perfect in my very biased opinion). Maybe the financial burden a second kid would impose is too much for my meager wallet to bear (after all, childcare costs almost as much as rent). Maybe I’m trying and failing to conceive again (an estimated 3 million couples struggle with secondary infertility). Maybe I am secretly pregnant (just kidding, Mom, I’m not!). Or maybe I’m simply too tired right now to contemplate what multiplying the current chaos wrought by my toddler would do to my life. All valid reasons to hold your tongue. Now, there are plenty of polite ways to shrug off this questioning, but sometimes the situation merits a little more sass, and a simple, “mind your own business” doesn’t always cut it. So the next time someone asks you about kid number two (or three or four), flash your biggest IDGAF smile and clap back with one of these. Does this count as gaslighting? Seems reasonable.
