Fine, you win.

I'm almost 30 years old.

I have five kids.

Our household income is . . . minimal.

My wife has had a tubal ligation.

I was 19 when my first child came into my life, the youngest won't leave highschool untill I am 44.



Another child is not what the doctor ordered.



And yet . . .



I look at Crysta, and I probe the depths of my affection and utter love for her, and there is nothing I would like more than to create a child born of this love. To be raised in a stable home where parents kiss and cuddle as easily as breath.



I look at Aleisha, and I recall those months after she was born. The only child of my five that I have ever had to roll over, because she couldn't do it herself. Who I am responsible not only for raising to be the best person they cold be, but simply for being.



I do these things, and tears of love and longing sting my eyes and cloud my vision.



And yet . . .



I'm almost 30 years old.

I have five kids.

Our household income is . . . minimal.

My wife has had a tubal ligation.

I was 19 when my first child came into my life, the youngest won't leave highschool untill I am 44.



Another child is not what the doctor ordered.



And so we argue. And I refuse to be party to another child in our family. And she says "Fine, you win." then crys herself to sleep, again.



No, I don't win. I lose. We both lose.



But better to loose once and put it behind us, than have to loose every other week because we can't let go of an impossible dream.