No one believes us when my husband and I say we will not be giving our Julia a sibling. At least, that's how I interpret the reaction. It does seem likely to the casual observer that two 28-year-olds with a four-year-old daughter might even be surprised themselves by baby number two. But all should trust us when we say, there will be no more.
This is not to say that I didn't want more. For some reason, be it societal or primal, when I found out there would be one baby, I assumed eventually we'd have a second. It took time to accept that our perfect family had three members.
I can be satisfied and yet, the rest of the world is baby crazy. This is the only explanation for 'Jon & Kate Plus 8' and 'Table for 12' even existing. They have made the decision to have fertility treatments for "just one more" or to give the only girl a sister seem like solid, rational decision making.
The opposite point-of-view wouldn't play well on a reality tv show. Watching me spend hours playing, baking, cleaning, reading and talking to one delightful little girl is no fun compared to the drama of watching five sullen crib-bound babies and one who used her poopy diaper as finger paint. It's like gaping at a train wreck.
Octo-mom and these others seem to be constantly putting fertility treatments on the defensive. Two clear options are presented in the debate; fertility treatments that potentially produce a litter of kids or utter misery. There's no mention of childless people who feel bummed, maybe even mourn and then get on with life. There is this glorious third option to have no kids or one kid or let the little girl be raised in a house full of boys.
The act of being happy with what you've been given has wilted in the glow of flashy science that can give you just what you know you've always wanted.