Lunchtime. We hadn't planned what to make in advance, so we had to scramble to get lunch on the table. The result: X is yelling and throwing food on the floor. K is systematically dismantling the corndog that he specifically requested, dropping crumbs everywhere, while groaning, "Do I have to eat this?" I look at JW and announce, "We are not having any more children." He grins. "That's it? That's all it takes?" "Life is too short to spend any more years doing this," I reply.
Fast forward a few hours. We met friends who also have two kids, 2 and 4, for bowling followed by dinner out. Way too ambitious. The kids behaved, but after several hours of chasing them around, trying to stop them from climbing on us and everything else, and listening to them yell, we realize that we voluntarily submitted to birthday party levels of chaos. On the drive home, half an hour after X's bedtime, we were both a little shell-shocked. "You'd think that with one kid per parent, it would be fine," said JW, "but it doesn't matter. With each additional kid, there is exponentially more chaos." He then suggested we stop by the hospital because he was ready for an operation.
We decided to delay the operation for a few years, just in case, but I think we're on the same page.