I picked Ike up from school yesterday, and as I was buckling him in, he surveyed his brother's empty booster seats and promptly burst into tears.
(BREAKING: 3 year old remains 3 years old; filled to brim with drama, inner turmoil)
I assumed he was upset because Noah and Ezra weren't in the car — they are never in the car, we go directly from Ike's school to their bus stop only EVERY DAY OF HIS LIFE, but hey, don't let our thoroughly established routine get in the way of your freakout, kid — and reminded him that he'd see his brothers in just a few minutes.
He shook his head. "I don't want my brothers. I want my baby sister. Where is my baby sister?"
"You don't have a sister. But you have brothers!"
"I'M BORED OF BROTHERS!"
I got in the car and changed the subject. I didn't have the heart to tell him — though I will break the news to you, Internet, or at least the segment of Internet who is still #TeamMoreBabies — that his father finally made his appointment for a vasectomy consult that very morning. There will be no baby sister (or more likely, given our track record, no additional baby brother oh my God can you even IMAGINE no I cannot). Sorry, once-and-forever Baby Ike, but we're done.
To celebrate, I had a couple glasses of wine last night and drunk-bought that damned infernal Taylor Swift album.
I REGRET NOTHING.