When someone asks me when we are having another baby, I show them this picture.
At first, you see my disgusting, neglected, filthy backseat.
You can practically smell the curdled milk that has crystallized into the cloth interior.
Stale Cheerios and miscellaneous snacks are littered throughout & smashed into every crevice.
There’s even a refugee from the Island of Misfit Toys.
But if you look closer, you’ll see the underlining message of this photograph:
The sheer panic of conceiving another child.
I’m sitting in the pharmacy drive thru waiting to pick up my birth control.
Meanwhile, my child is performing a death-metal-ear-shattering tantrum.
I feverishly rip open the birth control wrapper, hastily discard it over my shoulder, pop out 2 pills because I missed yesterday’s, & dry swallow them in a panic.
Fast forward several weeks or months or whatever…
I spend hours chiseling away at the crystallized milk, & pry the Toddlers car seat out with a crowbar to find this:
A stark reminder that I am in no way ready to have another child.