Put A Fork In Us

This is my husbands favorite line whenever the subject of children – or rather, more children – come up.

Look, it was cute when we were in our thirties, maybe even our early forties but he is fifty-four and I am in my mid-to-late-forties when childbearing is, um, kinda over. Oh sure, I guess technically I could still have a baby but let’s be real here. It’s over, folks.

And my husband likes to say, “Put a fork in us, we’re done!”

However, he seems to say it all the time, to whomever he is talking to and it is now rather, well, embarrassing.

Take for instance the teachers at the middle school. The same teachers that have also seen both our older boys filter through the same school, same teachers. So naturally they ask, “Oh, is this the last kid?”

What they mean is, “Do you have any other younger kids that we will see filter through the school in the years to come or is she the last of them?”

What my husband says, “Put a fork in us, we’re done!”

Oh. My. Gawd.

Finally I had to tell him to STOP saying that. The algebra teacher is not asking us if we are planning to have any more children!

I endure a lot with that man. I have to walk into Spanish class at the high school with him during conferences and he wants to see how much he can remember from his high school Spanish days by talking to the teacher in all Spanish. (Enter eye roll.) Or the geometry teacher where he boasts about how much he just LOOOVVEESSS math. (Gag.) Or the engineering teacher where he can talk all about, well, engineering stuff. (Yawn.) Or the culinary teacher where he can flex his Food-Network-Watching muscles and ask about mirepoix and mise en place. (Hold me.)

But when he talks about putting a fork in us, that we are all done conceiving children, thankyouverymuch, I am always dying of embarrassment.

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