I took me until age 31 to stop insisting that I wasn't getting married. Then I got married in like 9 months. It took me until age 34 to stop insisting that I wasn't having a kid. At age 35, I'm now insisting that I'm definitely never ever in a million goddam years, so help me God, under any circumstances having a second kid. I'm for serious this time.
Dude, keep going. Despite my talk of how infeasible kids are right now, if the ducks were squared away (lol mixed metaphor but I'm keeping it), I'd be going for it. At least two. Maybe three? Four? I'm reading Bryan Caplan's Selfish Reasons to Have More Kids and it's eye-opening. Parents have been increasingly overestimating the cons of actually raising kids (notwithstanding the financial security required, a condition which Dr. Tenured Professor assumes you've satisfied). Kids are incredibly resilient and will grow up to be as happy and healthy as their genes allow, so long as the home environment isn't actively harmful and deficient.
Little fucker cries All. The. Time. One thing I'm discovering about myself is that I'm not all that patient. I believed I was until recently, but observing the differential ways in which I and my wife react to ceaseless crying, it's become clear to me that I'm not very good at this. Maybe I'll forget how difficult it's been in a year or two, but I doubt it. I love him and will be the best parent I can be, but voluntarily subjecting myself to this shit twice? Not sure about that. All that said, it'd be nice to have a daughter, too.
Apparently I was a wonderfully quiet baby, slept and napped regularly. My younger sister was the nonstop screamer. I guess those sorts of things skip? Or maybe, like moving furniture between houses, our brains cleverly and mercifully forget the ordeal so as to induce us to do it again.