It’s an internal battle that I’ve been having for the past few months. As I look at my two young children, I can’t help but think, is this it? Or, will we/should we have more children? It’s a question I ask myself daily.
For one, my daughter was the age that my son is now when I became pregnant with him. It happened sooner that we had anticipated, which was a blessing, yet a total shock since it took up almost a year to get pregnant with our first. As I look longingly at my youngest, I try to think back at what it was like to just have one child, and it’s nearly impossible.
My daughter had just turned 2 when my son was born. The way she held him, with his little body nestled in her arms, in my arms was a feeling that I’ll never forget. At that moment, I felt my family was complete.
During his infancy, a third never crossed my mind, maybe because I was immersed in babyhood. I didn’t even think about the possibility of having a third kid, until my son went on a nursing strike around 6 months old. It hit me hard. My daughter nursed daily until 13 months, and I assumed it would be the same with my son. That was not the case, and honestly, shook my world a bit.
I’m not sure I’m ready to grieve. Making the decision to “be done” begins a grieving process. I’ll never see my baby’s heartbeat flicker on the ultrasound again. I’ll never feel the kicks (only the really hard ones out of the womb from toddler tantrums). I’ll never breastfeed again. I’ll never lay with my newborn infant across my chest, heart to heart, synchronously breathing together.
On the flip side, I’ll never feel like my bladder is about to fall out of my body again. I’ll never have to roll out of bed like a turtle stuck on its shell again. I’ll never have to fear that I’m leaking milk in a meeting at work. And, more important, I’ll never have a traumatic birth again. I had 7 botched epidurals, countless attempts at IVs, 15+ interns talking about their lunch plans, and the NICU team ready since the cord was wrapped around his neck. I’ve never seen my husband so scared in his life than when our son was born.
If we do decide to stay a family of 4, I feel that we’ll be able to live the lifestyle we’ve planned for. We’ll be able to send 2 children to private school (I doubt we could send 3, although the 4th is free, so maybe we’ll just keep going!) and we’ll be able to go on family vacations each year like I did as a kid, which was so memorable to me.
Sometimes I feel that even considering a third child means I’m not satisfied with the two I have. I have trouble balancing two children, a husband, career, finances, blog, friends and everything else, how would it be with a third? It’s hard enough as it is to give each child my undivided attention and spend quality time, one-on-one. Besides, our family is currently an even number, and we’d have to get a new car, or a Diono to maximize tush space in the back seat. Nor could I imagine doing toddlerhood again (probably because I’m in the thick of it right now).
But who am I to dictate any of the above? Am I just trying to play God making these “decisions?” I pray for guidance, but I fear that I’m giving him a slap in the face for even bringing this into question. If I have love to give, why not give it, right?
I still haven’t made up my mind; and I’m not sure I ever will. But then again, do I have to?
The post Whether or not to have a third kid: an honest essay appeared first on Spit Up is the New Black.
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