I appears that I have the baby fever.
Yesterday, I IMed Matt at work.
“So, just to warn you … I’m pretty sure I’m going to want to have another baby.”
He took it pretty well, considering his wife is clearly an EXPERT at knowing there is a proper time and place for everything. He’s not against the idea, but also isn’t entirely convinced. Myself, I go back an —
(Pardon me for the abrupt break at this point in the post. This would be where my dear Rooster, who was happily nursing, STOOD HERSELF UP and proceeded to dump out an entire cup of ice water onto the carpet. Perhaps this is the universe telling me, “DUDE. Don’t do it.”)
Myself, I go back and forth. Which is to say, some days I feel like I will definitely have at least one more child, and other days I feel as though we may be done. The pros and cons fight each other in my head until I don’t even know which side I’m on anymore. I know this isn’t a decision I have to make today (or ever, honestly, as it’s not entirely up to our whims and wishes), but it’s the curiosity inside me that wants to know what our family will look like in 10 years. (And FINE. The CONTROL FREAK PLANNER, okay?)
I look at it from so many angles, talking myself into and out of it repeatedly. Most of my cons are, I think, sort of silly things. I grew up in a two-child family, which I thought was perfect. The dynamics of a family with more children than that is foreign to me. I also love the idea of a family of four for the sake of simplicity. You all fit at a regular restaurant table or in a sensible small car comfortably. One parent per child. More of each of us to go around.
But I know all of those are minor things, honestly, in making a decision so big. They’d be worked out as quickly as it took to wash away my fears of “how will I love anyone as much as Vio?” the moment Roo was in my arms.
I am trying to base this decision on the assumption we would have another daughter. I refuse to have another child “to get a boy”, but I also know that I would be heartbroken to spend my life without a son. I’d not trade either of my girls for a boy, but wishing for another child leaves me open to that longing.
Another child also means more years before I get to go back to work. Back to a library. But what is a couple more years when measured up against the life of another whole person?
There are SO many other things I want to say here. My thoughts on another pregnancy and delivery, another year or two of nursing, dooming Roo to middle child status. But, really? Does any of that matter? Because when it comes right down to it, I look at our little family, and I’m happy. I know this could be enough. It would be enough, if it had to be. But I look at us, and I wonder, Is this our whole family?
I’m just not so sure that it is.