Rob and I decided recently to seriously consider stopping at one child. We put that idea out on the table and left it there.
It actually seemed to sit pretty well, much to my surprise. I'd always imagined I'd have at least two children (except on the days I thought I'd have none). When Rob said early on that he wanted two, I pictured us with one of each: a rich man's family. Before we had one child, two seemed like a reasonable number. Now that we have Westley, two children seems like twenty. "I'm not sure I could go through this again," I said to Rob on the evening of a particularly grueling day. And that's when the One Child Plan emerged.
The more we thought about it, the more stopping at one made sense. Pregnancy, birth, and the first year of Westley's life basically kicked our asses: physically, emotionally, financially. My health checked out. I got closer than I ever have to saying "I want a divorce" and really meaning it. Now, when we're still working to stitch our relationship back together and haven't even begun to pay back our savings account, hitting "reset" on the child-rearing timeline seems ridiculous. Stopping at one would mean we could just keep moving forward.
All Westley, all the time.
The minute I make up my mind on a major life decision-type-thing, I start to feel the tiniest questioning itch. It's not even as noteworthy as an inner voice of doubt--more like a grain of sand--but it's there. And the more that grain of sand rolls around in my mind, the more it starts looking like a pearl. I think, You're wrong! There's a better option! Look how shiny it is!
I have to admit right now that my mother is frequently the source of those sand grains. About having children, my mother says (and I'm not paraphrasing), "A sibling is the greatest gift you can give your child." What a fabulous grandparental pressure-filled greeting card that would make! Admittedly, however, there's something to consider in that statement. Having a sibling means having a peer to practice all that important peer-stuff with. A brother or sister is the perfect ally against Mom and Dad which, let's face it, is often essential for a person's mental health. But having a brother didn't keep me from missing out on the peer-relations front. And besides, having a baby because my mother thinks it's a good idea? Has all the makings of some Lifetime-Television-for-Women crazy shit. Of course my mother thinks it's a good idea for me to have another baby! She's the grandmother!
Still, I'm carrying around that tiny, almost-pearl idea. It doesn't help that suddenly all of Seattle is pregnant--or else the new trend in birthing classes is to take field trips to the grocery store. There are pregnant women everywhere, which makes it hard not to think a.) I Know What You Did Last Winter, and b.) why not me? And lately, Westley himself is the ribbon-icing on the diaper cake: he has become obsessed with all things "baby."
Westley has four dolls, all of whom he calls "bay-bee." He carries whichever of them is his current favorite over his shoulder, like he's going to burp it. He can spot an actual baby a mile away (even though sometimes the "baby" is a child older than he is). Annie Rose is My Little Sister is one of his favorite books. My beautiful (and goofy) friend Amanda is pregnant, and it took Westley about three minutes and my mentioning it once to figure out that there was going to be a baby. And then he couldn't stand how awesome it was. He had to point to Amanda's belly and give it kisses over and over. Now we can't mention Amanda's name without Westley asking "bay-bee?"
Given Westley's current obsession, it's difficult not to lose myself in fantasies about what he would be like as a big brother. So often at the park an older boy will engage Westley, and show him how to do something like take a "shortcut" up the back side of the climbing structure or slide down the tube slide head first; I try to imagine a four-year-old Westley teaching his little brother the secrets of the playground. I try to hear Westley telling his little sister about all the things he loves: dancing, Sesame Street, dandelions, guitars and oboes, the pool. The picture in my head is blurry, hard to bring into focus. Two children? My two children? It seems like an impossibility. It seems crazy! And yet, something about it just seems...right.
"I want another one," I said to Rob.
"I know you do, baby."
So, there you have it. We're not quite ready for a second child. Okay, we're not even "not quite" ready. But we're ready to be thinking about being ready. I definitely want Westley to have turned three already when his brother or sister is born. In terms of "planning," that means out with the IUD and off with the pants and on with the gettin' it on a little less than a year from now. That seemed like a reasonable amount of time last week, when the "let's stop at one" idea was officially replaced by "let's have another." But now, a year seems like no time at all. It might as well be next week, in fact. I don't know how we're going to be ready to "try" a year from now. (Practice? Heh.)
I realize that our "plan" is not set in stone. It doesn't have to be next summer; any pressure I'm feeling about having another baby soon-ish is entirely self-imposed. But I want Westley to have a sibling close to his own age. And getting knocked up next year means I could be done having children before I turn 30, which sounds kind of awesome. On the other hand, two children before I turn 30 sounds kind of crazy. For starters, how the hell am I going to deal with being pregnant and taking care of a toddler?
Advice from any of you bloggy people who have embarked (or are currently embarking) on the two-child journey would be very, very welcome. How did you decide it was time to go back for seconds? Was age-difference a factor in your decision? What am I really getting myself into? Feel free to comment or post a full, tell-all report on your own blog.
