“I’m having the hardest time deciding if I want a second child. I’m an only child (a happy one), but always wanted to have a big family. It’s been taking us (specially me) a while to decide because I had a scary pregnancy the first time with Alice involving pre-eclampsia and two months of bed rest. Not fun.
I’m coming close to deadline and after seeing different doctors and finally deciding to go through another possible high risk pregnancy, I find myself with another issue.
I’m feeling lazy. Alice is already 3.5 and life is pretty peaceful. The thought of starting all over again haunts me. As much as I always wanted a second, I’m also concerned of how that would impact Alice. I would be so sad if she didn’t accept the fact that she is not the center of our world anymore. We have such a close relationship, I’m afraid that a second child at this stage would create a distance between us. She’s already at an age where she is used to being an only child and she would be 4+ if we decide to try for another one soon. On the other hand I see the age difference as an advantage for all of us. I could never imagine myself having two kids close in age. I would go nuts.
We’re definitely not financially prepared and probably never will be, but I see the addition of another child as a desire and not a calculation. And what if having a sibling be the greatest gift to her? And I know this crazy period of baby’s life goes by fast and eventually I would get my life back again. I just don’t know if I want to go through it. But I’m afraid of regretting if I choose not to. I’m so on the fence. Every time I see a pregnant women or siblings getting along well my heart melts. But I love having only one child. Alice is my little sidekick.
I wished I didn’t have so many concerns. I hate to over think this. I just want to come up with a decision and free myself from this subject. “
Thoughts? I know what decision I made, but the calculation isn’t the same for everyone. How did you make the decision?
You knew I couldn’t end on a painful note, and I’m not: With all its trials and exhaustion, parenting is still a transformative gig, your best chance to love someone without an agenda and to be loved for exactly who you are.
The minutes can be excruciatingly long, especially at 3 am. But when you look up and see your child’s sweet cheek–baby-soft or teen-roughened–and you love your child the person, that’s when it all comes together. You have done this, and you are doing this, and it is complicated and nuanced and chaotic and delicious.
I think a lot of us come into parenting thinking we have to be perfect. Or at least different from who we are. We’re supposed to be super-patient, strongly-bonded, overflowing with milk and kisses, morally unassailable, fascinated by truly dreadful children’s music, uninterested in anything that isn’t purely enriching, without tattoos or scars or baggage, and simply delighted to do anything that causes joy in little hearts, no matter how boring, odious, anxiety-inducing, or sanitized it is.
Well, hell. That’s just not true.
If kids needed a beatific, generic parent we’d hold auditions for a Ma Ingalls doppleganger and then send all of our children off to her to raise. Your kids need you. Not just in your role as parent, but for yourself. Little (and big) weirdnesses and all. I could launch into some big stories about how weird my parents are and how funny that is and how endearing. Or I could tell you about how my older son was telling me genetics have nothing to do with personality and I looked at him and said, “YOU’RE EXACTLY LIKE ME” and he laughed because he knows it’s true, even down to our stress behaviors. But you have those same stories about your parents and your kids are going to have those same stories about you.
You are great. And part of what makes you a good parent is that you’re still yourself. You stand for something. You’re interested in things. You’re working through it. And all those thoughts and all that process helps you be a person your kids can depend on, to love them and to help guide them through the process of growing up and being a human. Not a cardboard perfect parent (who won’t have any sympathy when they screw up). Your learning to be human helps them learn to be human.
Kids force you into making decisions you never thought you’d have to make, and give you a different set of priorities. The ideas you have about yourself and about what your life is going to look like change after you have kids, and as your kids get older. In things as simple as getting rid of your expensive super-awesome coffee table, to things as complicated as deciding to end relationships that don’t nourish you or allow you to be the best parent you can be. From making decisions about the kind of music you listen to while your kids are around, to deciding to push harder into your career or pull back from your career.
It’s a double-consciousness. The joy and connection of parenting, but being forced into decisions you didn’t know you’d have to make. Even when you’re absolutely sure of and satisfied with the decisions, you still wouldn’t have been forced to make them in such a deliberate manner if not for your child.
Even if it’s for the best, it’s still the end of your own innocence.