It was my decision to have two kids and be done with it. I was comfortable with that decision. A family of four is a perfectly reasonable thing. Our kitchen table seats four. Our car fits two adults and two kids’ car seats. We have two spare bedrooms for our two kids. When we travel, we can get a hotel room with two double beds. We built our life around the concept of a family of four. Which we now have, and I’m now questioning.
Sure, I think I have good reasons for having as many kids as I have arms. But things changed for me in the delivery room when we had Will. I had a pretty challenging complication that stunned the doctors and nurses. After a long evening and a few scary moments, the doctor lamented, “Well, you shouldn’t be having any more babies.”
Huh?
So now a doctor is going to tell me I’m done? Well, that changes things. I feel a challenge (a.k.a spite-baby) coming on. Okay, not really. But making your own decision to not have any more children and being told you “shouldn’t” have any more children are two different things. It takes the decision away from you. It makes everything seem so final.
It makes my heart ache. At night when I lay Will down, I think this is the littlest baby I’ll ever rock to sleep. I’ve left the bassinet in our bedroom months past we’ve stopped using it. I hesitate about what to do with outgrown toys, clothes and baby gear. I promised myself I would ship everything off to Goodwill and the consignment store, and now I feel myself tempted to clear out attic space. Just in case…..
In case I change my mind? In case the doctors change their mind? In case I grow an extra arm?
I always thought a third arm would be useful.
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