Tonight we met with Todd (designer for our new house) to go over some changes in the plans. The big changes involved the master bedroom, the garage, and one particular wall in the dining room/living room. We had a good brainstorming session, and I feel good that Todd will come up with something that draws from our collective design sensibilities.
The other smaller change involved reconfiguring the upstairs bathroom--the one that the kids will use. Well, smaller change for him. But really the whole reconfiguration is based on one big hypothetical: having another child.
Which isn't to say that I am having another child, only that I might. And if that other child is a boy then I want the bathroom to function well as the siblings share the space. If we have a boy. Which we might not. If we have another child. Which is more probable than even having a boy.
It's a conversation I've been having with myself (and Jason) for the last couple months, and even though it's not something I lose sleep over (at least, not too much), it's something I toss around in my mind as I look at house plans and we wonder exactly how to divide up room space. The whole conversation with myself goes something along these lines. Are we having more kids? If we are, then when would be a good time to consider having this other child (though I realize, of course, that this isn't totally in my control, but hypothetically speaking...)? Should I get pregnant while we are assured of Jason's job and therefore awesome health insurance? How will this affect my teaching load? How will we afford a new car since we don't have one that could seat three carseats? How far apart do we ideally want the kids do be in age? Do I really want to be moving into a new house pregnant? Wouldn't it be easier to be pregnant next year so that Rebekah the Amazing Nanny can help out? Am I even suited to parent three children?
On the other hand, the conversation sometimes goes like this. Please dear Lord, we are not having any more kids. That easily answers all those other questions.
I realize that I am blessed to be even in the position to be having this conversation with myself, knowing that there are some people who would give the sun, moon, and stars to be in my spot. I also realize there is a lot that's not in my control regarding the whole thing. But still. It crosses my mind. More than occasionally.
It wouldn't really be a difficult choice if I was excited about the prospect of having another baby. Jason and I have always kind of thought we'd have three kids. It's a nice compromise between our two families. There were two kids in his family, and he always wished there were more. There were four kids in my family, and I always felt like my mom was on the verge of a nervous breakdown from the stress we caused her. Three is good. A nice prime number. I don't care about the middle child syndrome because I figure once you have more than two, there are always middle children. Maybe you have one middle kid, maybe you have two or three. As my sister says, "Tyler and I are the middle kids in our family," and she's right. Oldest, youngest, and middles. You deal with whatever you get, and you parent accordingly.
The idea of a three-child family is more more appealing to me than actually having three kids. I'm not even dreading being pregnant anymore, which was the bigger concern last time around. It's the fact that most days I feel like I'm just treading water, trying not to drown in a sea of sippy cups, tiny socks, and play-dough. The thought of adding another child to the mix? Really? Me? The one taking Zoloft every day just to keep my head together?
I don't know. My gut says, "Wait a few years. It'll make it easier." My significant other (who also has an important say in the whole thing) says, "I'd really like to be out of the baby stage in a couple years instead of starting it all over again."
Seriously. I don't know.
It's not a decision I have to make right now, at this instant. It's not even a decision I have to make in the next couple months. It might be a decision we have to make this summer, if we're factoring in health insurance. I'm just thinking aloud here, not really expecting some sort of revelation. The only one who really knows the answer to the question "Are we having any more kids?" is God and my ovaries. Whatever my decision ultimately is, it's still not completely up to me.
Last week Sydney said to me, "I want a baby brother."
I smirked. "Did Daddy tell you to say that?"
"No. I just want one. I have one baby sister, and I want one baby brother."
"We'll see," I say.
She looked at me, smiled, and agreed. "We'll see."
Just for spite, I'm giving away the pregnancy book I reviewed last July, Body, Soul, and Baby. If you're interested in winning it, leave a comment at that old post, and I'll choose a randomly lucky winner Wednesday at 8 pm PST.
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