Is it hormones or is it Memorex?

Before and after we had JiffyPop I was 100% certain that all I wanted was one child. As much as I totally adore her, admittedly, all the baby stuff is not my favorite in the world. And her dramatic entrance and first few months didn't make that any easier. Breastfeeding every 30 minutes to 3 hours (including through the night) for the first four months almost drove me to the crazy house. I even suggested a vasectomy to Beau who blanched and then declined.

Then when JiffyPop was about 4 or 5 months old, I started getting these urges. It didn't feel very real, just felt kind of primal. "GET KNOCKED UP" my body said. "HUH?" replied my brain. And then my brain got chatty:

You don't want another kid. One's enough trouble. Most of the time it's neat, but sometimes it's pretty boring. You'll be even more broke than ever before, and will probably never ever have your own home. You'll never be able to visit the United States again. The next 1-2 years of your life will be consumed with infant care again. Your "career" (ha ha, what I mean is, simply having a decent job) will totally go out the window. Having JiffyPop alone when you have to go to town can be pretty tough at times, now imagine TWO of them! You pretty much hated pregnancy except for the last two months (months 6 and 7). You're at that age where the next baby could have some serious medical problem. You want to give your attention and love to one baby and not feel stretched/tired/resentful as an overworked Mom. This baby is so sweet and good, there is NO way we're going to get lucky twice; the next one will be a monster.

Yeah.

Despite this, my body keeps saying, "One more! Really, just one more. I won't ask again. Three is out of the question." (No shit).

Is this just pure hormonal, evolutionary drive?

So, I think on the two kids thing for awhile. It's funny, we both thought we were having a boy with JiffyPop and I was really happy about that. But now, I think I'd actually like another girl. I really like the thought of two girls. Not sure why.

Anyway, even when I'm content in the "one child only" corner, something throws me for a loop.

"If something happens to us, JiffyPop will be totally alone," said Beau.

Oh, god.

The whole "every kid should have a sibling so they're not lonely" argument totally doesn't wash with me though. I know plenty of people (including myself!!!) who had a frequently abusive, angry sibling and was completely miserable and would have gladly spent my childhood alone.

Then one of my best friends said, "Gosh, two is actually easier in a way. They play with each other so you don't have to be RIGHT THERE all the time like you do with one."

Oh.

Again, assuming they're siblings who get along.

I actually have one friend with four kids who said it got progressively easier with each kid. Okay yeah, WHATEVER.

But I do have some guilt that Beau and I may spend the rest of our lives here in New Zealand and JiffyPop will be deprived of her extended family, and when we die, she really will be all alone. Now granted, I'm not all that broken up that she's missing out on my family, since I am not all that entirely sure that most of them are good people to be around anyway, but there is still a little guilt, that she probably won't have what I wish she could have: a nice big warm family. Sometimes I think that's just a fantasy - something created in Hollywood for Christmas films and Lifetime movies. I mean, are there really large and supportive families with heaps of cousins and aunts and uncles and lots of love and laughter? (You've all seen Dan in Real Life, right? Great movie, but REALLY?).

I think that after I left home at 18, my tolerance level for all family quirks/annoyances/scandals" plummeted. I just didn't want to deal anymore with the endless drama. Not that I didn't create my own drama, particularly in my 20's, but STILL, I'm pushing 40 now and I feel a lot more settled and a lot less indulgent in family crap. Well, even friend crap too. (Though I'm sure Beau and I may disagree at the level of actual drama at any point in time in our marriage).

ANYWAY, once again, I'm thinking about the second kid. Like, REALLY thinking about it. Is it really just hormones? Argh....more soul searching required.

Postscript: While looking for some images for this blog, I found an article that states that the "happiest families" are those with two girls, due to things like getting along with each other, helping out around the house, being obedient, etc. etc. The unhappiest are four girls. Hunh. Anyway, they did not have any information on only child families. Poop.

Connie

I love love love this. It makes me happy. And a little teary-eyed.

Crybaby

Last week were some pretty big events at the university. Our office had to staff one of them, a small one with mostly deans, faculty, and some administrators attending. A really nice guy in my office, we'll call him "Guy," was stationed at one point with me. We were basically acting as ushers at the entrance to a theater, and most of the people had already filed in. We were standing there chatting, when a small boy of about eight or nine years old started to climb the many steps up to where we were. I recognized him as some staff member's kid. She always seemed to bring him along on the free events hosted by the university. As he approached, we noticed in one of his hands teetered a rather full glass of orange juice, and in the other, he carried a cookie about the size of his head.

As he reached me, I smiled and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, you can't take that into the theater, they don't let anyone take food in. But go ahead and finish it here or downstairs if you like, then go on in." The boy stopped in mid-step and stared at us for a full 30 seconds or more. Guy and I kinda looked at each other, then shrugged it off. We continued to chat a little bit, but here and there I stole a glance at the boy, who was now looking off into the distance in an almost catatonic state. It was slightly unnerving, but I tried not to pay attention, because I figured he was embarrassed and I didn't want to make him feel more uncomfortable.

A couple minutes later, I looked over at the boy again, this time head tilted down as if in prayer over his orange juice, which along with the cookie, was still held aloft in mid-air. Suddenly, his shoulders began quivering. Then, as if from a dramatic movie scene, you could actually see teardrops begin plopping into his cup, splashing into the orange juice. Stunned, I turned and looked at Guy, who looked just as stunned.

"What's wrong?" I asked. Sniffling and snuffling loudly, the boy cried out, "You won't let me take this in!" Again, I looked at Guy, wide-eyed and perplexed. Wtf? The boy continued sobbing uncontrollably. We tried to offer words of consolation, but it was a bit ridiculous.

Being a teacher for three years, you get used to not only seeing kids cry, but actually MAKING them cry. The first time you do it can be a bit tough. You feel like the devil. But you get over it. Fast. Kids cry. Sometimes YOU make them cry, and usually, it's not anything insensitive or cruel that you did. The first time I made a kid cry, was on the very last day of classes when I caught EIGHT students had copied their homework after one (the class genius). I gave them all a zero on their homework. The class genius wept for 20 minutes. The other kids were nonplussed.

But this little boy was actually kinda pissing me off. So he couldn't bring his juice and big fat cookie into the theater. Big fucking deal. It's not like we snatched them out of his hands and threw them in the trash. If this was the biggest hardship he had to deal with in his life, then his mother REALLY had to get him out more. And if it was some kind of ploy to get us to acquiesce and let him enter the theater, then he was even more of a little brat than I thought. After a few more words of re-encouragement to go eat his cookie and have his juice or to instead rejoin his mother (he didn't), we gave up, and just ignored him. He then sat down on the stairs, folded his arms over his knees, bent his head over into his arms, and just sobbed. I eyed the orange juice, now perched on the step next him, with some apprehension.

Jesus.

Eventually, we went into the theater and left him there. I was wondering where his mother was the whole time, whom I imagined was inside waiting for him to return. Maybe I'm a cold bastard, but Guy works every weekend with kids in his church, and he had pretty much the same reaction. He just uses much nicer words. Beau has no such restrictions.

Later, when I told this story to Beau, he scowled and said, "If that was our son, and you'd raised him that way, I'd smack him so hard, YOU'D feel it."

Snorting, I said, "I wouldn't even raise a girl that way."

Then we continued on with a scathing review of other people's parenting, which is easy when you don't have kids, of course.