Power of Two

Hi ho!

Last week was just awesome. Kate was here. Kate! My dear Vermont friend, and oh, I just love her so. It was such a joy having her and her 11-month-old son Jacob here, and while I normally miss Adam on business trips, I daresay it worked out better with him gone, because it was like girls night out in the entire time she was here. We stayed up late drinking wine and talking, were zombies by day (since when does girls’ night in include 6:30 a.m. screeching wake-up calls?) and though it was a blast, I was effing EXHAUSTED by the time they left, because when I tried to sleep at night, I couldn’t, since I was STILL TOO EXCITED. It was ridiculous; I was like a little kid on Christmas Eve. I just kept thinking, KATE IS RIGHT THERE. AND THEN TOMORROW, WE WILL HAVE COFFEE AND PLAY WITH THE KIDS. AND THEN DRINK WINE AND TALK. AND TALK SOME MORE.

You’re never too old for sleepovers, it turns out, although there was no hair braiding, and no one did anything mean. God, do you remember that? Of course you do. I distinctly remember people doing the whole hand-in-water thing and worse, during a particularly vicious middle school sleepover in the midst of a row of some sort, people smearing Vaseline on the faces of their maligned comrades in an attempt to … clog their pores? I think? God, we were just not bright. Bra freezing would have been much smarter, and though I think there was some of that, I do believe I was the only victim of such shenanigans, which was fine, since I basically didn’t need a bra until I got pregnant anyway, and I think I just carried it home in a plastic Food Lane bag.

Which brings me to, oddly, the fact that Sam is entirely weaned. She was mostly weaned, and then I thought she would self-wean, and then I thought things would get better, and then I started sneaking it to her, like cigarettes under the bleachers, and then before I knew it, there we were, nursing again. And now we aren’t, and in the grand scheme of things, it was surprisingly easy. The hardest part was at first, when she regressed a bit and wanted to — please wait for it — SUCK ON MY BOOBS, WHILE WATCHING TELEVISION. Yes. Child wanted to kick back with some Moose A. Moose while chilling with her bag of potato chips boobs.

I am happy about this, as it was more than time. But also, when I think about it, I’m sad, because it’s true: my girl is no longer a baby. Well, she still is in so many ways, like, uhh, vocabulary (“NAH? NAH?” apparently means “GIVE ME THAT BUCKET.” It also means, “HEY, I AM THIRSTY.” And in times of desperation, can be used for, “HAVE YOU SEEN MY SIPPY CUP, OH WAIT THERE IT IS IN MY HAND, THANKS.”) And yes, I’m lucky that she’s a total snuggler. But still! Gah. The growing and the growing up, it is happening before my eyes.

I think I’d be sadder if I wasn’t planning another, and though there are no guarantees, I think knowing that I might at least get the chance to try this again really helps. Which is why my second child will nurse until s/he’s in grad school. What? Is that … odd?

The whole second child thing has been the subject of many of us, since there was a bit of a blogging class who had kids around the same time, along with many of my real-life friends. It’s hard, isn’t it? I’ve always known I wanted more than one kid, just because I’ve had such a positive experience with all of my siblings, in different ways. Despite more half- and step-siblings than most, I am the only product of my mom and dad, and frankly, it was a bit lonely going through their break-up alone, and navigating the muddy waters of the aftermath without another person to bear witness. It was … strangely burdensome, no matter how lovely my parents were (are), or no matter how difficult the time was. Maybe another person would have made it harder, maybe it would have been easier — I’m not sure. I can’t say I wish for my life or siblings to be any different — I don’t, for I am thrilled with how it all worked out, and my parents are amazing, all four of them — but it has made me think about how I want my own family to look.

And though I don’t see Adam and me divorcing (no, I really and truly don’t, but I realize that no one truly plans on it), for me, the experience of having, and in some cases wanting, witnesses to my childhood is most meaningful and/or desirable, and I want the same and more, for Sam. And so, (at least, but probably limited to) two it is. There was a flash of a time when Adam considered stopping at just one — just our perfect little Sam — until he realized that we were having the discussion on our way to his brother’s house. You know, the brother and his family that we love and miss and enjoy hanging out with. The one who gave the toast at our wedding. The one who cheered Adam on at basketball games growing up when his parents couldn’t go.

Yeah, that one. Two it is.

And so it begins — not today, but at some point. The misery of trying to get pregnant (and I don’t mean the MECHANICS of it, I mean the anxiety and the waiting and the … OH YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN), especially since Sam wasn’t exactly a piece of cake. The maybe-pregnancy, with the hope that I won’t barf my way through life the second time; the hope that I don’t see parts of every meal twice and sometimes three times. The hope I don’t lose my mind again and end up crying into the fifteen pounds of potato salad I was making for Adam’s company pot luck.

If we’re really lucky, the newborn stage. HA HA. The newborn stage! You GUYS! DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT MY NEWBORN STAGE WAS LIKE?

THIS. IT WAS THIS. (Thank you, Amalah, for offering me the opportunity to document, FOREVER, precisely what those months were like. I’ve referred to that thousands of times to remind myself that I am a rockstar.)

And then I just think we’re completely crazy, and that we should just call the whole thing off and use the money we’d save on a second child and go to Aruba. And then I remember WE NEVER GO TO ARUBA, which is the same conclusion I came to before I had Sam, and you see? You see how this is all very messy.

You see.

But still. I hope there are two. I hope we are that lucky.

*Indigo Girls. OH YES I DID. It’s like 1993 up in here!

25 comments July 25th, 2010