Numbers

As the holidays arrive and I look at our four stockings hung by the chimney with care, and I clean closets and wonder whether to save the baby and toddler clothes, and I investigate new career paths that pay less and/or require moves to bigger cities with smaller homes, my mind is constantly returning to the question of whether we're going to have more kids. But I don't know. And that bothers me.

There's a lot I don't know that doesn't bother me at all- the fundamentals of organic chemistry (despite 8 college hours in the subject), the appeal of Sara Palin, the appeal of Kim Kardashian, and how to cook a chicken breast without making it dry (well that one bothers me a little). But it seems that I should know if I'd like another baby and if I want my family to contain four or five human members.

When JP and I got married we thought we'd have 3-4 kids. I was one of 3 and it seemed like the perfect number to my 12-year-old brain- not as perfect or boring as the 2 kids/2 parents combo and not as crazy as the 4-5 kid families. JP is an only child and definitely wanted 3+ kids of our own. And then we had Landon. And while we loved him, we couldn't imagine voluntarily signing up for the first 12 months of baby care-taking again. Two years and a few months later, we accidentally got pregnant with Claire. Six weeks into Claire's infancy, I was absolutely certain we'd have more babies. I think I could have found out I was pregnant right then and been thrilled with it. But then Claire got bigger. She stayed just as awesome but we saw the way she and Landon interacted, and the way our family worked as a unit of four, and it was just so good and so easy. JP got a job and it was a bit rocky, but we figured that out and it's good again. While more time in the day would always be welcome, I honestly believe we get to spend enough time with our children and that they think feel the same. We're involved in their daycare classes, with their teachers and friends and parents, and we spend a lot of time together at home. And while I've learned that adding a child doesn't cut your time with your existing child(ren) in half, I do wonder how we could give enough to three kids and still give enough to each other (I'm a firm believer in the priority of the marriage before the kids- JP and I were a partnership before we had kids and we do our best by them in maintaining that happy, supportive, loving relationship as our family's backbone). And then there's finances (daycare is about $60,000/kid over the 5 years), logistics, and the increasing realization that in about another year we'll be done with diapers, cribs, strollers, and all other baby accoutrements. And that sounds pretty awesome.

But- if I'm done, shouldn't I know that? It's so big- creating a whole new little person to love and care for, to find adorable and brilliant and hilarious and everything we think about Claire and Landon- how can I not know if I want to do that again or not? To have a family of four v. a family of five? The idea of not having Clairebear is devastating, and I know I'd feel that way about baby #3 should I get a chance to meet him/her. Ambivalence just seems out of place and yet that is exactly what I feel.

If I were to bet (and I wouldn't because I hate gambling and even the fact that we have money in the stock market drives me crazy), I'd say we're done. It makes sense. We're happy. The world is generally built for groups of four. It's easier to travel, something we desperately want to do more of, and we can start taking big trips sooner if we exit the baby years at Claire. As a kid I thought the four person families were too perfect. As an adult I see that a table for four (and hotel room for four, and car for four...) is a wonderful thing. The thought of being done with pregnancy and the need for new clothes and making my body gain/lose 40+ pounds in a year, that sounds pretty good too. I love both of my siblings and can't imagine life or my childhood without them- I never once wished for a smaller family. But I also don't think that had it been just two of us, that I would have felt that something was missing. JP claims that if he were to bet (and he actually would because financial risk is something he finds fun) he thinks we're having more, but he's okay if we don't.

I don't know what we'll do. As I cleaned out the kids' closets I made two sets of bins. One "memory bin" for each child with the special clothes- the ones that even if we were to have a third and fourth I wouldn't reuse. The baptismal dress, the home from the hospital onesie... those are preserved forever. Then I made another bin of the clothes for each sex, at each age, that are nice, unstained, and cute enough that I'd look forward to using again, but should we not have more children, I'd give the whole bin away without a second thought. We've done the same with baby toys and gear- given away most, kept a select few favorites. I look at the pictures of friends with their brand new babies in the hospital and I can't imagine not having that experience again- of being in the hospital, marveling at what you created, and spending those weeks at home, snuggling on the couch with your sleepy, stretchy little wombat. But then I visited a friend today and held her newborn baby girl, and while I loved being able to chat with a tiny baby sleeping on my chest, I didn't feel a single pang of jealousy or desire as I handed her back over to mama.

Part of me thinks we'll wait a while, see where are careers go over the next few years, and then, if we do want to expand our family, try to have two more close together again. We're 28 and 30, we have time. Most of me thinks we're done. All of me wishes I knew what I wanted, and I wonder why I don't.