Three’s the magic number…

by Minnow + Co.

If you are a parent, (or if you just enjoy listening to Pandora’s “Toddler” genre station) you’ve undoubtedly heard the song “Three Is A Magic Number” by Schoolhouse Rock.  Or a new version by Jack Johnson.  Or possibly you remember Blind Melon’s version years ago?  At any rate, one of the verses goes like this:

A man and a woman had a little baby,
Yes, they did.
They had three in the family,
And that’s a magic number.

I have to say that I can’t agree more with the song, but especially this verse.  Why?  Because I am so deliriously happy with our little trio of a family.  We are a snug, sweet, self contained little unit, and I just really dig our cool little life.  In addition to S, E and myself, we also have three cats (wait a second – three really IS a magic number…) so we DEFINITELY don’t need any more cats.  I don’t want a dog right now. (Potty training looms large in the not so distant future and I don’t think I can simultaneously clean up poop from two species…)  But the bigger question that seems to have been coming up more and more often is about when and if we’ll be adding another little peanut to our family, a playmate/sibling/torture target for E.  It seems as though the first birthday of your first child is the landmark when everyone feels it’s now appropriate to ask when you’ll be adding another baby to the equation.  (E will be ONE YEAR OLD in a month and a half.  Crazytown, I tell you.)  Plus, I have several lovely ladies around me who are on their second go round on the baby train – and we were all pregnant together the first time, plus or minus a few months.  So, yeah, second baby has been on my mind.  And I’ve had a very… interesting reaction to the concept.

First of all, it literally BOGGLES MY MIND that anyone could be raising a 12-18 month old while pregnant.  Beyond that, my reaction upon hearing the (joyful) news of second pregnancies is sheer, unbridled terror for my friend.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m ridiculously happy for anyone about to bring another sweet little one into the world.  My panic stricken reaction is really more a result of my own feeling that I would LOSE MY FREAKING MIND if I even attempted parenting more than one child.  I have the utmost respect, admiration, love, and a teeeeny weeeeny bit of envy for any woman who is up for that challenge.  Because the honest, dirty, somewhat embarrassing truth is that I absolutely do not feel like I am capable of that particular gauntlet, at this point in time.  Maybe it’s knowing myself really well, maybe it’s that I need to wait a few more years and then I’ll be ready, but whatever the case is, I can honestly say that E is all I can, or want to, handle at this point in my life.

Admitting that isn’t easy for an ambitious overachiever like myself.  It sort of galls me to ‘fess up to the fact that there is something out there I don’t feel qualified to do.  Moreover, the “something” is this very basic thing that millions of women across the world do without blinking, and that “something” seems, to me, like trying to move a Mack truck with my toes.  It makes me wonder why others around me are saying, “Yes, please, I’ll take a second helping,” when I’m the one who hasn’t even finished the first course.  I’m no wuss, and have always thrived in high pressure situations where expectations were sky high – and I’ve almost always exceeded those expectations.  So to suddenly feel so completely bewildered at even the mere thought of trying to be a good mommy to E and be a good mommy to a brother or sister leaves me, to say the least, uneasy.  Normally, I’d take on that kind of challenge with relish.  But for right now, everything intelligent and intuitive inside of me is putting the brakes on, locking the door, and grounding all flights.  Second baby is a no fly zone in this house right now.

I’m not saying never, I’m just saying there’s no way in hell right now.  Maybe I’ll finally have the strength to consider it when E is a little older and could be a helpful big sister?  I don’t know.  What I do know is that I am an admitted ambitious overachiever.  And along with that lovely territory comes a strain of perfectionism that’s like a deadly virus – no matter how you try to shake it, it just won’t seem to quit.  And I wonder if that has something to do with my very strong reaction to this issue.  Becoming a mother has tested every fiber of my perfectionistic being, because no matter what I had planned, how I thought things were going to go, or how hard I’ve tried, some things have just been a complete mess.  For example: 42 hours of back labor for E’s birth, or E’s steadfast refusal to take a bottle until a month ago (a story for another day), or my seeming inability to accomplish more than one single thing on my mile long to do list EVERY DAY.  Yeah, it’s been a massive adjustment, to say the least.  And I think that for someone like me, adjusting to being a mommy, adjusting to being at home, adjusting to E’s ever changing needs and quirks, well, it’s just been a whole lot of adjustment.  I don’t think the aftershocks have quite settled down yet for me.  I’m pretty sure that’s why my palms start to sweat when I contemplate what it would be like to have another baby.  I can’t wrap my head around the kind of adjustments that would come with a second baby, and because I can’t picture how I’d make it work, it scares the BAJEZUZ out of me.

I know that many, many, many mothers do it, and do it just fine.  In fact, I’m pretty sure that, outside of China, single child families are by far the minority, so it’s pretty much the most normal and basic thing for a woman to do.  But I never said I was good at normal and basic, so it’s kind of oddly natural for me to be so flippin’ freaked out by something everyone else doesn’t think twice about.  And I know that it’s likely every woman who finds herself pregnant a second time has a moment of sheer terror, but then just manages to make it work.  If modern contraceptives failed me, and I did find myself in the family way again, I’m certain that despite knee shaking fear, I’d find a way to manage, and would most likely be insanely happy with a foursome family.  Every child is a gift.  I can’t endorse that sentiment more heartily.  But for right now, I’m pretty content to focus all of my mommy love on E, and will let the second baby question rest for a few years.  I wish I could be so brave as to make that leap, but for now, I’ll stay wimpy.  And will remain very, very happy with our trio.

By the way, I’m pretty sure we can manage to raise E not to be a spoiled brat only child by socializing her well, teaching her good manner and morals, and oh yeah, by being the kind of parents who don’t let her get away with being a spoiled brat only child.  The same way we don’t plan on letting her get away with becoming a bully, a sociopath, or a mean girl.  We’ve already heard that argument when we mentioned we weren’t sure about having more kids, and we just don’t buy it.  I do have reasonable arguments, ones that don’t revolve around my fears,  for keeping our family a trio.  For our family right now, it’s the most logically, emotionally, and financially responsible decision.  If things change in the next few years, we’ll reconsider.

But for right now, Schoolhouse Rock got it right: three really is a magic number.