I don’t think I ever had a second thought about having more than 1 child. Not one moment since we decided that kids would be part of our life, have we ever thought of having an only child. I have no issues with only children. I know a lot of good ones. I’ve just never been one. I think that, often, people want to have what they know. What’s familiar to them. So I’ve long {since meeting Adam} believed I’d want 3 kids {or 4… but not 5}. I never feared my love wouldn’t
s t r e t c h.
But the other day I had a little stumble. I felt a little bit of guilt over adding a baby to our brood without consulting Barrett. I know, it’s a hilarious statement because he’s 2. And because, who really consults their children regarding adding additional children. But nonetheless, I felt it. He’s our first. And the only one we’ve really known. And we all survived the first round, together. And it made my heart sink … for just a moment.
I know that I could have put the word love to the feelings I knew I’d experience once Snowball rolled into our home but I could never have actually articulated the way that love would feel. I couldn’t have explained the need to comfort, soothe, and nurture as a mother. I could never have fathomed the internal dichotomy I’d face between the desire to be who I had been and the need to become who I was supposed to be. And honestly, I could never have believed I’d become that mom who believed that I was lucky enough to birth the most beautiful being to ever grace this earth.
So I should know that the same phenomena will ring true with baby number 2 but I was still surprised by this sudden realization that in my overwhelming excitement and anticipation to know Grin, I have some guilt surrounding what this all means for Barrett. As I looked at Barrett the other day, giggling…rolling…smiling. I did the same. Lying on the floor next to him, I found myself immersed in the moment. And lately, I’ve been captured by those sweet little seconds more than ever before. I know it’s because I’m subconsciously preparing for change. I’m holding onto this moment a bit, not knowing what lies ahead and knowing that we’ll never go back to being the parents of just one. Not good…or bad…just different.
In the longterm, I know Barrett will come through with flying colors. Growing up as the third of three, I know that I didn’t feel any less loved by my parents or any less wanted by my siblings {once they quit telling me I was adopted. I think I was 15 then}. I love my family of 5 and couldn’t think of subtracting a single member. I don’t think {at least I hope} that my brother resented the fact that my parents had three children instead of one. I don’t think my sister ever truly felt cheated by being the one smack dab in the middle {despite gripes about a hand-me-down sleeping bag and other material possessions}. So I hope that our children…however many there may be… will all feel our love. Equally.
The fact of the matter is, Barrett will have the fortune of benefiting from some things that our future additions will not. Alone time with us. One on one moments. The gift of undivided attention. And knowing that any question he has regarding the first two years of his life can be answered, verbatim. In contrast, Grin will benefit from our {hopefully} calmer approach, less panicked parenting, and the discovery we’ve already made… that no one can ever be a perfect parent. AND hopefully, I will benefit from the reality that while my body is not nearly as limber and flexible as it was ten years ago, my heart grows by leaps and bounds with each and every person it takes on. Because of this, I shouldn’t be concerned with our love’s ability to stretch to fit our family.
The thing is, before I had Barrett, I didn’t have the clarity that some do … I didn’t truly know to what extent we would love our children. But now, I can fathom just how much I will love this child. And while I understand that love is not a finite resource, I hope that I can be a good enough mom to make both children feel it. Every day.
