Posted on | April 25, 2016 | 7 Comments
I always wanted more than one child. I wanted two or three or a dozen… anything other than just one. And when I got divorced after J was born, I thought that dream was gone.
Then I met Banks and we fell in love and, wonders never cease, he wanted kids, too. A few years down the road we got married and still wanted kids so we thought we’d give it the old college try. I was stoked. I always wanted a house full of kids.
And then four months in to our marriage, suddenly everything changed.
I remember it vividly. I was run down from work and life and juggling all the things. And as I thought about the idea of another child, a terrifying jolt of fear shot through me.
What on earth was I thinking? Why did I want more kids? Wouldn’t J feel replaced? Wouldn’t he think that maybe he wasn’t a part of this new family that Banks and I were creating? Would it be weird for him that his last name was different? Would he feel like an outsider in his own home? WHAT WAS I THINKING? I started to feel as though maybe Banks and I needed to have a long talk about the reality of having another child. It wasn’t just J I was worried about. I was getting old… I was already fighting a losing battle against weight gain. I’d given up running for a herniated disc. I just wasn’t exactly at a point in my life where I felt like I could handle a baby.
The sleepless nights.
The painful tug and sting of nursing.
The endless green and yellow runny diapers.
No. No, I wasn’t sure I’d thought this through. I have a kid who is pretty great. He doesn’t crap his pants anymore. He gets himself dressed in the mornings. His school is… FREE.
I’d made up my mind. I was going to talk to Banks about it. We just needed more time. We just needed to really think about how this would affect the dynamics of our family… our little family of three that was working pretty darn well, thank you very much. I was already so worn down and exhausted… how could I think I would be able to handle a BABY.
I’d talk to him that night, I decided. Or maybe in the morning.
Because I was just really tired and didn’t feel all that well.
It was probably just a cold, you know, something I picked up from J or work.
I just needed a quick nap and an early bedtime and I’d feel better and we could talk about how I might be just a little too old and too anxious to have another baby.
The next morning I called in sick to work. I just couldn’t get out of bed.
“It’s the flu, I know it,” I told myself. And hauled it over to the Minute Clinic for testing.
Not the flu. Not a virus. Not at all what I suspected. Suddenly all my anxiety made sense. Suddenly all the fear and terror at bringing a new life into our family made blinding, perfect, plus sign sense.
We’re having a baby.
Ready or not.