Two kids or three?

A view from the sound, NC.

After dinner had been devoured, and after we abandoned the dining room with the tablecloth that often doubles as a napkin and the piled dishes and the leftovers that would surely have to wait until morning, and after I helped the boys into their jammies and read them each a story, and after I sang my rendition of hush little baby (complete with a firetruck and a too short ladder, a police car with a much too quiet siren, and an ambulance too slow to make it in time), and not until I shushed them from the near and far corners of the house and their eyes were closed and their breathing heavy, only then did I tiptoe across the unswept floors to pour myself a glass of wine, scoop up my journal, and find my place on the screened-in porch to spend some time with my thoughts.

As I journaled about my relationship with food, of all things, It suddenly hit me that maybe Andy is right, maybe two kids are enough. I have for years thought of myself as a woman meant to mother many children, always imagining a closely spaced grouping of four or five siblings.

Over the last few months a new feeling has been creeping up slowly and surely until one day last week after a typical morning, I sent a text to Andy: Today I do not want any more kids. 

We have argued and discussed this topic for more than 2 years. Should we have a third? Should we aim for four? Should we stick with two? His reply: You are a great momma, don't forget it. 

The kids are amazing. Each of them. Both of them. They are cunning and funny, testy and full of grand emotion. They surprise us in ways that astound us and alarm us. They are so different from each other and yet so the same. I am not a perfect mother but I am a good one. I do not love imaginary play or loud noises, or chaos. I am sometimes overwhelmed to meet the demands of these two growing boys. At the end of many days I am tired. So very tired.

For years I was resolute that 4 was my lucky number. Two didn't feel like "family" the way that three does, and four just tips it all over the edge to guarantee a boisterous home life and kindred spirits for days. I can look ahead to when the kids are grown and take comfort in the idea of having all that company and extended family to call on.  I like the way I think that would feel.

The justification game: the weighing of short and long-term costs and benefits. I find that the exercise can be a little bit of a thrill when I am on the side of saying goodbye to the childbearing years. But there is a sadness too in leaving it behind so suddenly. When I was pregnant with Merritt, when I gave birth to him, when I weaned him, I knew there would be a third. On the other hand, I have experienced all of my motherhood so far in real time, intensely, and truly. I've written about it, I've processed it, I've lived it.

I value my relationship with my kids and husband more than anything else, but there are other things happening in the world that inspire me too. With Merritt turning 3 this Winter and Roscoe turning 5 next Spring, some of the lost freedom that came with pregnancy and parenting in the early years feels just within arms reach. I'm so tempted.

One morning last week, the energy of the kids was so very high that I played momma hooky and called in our nanny two hours early because I just needed to get away. But then there are nights like last night where we all move through our nightly routine in rhythm and without fuss, and I can see a version of perfection co-existing in this messy house. It is a good life.

For today at least, I'm willing to try on the idea that the two boys we have are and will forever more be enough for us. Is there ever a final word on this kind of life decision, anyway? It's a pretty tough call to make one way or the other isn't it. (Interestingly, we had a similar discussion around this time last year...)