By Agent Tarter
Posted on Monday, July 18, 2016
From the moment A. and I first talked about having kids, our ongoing debate became a joke. A. came from a small-ish family and liked the idea of having three kids; I always countered with “Let’s have two and then we’ll see.” He (with backing from the many parents of large families in our area) argued that parents are all good until you have more kids than hands; I responded with the point that since it was MY hands that would be staying at home, more than two WAS outnumbering hands! But I did, in fact, have an open mind; I was looking forward to being a parent, and I knew that, once I got into the swing of things, I might be open to three…or maybe even more.
We had a little trouble having O. – unexplained infertility can be a bitch – but he came along. It was a while later than we had expected, but not too much later, and we didn’t require any significant intervention. And, while I had one very early miscarriage before G. – early enough that I would have thought it was just a truly awful period if it weren’t for an early-response pregnancy test – having child #2 wasn’t too hard.
Equally importantly, I did enjoy being a mom…for the most part. I mean, nobody loves poop and feeling trapped at home, but I liked having babies (although I find they get more fun the older they get!) We had our struggles – money was a bit tight, stresses were a bit high – but initially, it didn’t seem like a third child would be necessarily out of the question.
I did debate whether I would want another biological child, or whether we should explore the idea of foster care with intent to adopt. It’s an issue that’s important to me, and there are so many kids who are looking for permanent homes. So A. and I definitely talked about doing the required home course, which would make us fully aware of the whole process, and considering adopting a child. Our thought was to wait until O. and G. were in school, and then consider adopting a child younger than our biological kids, so we were already familiar with the age and stage.
Then A. started seriously struggling with mental illness, which I’m talking about in my own series on this blog. And much of his stress was triggered by issues relating to the kids. I started to realize that, if I decided to carry or adopt a third child, responsibility for that child would really be entirely with me. In all honesty, I also feared that A. wouldn’t be there to help parent any longer. But even if he was, I began to understand that he would probably never be able to share a full half the burden of parenting and decision making.
And then my next door neighbor had an oops pregnancy. They had always been adamant: they had two, that was what they wanted. J. had his vasectomy appointment booked. Two weeks before, I realized she was late. All things told, they handled it pretty well – after the requisite freakout, of course!
But I had my own freakout, too. Suddenly, I realized that I was terrified of my own possible accidental pregnancy. A. was struggling with mental illness and G. had just been diagnosed on the autism spectrum – how could I possibly handle another child?
And then I really started to think about my “maybe” third child. Going from four to five has plenty of complications in any situation – bigger cars, more food, more clothes and school supplies and activities. But in my life, the emotional complexity was the bigger problem. I had a certain amount of time and energy and compassion to give and it was all spoken for.
I told A. that, whether we fostered and adopted a child in the future or not, I was sure I didn’t want any more biological kids, so we took <ahem> permanent measures. There’s still question about whether we would be permitted to adopt through the foster care system given A.’s diagnosis; most governmental organizations are not so forgiving of mental health issues, sadly. But even if we are, I don’t know that it’s something that I can take on, now or in future.
Most of the time I’m happy with our family of four. We have a boy and a girl, what Canadian Maritimers call “the millionaire’s family” because you have one of everything. Both of them are fun, delightful kids. And while they were cute as babies, it’s hard to imagine going back to a world of diapers and nighttime feedings.
But I am a bit wistful about feeling like I didn’t really get to make the call. I didn’t decide I was happy with two; I decided I couldn’t handle having three. That changes the tone of the decision by quite a bit…and not in a way that makes me happy.
I love my two kids to pieces, but two will have to do.
About the Author:
Avid reader, budding writer, incessant singer. Married to a partner with OCD and parent of a child with autism. My opinions may be slanted by my experiences living in the socialist paradise of Canada.
From the moment A. and I first talked about having kids, our ongoing debate became a joke. A. came from a small-ish family and liked the idea of having three kids; I always countered with “Let’s have two and then we’ll see.” He (with backing from the many parents of large families in our area) argued that parents are all good until you have more kids than hands; I responded with the point that since it was MY hands that would be staying at home, more than two WAS outnumbering hands! But I did, in fact, have an open mind; I was looking forward to being a parent, and I knew that, once I got into the swing of things, I might be open to three…or maybe even more.
We had a little trouble having O. – unexplained infertility can be a bitch – but he came along. It was a while later than we had expected, but not too much later, and we didn’t require any significant intervention. And, while I had one very early miscarriage before G. – early enough that I would have thought it was just a truly awful period if it weren’t for an early-response pregnancy test – having child #2 wasn’t too hard.
Equally importantly, I did enjoy being a mom…for the most part. I mean, nobody loves poop and feeling trapped at home, but I liked having babies (although I find they get more fun the older they get!) We had our struggles – money was a bit tight, stresses were a bit high – but initially, it didn’t seem like a third child would be necessarily out of the question.
I did debate whether I would want another biological child, or whether we should explore the idea of foster care with intent to adopt. It’s an issue that’s important to me, and there are so many kids who are looking for permanent homes. So A. and I definitely talked about doing the required home course, which would make us fully aware of the whole process, and considering adopting a child. Our thought was to wait until O. and G. were in school, and then consider adopting a child younger than our biological kids, so we were already familiar with the age and stage.
Then A. started seriously struggling with mental illness, which I’m talking about in my own series on this blog. And much of his stress was triggered by issues relating to the kids. I started to realize that, if I decided to carry or adopt a third child, responsibility for that child would really be entirely with me. In all honesty, I also feared that A. wouldn’t be there to help parent any longer. But even if he was, I began to understand that he would probably never be able to share a full half the burden of parenting and decision making.
And then my next door neighbor had an oops pregnancy. They had always been adamant: they had two, that was what they wanted. J. had his vasectomy appointment booked. Two weeks before, I realized she was late. All things told, they handled it pretty well – after the requisite freakout, of course!
But I had my own freakout, too. Suddenly, I realized that I was terrified of my own possible accidental pregnancy. A. was struggling with mental illness and G. had just been diagnosed on the autism spectrum – how could I possibly handle another child?
And then I really started to think about my “maybe” third child. Going from four to five has plenty of complications in any situation – bigger cars, more food, more clothes and school supplies and activities. But in my life, the emotional complexity was the bigger problem. I had a certain amount of time and energy and compassion to give and it was all spoken for.
I told A. that, whether we fostered and adopted a child in the future or not, I was sure I didn’t want any more biological kids, so we took <ahem> permanent measures. There’s still question about whether we would be permitted to adopt through the foster care system given A.’s diagnosis; most governmental organizations are not so forgiving of mental health issues, sadly. But even if we are, I don’t know that it’s something that I can take on, now or in future.
Most of the time I’m happy with our family of four. We have a boy and a girl, what Canadian Maritimers call “the millionaire’s family” because you have one of everything. Both of them are fun, delightful kids. And while they were cute as babies, it’s hard to imagine going back to a world of diapers and nighttime feedings.
But I am a bit wistful about feeling like I didn’t really get to make the call. I didn’t decide I was happy with two; I decided I couldn’t handle having three. That changes the tone of the decision by quite a bit…and not in a way that makes me happy.
I love my two kids to pieces, but two will have to do.
About the Author:
Avid reader, budding writer, incessant singer. Married to a partner with OCD and parent of a child with autism. My opinions may be slanted by my experiences living in the socialist paradise of Canada.
