Oops, I Did it Again

Published Date: July 14th, 2008
Category: Weekly Thought

 

Or not. 

 

Somehow, I can’t bring myself to have Baby #2.  Not just yet. 

 

I just don’t think I have the logistical reasoning to think it all out. I can barely figure out how to get myself and one child out of the house within 60 minutes, let alone two children. Nor does it help that I try and  make my child but also myself presentable and attractive (I just can’t resign myself to the unwashed hair and baggy clothes look yet. Or even worse—the short, maintenance-free soccer mom haircut). I bet if I had a Baby #2, I would just give up and make everyone come see us so we could hang around in satin pajamas all day, circa Elizabeth Taylor, 1984.

 

And have I mentioned that everyone who has ever met me decides the most appropriate and fun conversation to have is to ask when we are having Baby #2? The conversations go something like this:

 

Serena: Wow, it is great to go out for a sail on this beautiful, cloudless, perfectly windy (but not gusty) day. I haven’t seen you in a few years. Did you retire? How is that going?

 

Uncle L: Totally great day for a sail. Retirement is good. When are you having another child?

 

And I’m so not kidding. I know our families, friends, and the absolute strangers that I meet at the grocery store mean no harm, are just curious, and have that eternal need to pair everything up. One couple should have two children. Two = two. Perfect! Yet, why do I feel that this is an unequal equation? That perhaps two = one or maybe two = two after Baby #1 is five? Or six?

 

I see my friends who are pregnant now or who have at least two children and all I have to say is this: they’re not bringing their kids to summer happy hour at Oak Street Beachstro or to all three days of Lollapalooza. They had a brief moment in time (maybe) when their first child was FINALLY sleeping through the night and eating regular foods and could sit at a restaurant that actually served margaritas for God’s sake instead of meals with toys. They had two or three months of this joyous existence where they could ALMOST go back to their previous child-free social life, and then they got pregnant.

 

Which, by the way, is another thing I don’t feel like doing. Most women my age have panic attacks when they think about going back to work or if they forgot their Paxil at home. Not me—I’m more afraid of getting pregnant now than I was at age 18. Now that I have lived through the every-two-hour feedings and the sore nipples and never-ending 12 weeks of infanthood that is the parental version of Groundhog Day, I am not jumping into bed to go THERE again.

 

So for now, it is daddy, me, and baby makes three. And until I figure out a better equation, that will just have to do.

 

This entry was posted on Monday, July 14th, 2008 at 12:02 pm and is filed under Weekly Thought. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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