If I’ve been a bit quiet lately, it’s because I’ve been in a period of extended rumination; a long, slow cycle of contemplation and consideration that still has reached no satisfactory conclusion.
Quite aside from the usual mental clutter of, “Where are my keys?”, “Why is there porridge in my shoe?” and, “No! No! NO! Stop doing that, little man!”, I’ve been cogitating on an altogether more serious issue: I’d like another baby.
Now, anyone who saw me in my sleep-deprived state after the birth of the little guy (up to and including … ooh, about two months ago) could be forgiven for thinking I’ve taken leave of my senses. Surely to go through all that again – this time with a toddler to care for, too – well, hello, insanity.
And yet. And yet …
Although it cannot be denied that there are moments when the little guy makes me as crazy as a kookaburra, there are so many moments of joy and excitement and pride that far outweigh the tears and frustration. (As Little Chick’s ma says, “Sometimes you make me mad, sometimes you make me sad, but I will always love you, because I’m your mummy.” If you haven’t read it yet, don’t worry; your time will come.)
So, what’s stopping me? Well, of course I’d need to obtain the necessary ingredients to make a child. But this is the 21st century and those sort of obstacles are relatively easy – if a tad costly – to overcome.
There’s also the censure of my mum, who despite being on the other side of the country is still Chief Babysitter #1 and whose views are not lightly discarded, despite the fact that I’m a fully grown woman.
Now I don’t want to misrepresent her: she would never permit herself to prohibit further procreation. But you know that when your mother disapproves of something, there’s usually a good reason. And it’s hard to ride roughshod over the displeasure of the woman who bore you.
Alas, financial issues also play their part. Since the cost of sending a child to daycare is almost equivalent to a month’s rent on a three-bedroom house, it stands to reason that sending TWO children to daycare means you’ll need to dig deep into your savings if you still want to have your little luxuries … like food, heat and light. At least until one of them starts school, pennies would have to be pinched like they have never been pinched before.
Last, but by no means least, there’s the question of how it feels to know that your dad was a pipette. Even if the little guy’s dad is an infrequent visitor, at least he knows who daddy is. How would it feel if you had no one to come and take you to the park, even if it was just once a month?
Truly, this is not how I imagined family life would be.
But still, it’s undeniable that the urge is there, particularly when I see how tender the little guy is with other friends’ newborns. Just last week, he was bestowing kisses and clumsy cuddles on his friend’s baby brother, drawing aahs from all present.
And maybe it’s irrelevant, but I can’t help thinking that a family of three is more resilient than a family of two. As things stand, when I’m gone, my precious little guy will be all alone. My family is tiny … and who could rely on his relations with dad?
The little guy is all in favour and has already stated his preference for a sister, but it’s true that the first two years would almost certainly be hellish: when I’m tired, I’m grumpy and maybe it’s unfair to inflict that grumpiness on the happily growing little man.
(Although as the mother of the aforementioned newborn quite rightly said, who would be unlucky enough to get two infants with a propensity for waking at 5am? And surely if you do, they can keep each other company, right?)
I’m also not sure about the logistics of getting two nippers onto a bike.
I suppose the question I really need to answer is, “Can I do it?”. I asked myself the same question before the little guy was born, but I didn’t know the answer then and I still don’t now: some days I think I’m a great mum and other times I fall far short.
But time waits for no man and I’ll have to make the definitive decision soon, before Mother Nature makes it for me.
It looks as though the contemplation isn’t over yet…