I struggled with the decision to be 'done' with two, as the final arguments pitted my reasonable mind against my needy heart. I'd heard all the logical arguments... the world is built for a family of four... middle children struggle... there's only three bedrooms... children shouldn't outnumber their parents... tuition will be a zillion dollars by then...
Yet it only took one photo to confirm that my heart spoke louder, more clearly than any argument based on fact or currency. This photo, a simple shot of my kids on the dock at their grandparents' cottage, left me feeling as though something was missing. This simple open space was my sure sign of room for another sibling.
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| B and N, first weekend at the cottage in 2012 |
I've been utterly disappointed with the lack of enthusiasm for this little bean from strangers and well-meaning friends/relatives alike. I've been hit with more 'are you guys nuts?' and 'you have no idea how much you'll struggle!' than I care to count. As if our decision was made to somehow lessen our family dynamic instead of enrich it with more love and laughter. I still don't get it. A child is blessing, never to be thought of as anything less.
The third time around each little kick and punch still amazes me, leaves me staring at my belly and wondering what he will look like, who he will become. The heartburn, nausea and swollen feet are still issues, but have taken a backseat to ordinary days spent enjoying the company of my kiddos while balancing freelance projects late into the evenings.
Despite the uncomfortable sleep and aching back I cannot imagine myself any other way. My desire to be a mother, to once again grow a little miracle and share him with the world, is much stronger than I'd ever imagined. Ten years ago I was talking about fancy cars, big houses and a forward-marching career. Not so much at the moment, as my desire to be a mother continues to lead every decision I make. I'm left to borrow my bff's purses (although gorgeous) because all I can afford is a new, utilitarian diaper bag designed for three children's belongings.
Behind closed doors we continue to prepare as a family. We talk about our little baby boy with love and enthusiasm. We discuss baby names, toys meant for sharing and songs we can sing to 'our baby.' N and B happily became roomies in order to give their new sibling-to-be his own space. An adjustment met with very few concerns and more time spent worrying than was necessary.
The baby's room is nearly complete, bedding washed and books in place. Plenty of hand-me-downs from dear family and friends scatter the closet and drawers, a sure sign of the love and kindness he will feel once he arrives. He's a lucky kid, really, to be surrounded but such intense affection and support. It's something I will never allow him to take for granted, it's something too precious to forget.
As a tribute to his older siblings, little splotches of orange and purple paint still show on the baseboard of his now-blue room. My hubby said he just couldn't paint over it, or remove it, as it seemed so fitting that a little piece of our other children remained behind in this shared nursery.
What seemed like our painting errors on display has actually become a work of family art, a visual reminder of the trials, triumphs and new found love we found in raising each of our children. A reminder that, in our world at least, nothing happens without a reason. It is the simplest display which highlights our most important accomplishments.
