Admission: I watch Degrassi when I work out.
I won’t dive into a psychological biopsy of why a 32-year-old mom would be interested in a teenage soap opera, but one particular episode I watched last week caught my emotions off guard.
During the episode, a teen couple was struggling with the unyielding tribulations of everyday parenthood following their unplanned pregnancy. They eventually came to the difficult decision to put their adorable baby up for adoption.
So there I was, running full gusto on the treadmill with tears streaming down my face. All I was thinking while watching that chubby baby bounce around in his parents’ arms was, I’ll take him!
Did I just consider a third kid? Where did that come from?
I guess the thought of more kids is always with me. In fact, the subject is broached quite often by curious friends, family members, and surprisingly, mostly by complete strangers. It’s that slightly intrusive next-step-in-life question, which I’ll admit, after a few glasses of wine, I’m guilty of asking too. Typically in this order:
- So when are you getting married?
- When are you having a kid?
- Are you going to have two?
- So you think you’ll have three?
I’ve always said that two was it for me. Just the thought of all those sleepless nights, the tantrums and potty accidents makes me feel like curling up into a ball. But I still experience these fleeting urges to have another one. I wonder if it’s because my husband and I are finally clawing our way out of the trenches of early child rearing.
I was talking with another mom on the playground one day. We were discussing the age gaps between our children and what the best age has been thus far. We both agreed on 14 to 24 months. There’s something about a child’s curiosity and playfulness at this age that just makes you want to freeze time. Their personality starts to shine. They gain independence, and you’re finally able to stand back and breathe. But you realize that you cannot freeze time and you start to think, I could do this again.
Jack has just entered this age, which is probably bringing forth these feelings of having a third. But am I alone? Will these feelings ever go away? Maybe when I see my husband sitting on the couch cradling a bag of frozen peas between his knees.
Until then, I guess I’ll keep a few tissues near the treadmill.