Will You Have Another Child?

Reflections on the size of our brood

As Bethany’s daughter (her third child) celebrates her second birthday today, we could not help but reminisce about the consternation she once had in contemplating whether to have a third child at all. She wrote about it in 2019 and we’ve reproduced that piece below.

Following the original piece is Kara’s modern-day letter to Bethany looking back on one of the most wonderful decisions Bethany and her husband ever made. Hope you enjoy!

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This has been the most demanding year of our marriage. We are in that stage of parenthood where stuff. gets/stays. real. Nearly ten years in and we are different people than those fresh college graduates who said "I do" in 2010. At that time, we were full of energy, fun love, disposable income, and freedom of choice re: what to do ALL THE TIME. 

Fast forward to 2019. We are now parents to two boys, the youngest is 15 months old and has quickly found his voice. It sounds a bit like "the most annoying sound in the world" from the movie Dumb & Dumber when he is announcing his entrance into daycare. It's really cute (because he’s my direct offspring) but "I'll see you later, buddy!" 

Our four year old has begun the sports. Oh, the sports. We go to work, then we go to tee-ball practice up to three times a week. 

I know, I can barely shower three times a week. 

People have waited what they feel is an appropriate amount of time to begin the inquiries. Are you thinking about a third? Are you guys done? Can I ask this very personal question while you fumble for a socially appropriate response to appease me? Also, why is it society feels the need to ask this while your kid is throwing a public fit? As if to squash any notion of another because you clearly don't have this situation under control.

I want to reply with: "I'll tell you but only after you share how much cash is in your checking account." or "How long do you really plan to stay at your current job?" 

The truth is I have zero clue if a third child is in our future. Every day, my mind wonders if I can take much more chaos and that is immediately following our morning breakfast venture (approximately 30 minutes). How badly I would love more time to write, to decorate the house for every holiday, to plan a craft day with my kids. Okay, that last one is a lie. I would much rather give them a glue stick and some shredded newspaper while I supervise and observe social behaviors in the background with hot coffee. 

Search engines have been helpful in many facets of my life so I do a quick browse. 

"How to decide how many..." 

Although one may find googling for advice on procreation unwise, I did find a number of useful articles on the topic ranging from mothers and fathers, psychologists and journalists alike. The pieces cited important considerations such as financial well-being, the personalities of you and your spouse, the health of the woman who will be growing a human for nine+ months, etc. 

Here is what I surmised regarding our individual situation:

1. Sure, a third child costs more but we already have two. I realize this is the logic frequently used to decide on impulse purchases but I’m a big Dave Ramsey fan so I think it’s fine. 

2. My husband and I are definitely suited for having 2-3 children, based on our personalities (so helpful, right?)

3. NOBODY KNOWS THE ANSWER 

4. NOBODY WILL TELL ME THE ANSWER 

It left me more confused than ever. And If I'm being truthful (which I hear is healthy), it is because I don't know yet if a third child is right for us. My husband is loving and supportive and open to a third but he needs me to want it for the right reasons.

The other day, I watched our youngest son waddle over to us happily. He clapped his hand on his daddy's knee and placed his head on top of it. He looked so grown, no longer a tiny baby burrito dependent on us for all needs. Our pre-schooler was retrieving himself a snack and discussing his fifth birthday party. “They are basically adult men,” I think. Quick, let's have another. 

Fast forward 15 minutes and we are late to be wherever we are supposed to be, the toddler is blast crying because I took his tooth brush away, I realize there are no clean socks and we can't find any sandals, the dog peed in the corner again, and the four year old throws a legendary fit because he broke his fort for the tenth time.

"Two," I tell my husband, "two is good.”

I see big and small families alike, observe their rhythms, delight in their beautiful stories and try unwisely to extract the answer from them. Still don't have it. I have heard people say, "We knew our family was complete" after the arrival of their last child but I don't find myself resonating with that statement. I hear longing from hearts that ache for more children. I hear despair from those unable to have a child. I hear fear from those that have yet to try for one. I hear pain in voices that had children and had no idea how hard it was going to be (cue all parents, raise your hand). I hear turmoil and messiness in all of us.

But I see courage.  

I see learning.

I see listening. 

I see people staying the course. 

Perhaps the answer to more children is yet to be revealed and perhaps it's not mine to force. Perhaps it is not children that steal ambitions but a reckoning a person has with themselves. Perhaps I can be a better role model for my children by pursuing my desires in front of them, out loud. Perhaps I can be more vulnerable with my failures. Perhaps humans weren't built to attempt to control all aspects of our lives and perhaps leaning a bit more on faith and community would serve us well. Perhaps the focus is on the here and now, absorbing our children and ourselves in every stage that we breeze through. Perhaps if I take deep breaths, rely on a spirit greater than my own, and enjoy the ride, my soul will rest well in the midst of the big and scary questions.

In the meantime, fight on parents. Fight on with food on your shirt and baby on your hip and dirty clothes in the hamper and tears on the cusp and doubts in your heart and hugs with your person and faith in your love and belief in the practice of our lives. 

Let's let it unfold. Laundry and all.

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Dear Bethany,

I can still remember so vividly the day I gave you some very unexpected news. We were texting about the latest supplements and such, and I sent you a picture of a container of prenatal vitamins. “You wouldn’t believe what my doctor just put me on...”

Since this was my second child, such a method to deliver the news was deemed by me to be acceptable. Plus, I was dying to tell you. This was quite unexpected from me. It had been nearly five years since my first, so everyone (including me and you) had determined my family must be complete. The universe had other plans.

I waited with bated breath for a response. Nothing. Minutes went by. Hours (I think) went by. I started thinking you were mad at me. Then, finally, the next text rolled in: “OMG, WHAT?!?”

Turns out you had gotten caught up in doing your job or something of the sort. Then the phone rang. I ran to my usual retreat (jury room) to discuss.

You were so happy, so delighted, so amazed. We took some time to say all the things and squeal and such, and then a lightbulb seemed to go off right then and there.

I heard from the other end, “Maybe I should try to get pregnant.” You talked about a couple of friends who had recently shared similar news, and observed how much fun it would be to go through the journey together. Although I agreed it would be a blast (I had gotten to have that experience with our other sister, Jenny), I quickly dismissed your comment as a brief moment of committing to procreate out of sister solidarity or FOMO or a fleeting thought. After all, I knew you and Adam had been grappling with the idea for a long time. Surely it wouldn’t be settled right then and there.

It probably wasn’t. But maybe it helped.

Within a few short months, I received the news from you. You were having a third.

Elated as I was, I desperately hoped and prayed for your third to be a girl. You may have done the same? Besides knowing how much fun it is to have a girl, I just couldn’t see you as a mom of three boys. It could push you right over the edge…

You decided you would wait until the birth to find out the sex. You thought waiting would give you the necessary motivation to make it through a natural birth. Truthfully, I was terrified of this approach. Although you never said it in so many words, I myself felt deeply that it needed to be a girl. That YOU needed it to be a girl. How would you react if a baby boy was placed in your arms after the trauma of childbirth with no time to digest the news?

The day came. You were a pro by then, laboring at home until our mom demanded going to the hospital. You birthed without incident, beautifully bringing into the world your third child.

The only hiccup was that because COVID was still raging, there were no visitors allowed. The whole family would learn the sex and meet the child for the first time via Zoom.

I had been advised in the wee hours of the morning by one of our mom’s characteristically cryptic texts that you were in labor.

“Bethany in labor. Going to hospital.”

But despite my investigative efforts, I hadn’t heard much beyond that. I went to work, hardly able to stomach my Starbucks.

I waited by the phone, trying but failing to do something productive. Finally, a Zoom call.

When I answered, I saw you and Adam and a baby. You looked like you had just jogged a half mile, barely breaking a sweat. Although I saw joy, I couldn’t tell if it was “girl” joy or “boy” joy. Adam was grinning from ear to ear. The baby was wrapped in a hospital blanket. Pink and blue. No help there.

I teared up in my office as I met this newest family member. We exchanged the initial words and I congratulated you and Adam. But then I finally blurted out, “Well?!?”

The response: a camera zooming on the baby’s face and a, “What do you think?”

This was one of those questions you dare not answer. Like the “have you stopped beating your wife?”-type questions. I just hesitated. Hoped. Prayed.

When you told me it was a girl, I burst into tears. I mean full-blown, ugly tears. Tears of relief and joy and pure elation. Few pieces of news have made me so happy. Few, I doubt, will ever rival that day.

As we celebrate your daughter’s second birthday, I can’t help but observe your family needed her. You needed her. We all needed her. It’s hard to imagine a world without this wonderful being. Without seeing you mother in a whole new way. Without watching you dream for her future. Without observing her give you a taste of your own medicine.

She completes you.

You and Adam often remark: “We still can hardly believe we have a girl,” because you had settled your minds that this was next to impossible. You prepared yourself for three boys as if you were preparing your taxes. Expected. Inevitable. Unchangeable.

You were reminded of the enchantment of authentic surprise. That the development of a new life, although we get to bear witness to it, has little to do with control or conceptions. That there is purpose in the experiences gifted to each of us. You cried as God whispered a gentle reminder in your tear-soaked ear that day on the delivery table:

“Hope is very much alive. Don’t ever forget that, daughter.”