A couple of weeks ago, I had a very vivid, very realistic dream that I had a baby boy, and his name was Griffin.
(Or maybe Gryphon. Or Griffen.)
A few days later, I had the exact same dream. I told Chris about it. He didn’t say much, except that he didn’t really love the name. (I do.)
Two days after the second dream, we were at the park. Chris was splashing around in the wading pool with Bee, when he overheard a conversation between a couple of the parents standing around. He walked over to where I was sitting in the shade with Dove, and said, ‘You’ll never guess what I just heard.’
‘What was it?’ I asked.
‘That man was talking to that woman, and they just discovered that their kids have the same name. Griffin.’
My mouth fell open. I don’t feel like life sends me all that many signs, but I was sure the universe had just dropped one in my lap. A big one. Maybe two.
We took heed.
Chris went for a consultation for a vasectomy this week.
Do we want more children? I do. I know I do. I would have another one now. I would. I love being pregnant, I adore my midwife, I desperately love newborns, and I even really love giving birth. I would do it again in a second, even risking the chance of another c-section – the experience of which I now cherish as much as my homebirth experience.
But that’s not really the point. I will always be fighting biology and emotion over this one, but in the end I will make sure that practicality and reality win. But they will duke it out if I let them. Both Chris and I are one of four siblings, so we also have history and experience to rally against. But we’re going to.
I want to give my girls everything that they need, be it emotional, fiscal, imagined or otherwise. I do not want to struggle to give them my time, my patience, a comfortable home or an education. These were struggles that my parents had, and they weighed heavily on me all my life.
Plus, I grew up in the days before mini-vans, so I always got squished in the front-middle seat of the family sedan.
I do not want my children to have to feel as though they are being squished in to fit where really, there wasn’t much room in the first place.
Oh, and did I mention that both mine and Chris’ mother is a twin? Double Griffins indeed. No effing way.
And so, we decided, before we even had our first, that our second would be our last, if the situation were one we could control. And it seems it is.
I know the material things are the least important, but they must be considered. I don’t want to grow out of our little 3-bedroom, 1-bathroom house. (Ok, I would like another bathroom. The little ones will be teenaged girls one day after all.) Vacations are way easier to take as a family of four. I don’t ever want to drive a minivan. (Fine. I kinda do. Don’t tell.)
We have been so lucky – SO very lucky. Our girls are healthy and beautiful. (knock wood, spit into the wind, evoke whatever talisman needed to not tempt fate) My pregnancies took little permanent toll on me, and as I said, even the c-section was no big deal. Should I roll the dice again?
I think we can provide for them; know that we have done all that we can to help ensure their future successes, whatever they choose them to be.
I am afraid that another child would compromise the promises I’ve made to my girls, in my head and in my heart, that they will always be cared for, always be our priority, always be protected.
Trust me, I’ll think about the third child that I am not going to have, and I’ll think of him often. But I won’t be sad, and I know that down the line we won’t change our minds about our decision. In the end, we are four. And four feels good.