The number one question I have been asked across my entire adult life has been, “Do you want kids?” To the point that the first memory I have immediately following my husband proposing to me is my mother exclaiming, over brunch, that she was going to be a grandmother. The metal was still cold on my ring finger.
Lucky for her, the answer to that question was always an enthusiastic, unequivocal yes. I didn’t know when and I didn’t even always know why, but I knew that I wanted to be a mother. I knew that I couldn’t imagine a future without something (someone?) to show for the immense love I hold for my now-husband. I often tell people I wasn’t born to be a mother, but I was definitely born to be my son’s mother.
On October 18, 2024, my beautiful, brilliant, hilarious, insert every word every doting mother thinks is unique to her own child son came barreling into this world after a 20-plus-hour labor brought on by induction. I knew, immediately, that my decision to have kids was the right one.
And then, there it was... first as a subtle nudge, and then as a bold, unmistakable question. “So, would you do it again?” Imagine, me, freshly postpartum and not even out of diapers myself, pretending I am even remotely close to considering having another child. For a long time, I would dance around the answer. I would say, “Yes, of course, we want another,” or “Yes, but we’re not sure when,” or “We’ve been talking about it!”
The real answer is: I don’t know. And I also don’t know why that answer makes me feel so much guilt. Is it because we’ve culturally equated “I don’t know” with something negative? Is it because “I don’t know” leans more toward no than yes? (Not true, by the way!) Yes, I’m aware that my biological clock is ticking away. How could I forget? I was reminded during my pregnancy that, even though I would be 34 when my son was born, I would also be just a few weeks shy of advanced maternal age, so they would be treating me as such. Today, I am well into my advanced years, and given that my answer is still “I don’t know,” it’s clear that this maybe-baby will be born to a geriatric mother, should I choose to have them.
So now, I have a very real, nonrhetorical question: What are the reasons to have a second child? I’ve heard, “Who do you want sitting around your Thanksgiving table in 20 years?” (Answer: I don’t know, girl. I’m still trying to figure out who’s invited to my Thanksgiving table this year.) I’ve heard, “Don’t you want to give him someone to play with?” (Answer: Um... yes? But until I figure out this whole second-kid thing, we’re leaning very heavily into friend culture). I’ve also heard, “You’ll be amazed at how much your heart will expand.” (Okay, I have to admit this one’s sweet, and I don’t doubt it.) But none of this really talks about me, and my husband, and our finances, and our relationship, and the house we are saving to afford. Those are the things that keep me firmly seated in the “I don’t know” camp.
I don’t know if I can afford another kid and give them the same incredible two years that we’ve given our son. I don’t know if having another kid means introducing the type of financial stress that breaks marriages. I don’t know if having another kid means I have to change the way I think about my work, which I do enjoy. (I know, sue me.) And, maybe most importantly, one of my biggest fears: I don’t know if having another kid will come as easily to us as our first did. This is a challenge many people hoping to grow their families face, and a reason why being sensitive around these questions should always be the first instinct.
I believe there’s power in stating what you don’t know. There’s also power in being fulfilled by and present in the life that you currently have.
But because I’m a true overachiever, I must prove that I do, in fact, know a thing or two, so here are some things I do know:
I do know that I’m obsessed with my son, and I love being his mother.
I do know that I am completely fulfilled through his presence in my life.
I do know that I love watching my husband be his father.
I do know that, in 20 years, if my son and my husband are seated at my Thanksgiving table, I’ve won.
I do know that I am so proud of the life that we are creating for him and the parents that we can be for him today.
I do know that I am in complete awe of my friends killing it at the parenting game with more than one child.
I do know that I don’t want any of those things to change, maybe-baby... or not.
While I’m sorting through what the future might hold for our family, I do know that I am content and happy with the family we’ve built today, and that’s enough.
You have my permission to forward this the next time you are asked about the next kid, which, in my experience, will likely be tomorrow.
