Another Baby? Maybe...

by Beverly Tjerngren

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to have a big family. Part of that desire comes, I'm sure, from the fact that I grew up in a pretty small family. I was always fascinated by stories of big, boisterous families and thought that I'd like to have one of my own one day. In my young teenage years I planned to have thirteen children when I grew up. There would be six boys and seven girls. I knew in which order they would come, I had their names all picked out, and I spent long hours imagining the homey, family fun that we would fill our days. I would teach the throng of them to bake bread and take them fishing and let them fill the house with pets, just the way my mom did with me and my brothers. In fact, my children's childhood would be much like mine had been, only with about four times as many kids. Four times the kids meant four times the fun, right?

Of course, it wasn't long before I came to my senses and realized that thirteen kids would be way too many. I mean, I know there are people who do it, but frankly I can't imagine how or why. Except for a brief flirtation as a young adult with the idea of child-free living, however, I have always wanted to have what most would call a large family. In my mind, three kids was an absolute minimum, and I thought I might even go up to six. Ultimately I settled on the number four, ideally two boys and two girls, so that everyone would have at least one brother and one sister.

This past July my husband and I welcomed our third child, a baby girl, into our hearts and home. Even while I was still pregnant, we were in negotiations about number four. Though I had yet to experience life as a mother of three, I felt strongly that three wouldn't be enough. Now that she's here, I'm not sure that I wouldn't be okay with just three, but I do feel that I'm not ready for her to be my last baby. My husband, on the other hand, is not convinced. In fact, he is very much not convinced. He was gung-ho about the idea of a third, wanting to start trying even before I felt ready myself, but all through my pregnancy he maintained that after this one we were done having babies.

Lately, though, things have started to change a bit. Our new baby is such a sweet, happy, charming, and cheerful little thing that I've been known to say that she's the easiest baby in the history of babies. She's eating well and sleeping well and crying little and doing all the things that easy babies do. I could have a dozen babies like her. That's got me to thinking, though ... what if the next one weren't like her? What if we had another baby like my son, who, much as I love him, was just about the farthest thing from an easy baby that I care to imagine? Dare I risk it?

Interestingly enough, it seems that I'm not the only one who's reconsidering a bit. My husband has started to warm up to the idea of having a fourth. If you asked him outright, he would say that he's still against it, but little things he's said and done lately are hinting that he sees another baby in our future.

I guess the upshot is that right now we really don't know, and that's okay. It's kind of nice now that we're both in the camp of uncertainty, instead of squaring off in opposite corners. I'm sure there will be plenty more discussion on the matter as time goes by, and either which way it'll be a couple of years before we make a decision. For the time being, we'll just focus on enjoying the three beautiful kids we already have.