Skip to main content

One and done?

Sweet Boy and I just came from an awesomely fun birthday party at our local Moonbounce Adventures. He ran around like a spring-footed maniac, and I watched with a big goony smile on my face, thinking, wow, what a grown-up boy he is...and how easy and wonderful this is to just stand here and watch him have fun. (Sidenote: I really wish I'd remembered to wear socks because I really would have been in there bouncing with him!)

Then I looked around at my mom-friends, all of whom have more than one child. They were really working! These mamas are amazing. Do they give out the secret hidden arms and extra pairs of ears and eyes when you check out of the hospital with your second child? They're keeping track of more than one kid in more than one location at all times, attending to every child's needs without once yelling "Mommy just wants to sit down!" I found myself staring dumb, feeling like I should be helping, but how in the world could I give a hand without totally throwing off the flow, systems, and momentum they've developed? I would just get in the way.

At one point the kids were all seated at the table while the hostess doled out the pizza. My son got his slice, I poured him juice and gave him a handful of pretzels, then sat down. He sat there chomping away, I sat there watching him. Easy-peasy. Meanwhile, the other moms were pouring juice, wiping spills, taking care of infants, deciphering toddler-speak, dishing out potato chips, cutting up pizza, and taking photos...simultaneously. I was awed.

A well-meaning but insensitive coworker once said to me, during one of the horribly intrusive and obnoxious when-are-you-going-to-have-#2 conversations (I'll save that rant for another day), "You know, you're not truly a parent until you have two or more children." That offended me, of course, but today it's ringing in my ears, and I wonder, is it true? Am I a slacker mom? Am I just coasting through parenthood?

We haven't yet decided if Sweet Boy is going to be an only child. (And how arrogant to believe that it's truly our decision to make.) If we're going to have another baby, we should probably do it soon before we are too spoiled by our grown-up boy's independence and easy going nature. My slacker side says, stop while you're ahead, one is perfect: you'll never be outnumbered, you'll eventually not have to wipe any more poopy butts, and soon you'll be able to sleep past 7 am on a Saturday. Heaven! But my restless side says, what are you waiting for? If those women can do it, you certainly can! That boy needs a playmate! And sleeping in is overrated!

Tough call. Today was perfect with just one...but those other moms seemed to be having fun too.


  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

  2. and for this wisdom(and many fine qualities), my dear christy, i love you.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Grace happens

Today Honey's roommate in room 364 at Maine Medical Center was discharged. Some other day I'll tell you about why Honey is in the hospital again, but this story is about the roommate because it's way more interesting. Let's call him Elton, because all I really know about him is he plays guitar in an Elton John tribute band and he's originally from the very northern part of England, bordering Scotland. (Or as Honey described it, "that place in England where the Roman Empire decided, nope, those Celts are crazy, and put up a wall.")

Elton was in room 364 before Honey arrived, and what struck me immediately, besides his delightful accent and soothing Liam-Neeson-esque voice, was his gentle, good-natured manner. He was going through heck from a botched surgery and compartment syndrome - pain and gore and fear of losing the use of his dominant hand - yet he spoke kindly and softly to every person who came into his room. Every time a nurse walked in, Elton gree…

Boardwalk ghosts

“Imagine this, buddy, in the middle of summer, especially near the Fourth of July. Wall to wall people, just sort of moving in and out of each other. Flashing lights. Loud music. Screams from Morey’s Pier, laughter on the swirly rides. Oh...and the cream, funnel cake, fudge, cheese steaks, pizza, fries...the smells alone would drive you nuts!” 
It’s 5:00 on the evening before his Nana’s funeral, and we’re standing in a windy drizzle on an empty Wildwood boardwalk. My mind has flashed back to the summer of 1991, when I spent a week here with my best friend. Wicked sunburn. Tandem bike adventures. Water slides. Thrill rides. A ground-shaking thunderstorm. Friendship bracelets. College guys taking showers outside. Ice cream and VCR movies every night.

Back in the here-and-now I’m trying to explain to Zippy what this place is like when it’s not October. He’s been to Rehoboth and Ocean City and Old Orchard Beach, but none of those come anywhere close to Wildwood in peak season.…


Zippy and I hiked in the woods the other day, following the icy trails around Evergreen Cemetery. The cold air stung our eyes but the sun shone warm and bright, and it felt great to breathe fresh air. As he skipped and hopped and twirled beside, in front, and around me, I felt peaceful, happy, content. Until I realized the Womens' March is in a few days, I am going, and I don't know what to expect. I've never done anything like this, except for a few years ago at Occupy Philly, which was nothing compared to the numbers they're anticipating this weekend. The Women's March will be a peaceful protest, yes, but 200,000 is an awful lot of people in highly charged city during turbulent times. I felt anxiety creeping into my chest.

"So you know I'm going away this weekend, right? To Washington, D.C. For just two sleeps. Do you know why I'm going?" I asked Zippy.
"Because you don't like Donald Trump and he's going to be the President."