[Note from Jodi: My mustache story has been selected by Momversation to compete in their Mother’s Day Contest. If you’re into it, vote for me here, because I’m totally getting my arse whooped by other mothers. I’m calling for a cage match!]
This picture all by itself makes me see his point.
“I want you to get a big, fat belly.”
Don’t imagine for a second that I haven’t noticed the wide-eyed infatuation Roan has exhibited towards two of my best friends, with their baby-building bellies poking out beyond their ever-growing breasts. I see how he looks at them. I saw this coming.
“I want you to get a big, fat belly. And when I’m eight, my sister will be seven, right? I’ll be older. I’ll be her older brother.”
Anson and I have agreed that one child is what we want. We have asserted this to each other and to others who have no inhibitions about letting us know we should make more, that one is plenty; Roan is enough. My sound byte is that you know – honestly the best thing we could give to Roan is a strong relationship between his mother and father. That seems easier to come by when there’s only one child climbing between you pushing your faces apart when you try to kiss. I don’t know how to ignore more than one child screaming “Ewwwww!” when Anson plants a movie-star smacker on me.
Yet…we did pay lip service to the idea of batting around the possibility of maybe having another theoretical alleged could-be child if Roan ever mentioned it on his own. Which has happened. So I had to break it to Anson: life has become too easy. We are happily married, with a well-adjusted child who we couldn’t possibly love more but do love more every single day, living in a community built around families and though work is stressful, it seems steady. It’s time to think about mixing it up.
But still…I can’t kick the idea of how ridiculous it seems to fathom loving another child in the way I love my boy. I know that this feeling of “cheating” on the first-born is pretty common when you consider having a second.
But I do cherish how Roan and I have this unique thing. I love our quiet time together, and my undivided purpose in being with him anytime he wants me to be.
So, it’s on the table so to speak. But it’s complicated because my body is complicated and it’s complicated because there are so many great things about our lives now that would change. One small but not unimportant thing is that Roan has recently learned how to get his own breakfast in the morning. This is something that has a magnitude that cannot be overlooked or underestimated, if you understand anything about parenting, sleeping and how the two are in an epic battle. But I don’t imagine at the end of my life I’ll look back and be proud of the 8 hours of sleep I got every night. I can imagine being proud of Roan’s wanting to share me, and his push for me to have a big, fat belly.