About this Third Baby
As I write this, we’re counting down the days to our third baby’s arrival. Of course, the countdown is a little useless, because we really have only a vague idea of when he’s coming. Could be tomorrow. Could be in three weeks. As any nine-months-pregnant mom will tell you, it’s a blast.
I was going to write a post about the ways in which this pregnancy has invited me (or forced me) to let go of control in new and profound ways. I’d actually written out a rambling draft and was trying to compare this late-pregnancy waiting time to a lot of the feelings that accompany a career in writing and publishing. The endless waiting and hoping mixed with anxiety and feelings of inadequacy.
But maybe it’s my general lackluster feelings that made the draft itself feel lackluster. Maybe I’ll try to write it later when I’m out of the pregnancy and postpartum haze.
Instead, I wanted to share a story.
Asher, newly four-years-old, has a stuffed dog he’s loved since he was a year old. He can’t sleep without “Dog” and generally has to bring Dog everywhere. Sometimes, Dog likes to wear a purple dress that used to belong to one of my childhood toys. When Dog wears this dress, she is a princess.
The other day, Asher asked for Dog to be a princess, so I put the sparkly purple dress on her and Asher said he was the king. I was given the privilege of playing Dog.
“Do you want to dance with me?” Princess Dog asked.
“No,” said King Asher. “I have to go to work.”
Asher proceeded to walk to the office where he found a letter board I have on my desk. He worked quite intently on it for at least five minutes. When he came back, he showed it to Dog, saying, “This is for you.”
The letter board was blank except for a single heart in the bottom left-hand corner. Only after finishing his work did he say he could dance with Dog.
Now does this mean that my four-year-old already has an acute sense of what attracts girls, albeit stuffed dog ones? Pretend to be slightly unavailable while really devoting your time to proving your affection.
Maybe.
We’ll wait at least fifteen years for confirmation.
But the little episode tickled my heart because it struck me that he at least has some sense of the purpose of work. He understands that “work” often means doing something for those you love.
If Joseph and I have communicated that truth through our various forms of work and busyness, then maybe we’re not doing so bad at this parenting thing. Maybe we’re teaching our children about love even in the moments we feel distracted, overwhelmed with work, or intensely pregnant.
As our six-year-old Ronan said recently, “Pregnancy is hard work, isn’t it?”
As we prepare for this third baby, we have plenty of fears about how our family will adjust, especially since it’s been four years since we had an infant. After suffering postpartum depression and anxiety twice before, I’m not holding out for things to be easier once we’re outnumbered as parents.
But we have something we didn’t have before. We have two little boys with insights and charisma and humor to brighten our day and remind us that things do become easier.
Ronan was barely a toddler when Asher was born, so it was hard to see clearly if we were doing things “right” then. We have a bit more context now. Even as I slog through these last days or weeks of pregnancy, I find myself marveling at their remarkable personhood. They are full of their own opinions and love and angst and maddening free-will.
They are why we decided to have another baby, and I can’t wait to meet him.