Having a fourth child, that’s not crazy, right? I go back and forth about this idea and wonder if I’m batshit crazy to even entertain this thought. There’s never a perfect time to have a child. Just like there’s never a perfect time to get a puppy. You just do it, knowing that the road ahead will be filled with laughter, tears, money bleeding out of your pockets, more gray hair, and a lot of mess.
I am so happy with my three girls. Blessed to have them when I know some people can’t have any. I’m already pulled in too many directions that another child would further complicate an already complicated life.
I don’t NEED more. Life would be simpler without more. I might maintain a healthier level of sanity without more.
But…
Boy
We went to a palm reader a couple years ago. Not intentionally. There was one at the Renaissance Festival we attended for Mother’s Day, and I felt compelled to pay her a visit. During my reading, I had asked about a 4th child, and she told me yes, that she could see my boy and he was waiting for me. My boy was waiting for me?!!!!!!! Ugh. I could immediately see him in my mind, peering around a corner, white blond curly hair, eyes that had a little mischievous twinkle to them because you know his ass is going to be trouble. A boy with three older sisters. The only boy this family has. He would be spoiled and soooooo bad.
This image of my boy peeking around a corner has stuck with me since then. Not that I have this insane desire to have a boy anymore. I am completely happy with my girls. And IF I have a 4th child and it’s another girl, I would be so happy. Even though I experienced gender disappointment when I found out Evie was a girl, I don’t really care anymore about the gender. But this idea that my boy is waiting for me is somewhat haunting. I play that image over in my mind alongside the vivid dream I had eons ago about singing with a little blond-haired boy that I thought would someday be my son.
I feel, in part, that if I don’t have a fourth child, this little guy will be stuck waiting for the mom that never had him. That’s dramatic, I know. But that thought does swirl in my mind. On days where Evie is atrocious and I renounce all children, I tell that boy that he’s going to keep waiting because I can’t take another child. This oven is done. I am done. Sorry buddy, I like my sanity, my current discretionary income, and the fact that I’m nearing the stage in my life again where I can get a decent amount of sleep. I’m completely fulfilled with three….but…
Buddies
Then I look at Evie and see the sheer joy in her face when her sisters take her hands and swing her like a monkey. When they give fist bumps and hugs before bed. The piggyback rides and popsicle sneaking. When they snuggle all together and my world fits in a bed. Before we know it, Gianna and Scarlett will be out of the house and then Evie will be left alone. That bed will just have one. For this reason, I want a fourth child. I don’t need to add to my kid ratio, but….
Then I think of Gianna and Scarlett, growing up together, playing house, building legos, bickering and fighting. I see them walking hand in hand at the amusement parks, laughing together. I watch them and realize Evie won’t have this bond. Maybe never or maybe not until she’s much older because of the age gap. For this reason, I want a fourth child. Just like Gianna and Scarlett had each other to grow alongside, I want Evie to have that same partner. She doesn’t NEED it…but…I want it for her.
Because
It’s not just the idea of the boy or the want to give Evie a closer sibling…it’s also just there. That feeling that I’m not necessarily done. That feeling of seeing Evie’s baby feet and wanting to squish them in my face, realizing that those feet are just getting bigger. That feeling that there’s still one more. There’s this little space in my heart that I feel is waiting for something even though my bank account and my car can’t fit anything else.
Everything I’ve read about people stopping with children is that they FEEL done. They know after popping out that last child that it’s their last child. Snip, snip! That’s a wrap in the preggo department. We are done having kids! Party-time in t-minus 18 years. I don’t feel that yet. Instead, I am having this internal dialogue with myself that mainly consists of my rationale mind trying to talk my emotional mind out of a fourth child.
Empty Net
We’re giving it a go. I’m not getting younger. My internal clock is ticking. I don’t feel too old, but I know the medical community feels otherwise. So, I am going to give myself until my next birthday. I’ll be 41 and Evie will be 3. Any longer past that point and I feel that’s the universe telling me to close this chapter of my life.
We’ve pulled the goalie and have an empty net. Actually, it’s been free game since June, and it’s been crickets. I’ve been ok with that…especially as the internal battle rages on about whether to just stop and be done. If nothing happens by the end of June 2023 then I can tell my emotional mind, and that boy waiting around the corner for me, that it just wasn’t meant to be.