Someone just asked me that.
And I didn’t have an answer. But it feels like the kind of question worth having an answer to.
I love my son more than I love anything. He’s five. And I want to hug him and kiss his face every second forever until he’s big enough to push me away when I try.
Which begs the question: Wouldn’t I want to experience more of that joy?
That was my conclusion a little more than two years ago when the subject arose at home.
Was I scared? Sure. Did I really want to go through the sleepless nights and diaper changes and total dependency newborn phase again? Not particularly. But did I want to have something else to love as much as my son? Yes. Did I want more opportunities for grandchildren way down the road? Absolutely.
How Many is Enough?
I’m an only child.
I have two stepsisters about my age that I met when I was six, and who I only saw during my summer and winter breaks growing up.
I have a half-sister (the offspring of my mother and stepfather) who is 14 years younger than me.
But for all intents and purposes, I’m an only. So I’m okay, conceptually, with only children.
My soon-to-be ex is one of two. Two kids always made sense to her. And that’s an idea I could always get behind, too. Two kids. Maybe a boy and a girl.
But somewhere along the way, she decided she was never having more kids with me. I often wonder if she would have with someone else.
Maybe she didn’t want to poison her gene pool with my loserdom. Maybe she didn’t want to subject more children to my average physicality. Maybe she just didn’t want to go through pregnancy and delivery again.
I don’t know.
But she was one and done.
Do I want more kids?
What if the answer is: Yes?
Then I have a lot to consider.
Because if I want more kids, I kind of need to be in a hurry. Right?
I’m 34. That gives me, what? A five-year window? To find a person who:
- Wants to have sex with me.
- I love enough and have enough philosophical balance with to want to marry and make babies.
- Wants to have a child.
And none of this is taking into account how my five-year-old might feel about a stepmother or the prospects of stepsiblings or half-siblings.
Just considering the astronomical odds of all of this working out kind of makes me want to set myself on fire.
What if the answer is: No?
Then this entire post is an exercise in poor time management.
But not if I can come to some reasonable conclusion.
Which isn’t going to happen.
Because I don’t have an answer to this question. I don’t have an answer to any question. It’s one of the things I like least about my new life. This inability to know what two, three or five years from now might look like.
The uncertainty of it all can feel overwhelming.
I need to adopt the rhythm of change. I’m still working on that one.
Can I afford more children?
Don’t I need to concentrate on me?
Don’t I need to concentrate on my son?
Aren’t I getting way ahead of myself with all of this?
Hi! My name’s Matt! I worry about stuff completely out of my control all the time!
I only know ONE thing as it pertains to children.
I’ve never known love like the love I have for my son.
And should there be an opportunity to experience it again, I’m in no position to rule it out.
Of course, I’m in no position to do much of anything.