"When are you having another?”

A question from (almost) everyone I've ever met and unravelling true feelings through writing.

I‘m most honest when writing. Sometimes when I speak I just can not get the words out, but hand me a piece of paper and a pen, and the words come pouring out. This was true, even as a child. I was a terribly shy. I still can be until I’m completely comfortable. When I was around eight years old, I wrote my mother a note, snuck into her room and left it on her bedside table. On a small corner of paper, teared from my school notebook, were the words, “Can I play the saxophone?” The saxophone. Of all the instruments. And I can’t recall why I took such a liking to the woodwind, and there is not one part of me that is musical (apart from liking to listen and dance to it), and if you’ve ever heard me sing you’d liken me to a dying cat. For some reason the eight year old, sandy haired, gap-toothed me, desperately wanted to play the saxophone but couldn’t even bear to voice those words to my mother.

My mother was kind, strong and voiced her opinions freely when my sisters and I were growing up. She still does, although age (and grandkids) has softened her. I’m not sure if it is the vulnerability of wanting something that often scares me too much to say out aloud or if I was worried my mother would reject the idea but as I grow older I can see that writing was always going to find its way back to me. Perhaps it is my way of working through or getting over things. To replay moments and at times, uncover what I am actually feeling. 

As a deep thinker, I tend to ruminate too much and act too little (like this newsletter that is running very, very late). I’m trying to understand the cause of my procrastination. The irony is; I can’t quite decide whether it is because I don’t want to or if I want to do this so much it scares me? Lately, I’ve had some good excuses for the procrastination; like moving house, two trips away, along with my usual sick-child-and-work-never-stops rhetoric, which is true but with little action, and way forward, I often am left feeling as though I should be better at this by now. ‘This’ meaning the juggling act of motherhood, work, relationships, growing DD … life. Like I should know more. Be more focused. Be able to handle more. Just do more. And, finally be ready to have more [kids]. – There it is. Unravelling as I type. The constant and haunting question of, “when are you having another?” comes sharp and fast from well-meaning strangers, friends, and family members. A question that now seems impossible to dodge and blame space/finances/sleep for my lack of readiness to birth another.

In the back of mind mind sits my mothers words “you can’t have only one”, and my husbands desire for a second child. This is not to lay the guilt trip on anyone who is content with one or who can not have another (I do believe one child will become more of the norm for physiological, psychological, environmental, and financial reasons). My mother always yearned to have a sibling and often felt alone especially when her parents passed, and through hard times throughout her life. This has always stuck with me. When she told me this I was a teenager, and she wasn’t expecting I’d abide by her words but it was however, her way of sharing a rare moment of vulnerability and longing. I do wonder if Freddie is lonely sometimes, especially when he’s talking to his trucks and even treating an old and deflated birthday balloon like a beloved, old frend, appropriately named, “Loony”. 

Then there is another part of me that is lapping up the freedoms that daycare and self-sufficiency (and sleep) bring. Freddie is now three, and I’m getting far more sleep (thank you to a sleep nurse we pleaded with to help us), he’s toilet trained, he can play independently, hold a conversation, grab food and water, and even wash up his own plate. He’s polite, and cheeky and charming, and kind and empathetic, and I simply melt into a puddle when he says “Mum, I just love you all the time.” We've also moved to a beautiful house at the end of a cul-de-sac which has brought a change in energy and space – the ultimate luxury. Quiet and leafy with a view of the ocean from our balcony where we drink wine and listen to the sounds of boats lapping, while simultaneously pinching ourselves. The streets filled with friendly faces and kids; biking, playing, and on Sunday night, throwing water balloons. It truly is some kind of suburban paradise. Having a second child has always been on my mind but that idea has been put in the freezer (Joan Didion fans will get this), as something I’d like to do… eventually. I think.

When I had my son I had a very nonchalant attitude towards motherhood, resistant even. Resistant to all things mum, and not fully understanding the monumental change that not only comes with the responsibility of looking after a child, but the shift in purpose, identity, changes to the brain and hormones, body and when I think about it, soul. I was resistant to the shifts that were inevitably thrusted upon me and instead chose to believe the newborn days would resemble a Dôen campaign – where the light is always soft, the children are angelic and everything just falls into place as beautifully and effortlessly as their clothing. My reality was not this, and I’m not sure anyones is but what I do know is that if I take the plunge (and if I am lucky enough to) again then I will do a lot more preparation for postpartum because there are things that can be controlled. Things and people that will make life a little less chaotic. Do I think there is a perfect time to have your first, second, third or fifth child? No. Will you ever feel completely ready? Probably not. But no one should decide for you, or be pressured into. If you don’t want to have another, those feelings, whatever the reason, are important and should not be ignored. 

Do I think I’m ready? Maybe. Probably. Or is this newsletter like my saxophone note? Something I think I want, that will never come to fruition. 

Jade x

P.S. I’ll be posting a chat thread to discuss your thoughts on having another.