Issue 40: Is She Your Last?
On having another child, and reclaiming forgotten memories
We didn’t decide so much to not have a third baby as we did to not decide to have a third baby; the possibility lingered but we never took hold of it, gathering dust in the corner, wilting and unattended. The transition from one baby to two was a harder leap for us than zero to one: the juggling of two stages of childhood simultaneously, double the sleep battles to fight, the increasing difficulty of carving out solo time for ourselves while we were dividing and conquering. Adding a third would almost certainly make the hard, harder. In spite of the perfect-case scenarios and romanticizing a life with three kids, we knew we weren’t up for the challenge. The resolution to remain a family of four wasn’t so much a decision as it was a given.
For the first year of our daughter’s life—our second child—Kyle would sometimes reignite a nearly extinguished flame of expanding our family. “I think we could have a third baby,” he’d smile. It gave me butterflies every time, letting myself soak up the palpable excitement in the possibility of having another tiny baby to hold. As quickly as they came, though, the monarchs in my stomach were replaced by logistical roadblocks, the visceral remembrance of my body being overthrown in pregnancy, the financial burden, the undeniable reality that I didn’t have the emotional and mental capacity to give more of myself to a third child. My parts, seen and unseen, were spoken for. This imagined child would remain that: an apparition of my daydreams.
Now that my youngest is nearly three years old, these reveries come less often. I know that our family is complete, that the two little creatures I’m lucky enough to mother will be all there is for us. Sometimes, though, they appear when I least expect it—seeing a family of five around a restaurant table, or in glimpsing a tuft of dark, matted newborn hair cocooned in the soft jersey of a baby wrap.
There are endless reasons why partners choose to have kids: a long-term desire to be a parent, aspirations of repairing generational wounds, hopes of raising a little soul who will do it all better than the millions who came before them. And there’s another endless set of reasons why couples decide to have additional children after their first: to give their child a sibling, to replicate the large family they had or make up for a sometimes lonely life spent as an only child. Maybe it’s just a gut feeling, or one too many margaritas at the swim meet on a warm summer night. Most likely, it’s a messy mixture of many reasons that lead us to yes, let’s! and all set here—those we’re able to name and those we only recognize in the rearview mirror decades later. And sometimes, too often, it’s not a choice at all—a heartbreak that defies reasoning altogether.
During one of our (very) short stints of contemplating having a third, I remember experiencing the thought that if I had another I could do it right this time. On its face that surely meant with less worry and anxiety: I wouldn’t bother with parenting books or sleep schedules or months fighting breastfeeding. I would trust myself, the intuition I’m finally embracing five years into motherhood. This, absolutely, is a huge appeal of having another child: you’ve made so many decisions that you’d do differently as a mom with the inimitable wisdom of experience. By now we know that everything will work out, more or less, and that it’s just fine to let your kid eat food off of the floor or wear their pajamas to the park. It’s mostly a wash in the end.
But what I really meant by do it right this time was actually be there this time. Really there. I wouldn’t be consumed with things I feared I’d already done wrong or would do wrong in the future. I wouldn’t be comparing the milestones of my baby to the babies in my moms group. But mostly I would be able to recognize the small, fleeting things that evaporate before your eyes never to return again. They wouldn’t occur as often as my memory thinks they would, because parenting is long and trudging and arduous, but when they did arrive in the pockets between tantrums and head colds and sleep regressions, I would be able to instantly spot them across space-time, a sucker-punch of joy screaming yes, this here! this is it! I would cup it in my hands and tuck it into my back pocket for the hard days ahead, moments I never knew I would mourn the first two times around.
At the start of the year, I read about this hack where you can manage your digital photos easily by typing the date (MM/DD - 4/29, etc) into the search bar in the Photos app, which then pulls up all the pictures from that day across every year, letting you clear out duplicates, parse unneeded images, delete old screenshots without being overwhelmed with the 30,000 photos in your catalog. Now, every day I’m reminded of memories of my babies I had already forgotten—funny misspoken words, outgrown onesies, favorite toys. It feels as though I’ve lived 1,000 lives since then, sometimes even as if I’m looking at pictures of a life I inhabited from the periphery, a neighbor’s remembrance of events experienced secondhand. I try, desperately, to access that little, foreign person on my screen, and the amusement I felt acutely enough to capture the sequence on film.
Equally as heartbreaking are the the years in which I don’t have pictures of the day at all. What happened then that I missed? What can never be recovered, even if only through a picture? I’d like to think I was living in the present, so enthralled with the experience that picking up my phone wasn’t even a passing thought. More likely, I was busy, or tired, or worse yet, felt that nothing was worth capturing.
Musing about having a third child is a soothing, if temporary, balm to these feelings, indulging the idea that it isn’t too late to recover what time has swindled from me. In my mind, witnessing another babyhood would somehow give me access to those forgotten details of my first two kids—a fallacy, of course, as kids are astonishingly unique and memory doesn’t exactly work that way. But still, in those moments I let myself wonder about possible new life, how taking hold of memories yet to be made might make the loss of the childhood memories already gone, of those passing me by, a little less painful.
My kids are still little enough that I can bring myself back to those early baby years and convince myself that the time-hop back to that place would be a leap I could make. But as the days pass—my oldest will be entering kindergarten in the fall—even the daydream of another child is slipping away. There are new challenges to face: shoes worn thin that need replacing, growing hearts aching to be soothed. The thought of revisiting the past moves from alluring to being a downright laughable pursuit; there’s so much to tend to right at this very moment, and there will be more tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that.
So I will remain here, now. Instead of feeling my way through the darkened living room of life, running my hands over every surface in search of the rewind button, I’ll choose instead to watch the season airing in front of me. The colors are vibrant, the sound booming but melodious. There are two new characters in this scene, unknown but familiar. I’ll inch towards the screen, knowing, achingly, that even before we meet I will have already begun missing them.
Worth Clicking: Letting Go of Achievement Culture -
This essay about so much more than achievement culture—aka, the systems set up basically since we are born that teach us that achievement is the only way to success, and thus happiness. It’s about hunger for identity in work, it’s about claiming autonomy outside of parenting, it’s about the ways in which mothers are only celebrated for their achievements outside of the home. A really thoughtful piece that made me think.
“That return to the everyday after achieving – the garden, bobbing lightly in spring wind; dinner sitting on the table; your child asking you to play babies – can feel almost unbearable. Then comes the guilt: the sense that you’ve missed all this because of a bloodlust for achievement…the sense that you’ve committed to the wrong thing, the thing that’ll turn to dust so quickly you won’t even understand how you wanted it so badly.”
Worth Reading: The Idea of You by Robinne Lee (Amazon // Bookshop.org)
Yes, I’m talking about THAT book, the one that’s littering your social feeds due to its just-released adaptation on Prime Video. I really enjoyed the movie besides a few nit-picky things (mostly that Solene would NEVER drive a Suburu or fly coach!!), but I’m actually here to praise the book, which is fun, super steamy, and the writing is well done to boot. The pitch, if you are unfamiliar, is a 40yo mom falls for a 20yo Harry Styles-esque British boy bander. It sounds unrealistic and of course it is, but I suspended belief for a minute and was so completely charmed by Solene and Hayes’ story. I listened on audio and found Robinne Lee’s sultry, sophisticated voice really brought Solene to life. And if you’re not a romance reader, this smart piece by Lee for TIME really made me rethink our culture’s flawed purview of the genre.
Currently reading: The Women by Kristin Hannah; Good Material by Dolly Alderton
Worth Bopping: Don’t Forget Me - Maggie Rogers
This album is truly, undeniably, without question, absolutely perfect. First, it’s 10 songs and a grand total of 36 minutes long. YES. I do not have the time or quite honestly the interest to listen to 31 songs on a single album. Each song here is great as a stand-alone, but also work so well listening from front to back. Plus, it’s such a good driving album, especially this time of year when all we want is some sunshine on our faces and a little wind in our hair. Can’t miss with this one.
Worth Quoting: Lyndsay Rush
Worth Noting: This Week’s 10 Honorable Mentions
One Day was as perfect and as soul-crushing as I heard it was. BUT if you haven’t watched it yet, you’ll have to suffer your way through episode 1 which is a total disservice to the show, the characters, and the actors. Don’t give up on it!
Going to recreate this RAFT Grapefruit Smoked Salt and Chile Syrup since I can’t find it nearby, then put it in every summer cocktail I can.
- sold me on Hot Sheet—a new cookbook dedicated to sheet pan recipes.
Really enjoyed The Reading List—a heart-warming story about intergenerational friendship and the power of great books + libraries.
Joy Sullivan’s new book of poetry, Instructions For Traveling West, is so beautiful.
“The Lure of Divorce” by Emily Gould for The Cut. An intimate, raw portrayal of marriage’s deepest valleys.
The Netflix docuseries Escaping Twin Flames was wild.
Hacks is back!!
Soft Services overnight repair hand cream looks so luxe—and the chic dispenser, revolutionary. Would be a great postpartum gift.
- ’s Desk Tour series is so fun.