Sometimes kids are very wise. This past weekend my son participated in his first Easter egg hunts. He caught on very quickly. The only thing he didn't really understand was the goal of collecting as many eggs as you can as fast as you can. He who gets the most wins. Instead, he'd find an egg, run to us with it in his outstretched little chubby hand, shake it, laughing, open it to see what was inside. Each egg he found was new, interesting, and enough for him. He could have picked up one and been perfectly happy to explore it. It was so very innocent and so very sweet. It saddens me to think that all too soon he will develop the "more, more, more" mentality.
It was a good lesson in being satisfied with what you have. It got me thinking about the morality of wanting another child so badly. Looking at my life from the perspective of most people, there is nothing to want. I have a wonderful, kind, well-employed husband, a beautiful, healthy son, the ability to stay home with him if I choose and the ability to work if I want to, a nice house in a nice neighborhood, food on the table, and so on. So why not just be content? I tell myself that if I am not happy now, another child isn't going to solve that. And I believe that to be true. It's not that I am not happy. I am so very grateful for the things I have. And if I never have another child, I will still be grateful. But I will also be somewhat empty. When we announced that we might not be able to have another, a well-meaning friend (whose wife was gigantically pregnant with their second) said, "Well, at least you have one." That's what I thought too before we had him. Please, just let me have one. (Be careful what you ask for.) The problem is that the desire is just as strong for the second, only in a different way. Before my son, I just wanted to be a mother. I wanted to share my life and home with a child. I had no idea what it would be like and I didn't care if the child was genetically mine. Now I know. Now I know how it feels to see and hear your baby's heartbeat for the first time, to feel those little kicks, to give birth, to nurse a baby. Those things mean so much to me. Obviously, there are ways for us to have a child without me being pregnant and I hope that if pregnancy is impossible, we can successfully pursue repeat parenthood in another way. But it will leave an empty place if my body can't participate again. I wish I could follow my son's lead and be perfectly content with this one, never needing another. But my son is the very one who is making that so hard.
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