It was 2:30pm today before any actual food passed my lips. My oldest slept in until 7:29am so I had time to put some cereal in a bowl for the 2 year old, make French toast and prepare lunch. It is magical having some sort of breakfast prepared before the kids reach the table. It makes all the difference between screaming monster family and a photo spread in Parenting magazine.
I was running around to doctor appointments. The first one tells me I am ovulating and could produce two eggs this cycle one from each ovary. The other appointment, to verify any gallstones. I have cut out sugar, and dairy to try to help them disappear. I bought $90 in pills at the health food store to improve digestion so that maybe they would disappear. I will get results next week from the fertility doctor who saw them in the first place. This is often how gallstones are discovered, by accident. No sugar and dairy for a week equals about two pounds lost. Yes.
So I take my two year old with me to the fertility clinic. I feel crazy. Every moment of the day I question this need for a third child. I am an only child from a single parent home. I silently vowed to have a family, and check off all the boxes that we already know makes good families and happy people. I want to make sure my kids never feel alone in the world and that they know as weird as their life may be, they are not the only one who lived that experience. Loneliness is something one carries inside them. Not having any siblings puts a fine point on it all. There are moments I wish I could call someone and be vulnerable. Friends don’t really become family, because they have family of their own.
This question of a third child seems rich when some people struggle for just one. Every time my kids have a meltdown, or I am alone to do school drop off and pick, making lunches giving baths and changing diapers I wonder if I can add another person to this madness. The answer is often no.
My husband still gets caught up in what people think of him. He drinks too much and opts out of adult things, like paying bills and family obligations. My mother is as she always was, available when she wants to be, which is not often.
This urge to create my own healthy family is strong. I worry that my career will be over and that my bosses won’t take me seriously with three kids. That my colleagues will count me out. It’s hard to keep up. But maybe I wouldn’t have it any other way.
We mused this weekend about moving to the country visiting family. My oldest cried when it was time to return to the city. But the minute I stepped through my front door, I was angry with myself that I had even entertained the idea of giving it all up to sit in the country and take it slow.
This black wife is just not built that way….