Chronicles of Chaos

July 29, 2009 | Print

Three/Two/One

I decided to have three children more than 20 years ago in a Chappaqua, NY mudroom. I was visiting my friend Page for a week of spring break my senior year in high school. One evening before dinner, her mom asked us to drop off something at the neighbors’ house across the street.

I remember a white house with black shutters and a rolling lawn. We walked to the back door, knocked, and a woman wearing an apron around her waist and a wooden spoon in her hand waved at us through the glass door. We stepped inside a narrow wood paneled room filled with jackets on hooks, sneakers and rain boots on the floor, and lacrosse sticks leaning in the corners. It smelled like tomato sauce.

Page stepped into the kitchen, talking to the woman, who was checking a huge pot of boiling water on the stove. I sensed that multiple boys lived here, which intrigued and scared me a little. I thought about what I was wearing and if one of them appeared in the kitchen, what I’d say. I glanced back at the mudroom. The messy shoes and worn jackets, keys on a bench, market list pinned to the bulletin board. The room waiting for its people–I imagined them, the three of them, and their friends rumbling in after practice, slamming the door, tossing their jackets, opening the fridge and drinking milk from the carton. I suddenly wanted to be there too, in the noise and bustle, the expanse of them.

Much later, when having kids became relevant, in my head I was a two kid mom. The symmetry and simplicity. Michael has wondered aloud whether we would have stopped after the first if a career demanded more of my time. I’ve only recently started to see the one child family dynamics–the freedom and one on one time, the different kind of self discovery, the quiet. Back then, I overlooked the possibility. When I was lying on the bed with newborn Amelia I sensed this other child hanging out, waiting in the wings. We were already three plus one.

The actuality of the four person family nearly killed me. Or really it was four people and moving to another state when the youngest was only six weeks old. I walked into the local bookstore staring at the parenting shelf for a miracle. I bought Secrets of the Baby Whisperer. At the checkout, the saleswoman told me a story about sitting on the toilet with her two little kids around her, a baby on her lap and crying from the exhaustion. Eventually, they moved out and went to college. I didn’t really do what the Baby Whisperer said, but she and that bathroom story got me through the month.

I gave away the Graco infant car seat, the attachable stroller, the onesies, everything as fast as I could. I was done. A friend shared her sister-in-law’s advice about the perfection of two children–the hotel rooms, station wagon, two bedroom NY apartment, airplane seating, it all worked out logistically much better than the odd man out three kids combination. I said, she’s right. Plus emotionally and physically, two children is a lot already.

Then, slowly the reality of no more children seeped into my heart. The mudroom memory broke free. I see now that along with the vitality I envisioned in that room (and my continued fascination with lacrosse), I also wanted to be unmoored from my practical, capable self. I was curious about stepping out of the lines. I wanted bigger, louder and messy. And those desires aside, the possibility of meeting and knowing another child felt like magic. Michael, coming from a three child family though with no memories of the experience, and I had our serious conversations. Our biggest concern was whether we’d have enough time and focus, for ourselves and the kids. We decided, and we got pregnant.

We quickly discovered that we are not three kid personalities. Michael covets Mikhail Barishnikov’s sleek modern apartment in Sex and the City (or Philip Johnson’s Glass House)–as much for the absence of stuff as for the clean lines. He does not function well with sustained noise before 11 am. I’m overly focused on details, planning and completing the entire task. I want to read the paper in the morning with my eggs and oatmeal. In all ways we are undone by three children. And that may be the point.

We are now content sitting by the sandbox doing nothing with a three year old. We’re less attached to what we thought was important. Our tolerance for noise and craziness has grown more than seemed possible–though we will test our next house for sound proofing. We’ve discovered our parenting style works out okay with three children. We let the kids play on their own, create their own games and that has given us the breathing room we need. We’ve also learned the importance of taking care of ourselves. A ten minute bath makes a difference.

When Oliver was six months old, Amelia’s camp counselor introduced me to another mom with a baby about his same age. The little boy was her fifth child. Out of nowhere I felt this intense hormonal rush to have another child. This woman’s real life large family made mine seem logistically possible. Four kids, why not. I walked to the parking lot giddy with the idea, strapped Oliver in his car seat, and as I opened my door the voice that has the answers broke through my illusions and just said No. Your plate, honey, is already full.

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