And Then There Were Three
How we got here and how it's going
During my second pregnancy my husband and I were convinced that we were going to have another boy. We told the ultrasound technician as much when she asked us if we had any guesses about the sex, and when she (theatrically) announced, “You’re both wrong! It’s a girl!” I got teary-eyed. I had secretly hoped it was a girl.
Then a stray thought popped into my head:
“Well, this takes the pressure off if we have a third kid!”
I had never considered having more than two kids. My husband and I had never seriously talked about having more than two kids. Hell, when we first met I wasn’t even sure I wanted to have any kids. The thought took me completely by surprise. I decided to brush it aside.
Afterwards, my husband and I went to the same Middle Eastern cafe by the hospital we always went to when we had a few spare moments before and after these appointments. As we chatted excitedly about this news over pastries and sandwiches, he told me he had the strangest thought when we found out we were having a girl:
“I guess it won’t matter what the sex is if we have a third baby!”
When I shared that I had the same thought, we laughed, not quite knowing what to make of this coincidence. We didn’t realize that this moment would put us on a years-long path of talking about whether or not we were done growing our family.
After our daughter was born, the conversations only intensified. We didn’t get rid of any of our baby things, my husband in particular unsettled by the uncertainty of whether this would be our last time going through each developmental milestone.
When I returned to work after my maternity leave, one of my supervisors (who has two kids himself) asked if we were done having kids.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Then you’re not done,” he said.
He explained that all of his friends who ended up having more than two kids said the same thing after their second. I didn’t really know how to respond, stunned at his boldness about this monumental question.
Conversations with my husband about this decision took over the majority of our spare moments - we would find ourselves mulling over it during dinner, after kid bedtimes, in transit. We would go over and over all the potential advantages and disadvantages - practical, financial, emotional.
Was I ready to be pregnant again? Were we prepared to extend these early childhood years further? How would this affect our other children? Did we want to have another kid given, I dunno, everything that was happening in our country, in the world? Was our family complete? We talked with the few friends of ours who had three kids, trying to ascertain whether there was a secret key to unlocking the certainty of having (or not having) more kids.
At some point the conversations stopped feeling productive and we took a formal break from talking about it. However, we didn’t stop thinking about it.
We joke now that we decided to have a third kid because we were just so sick of talking about it. As anyone who decides on whether to have kids or almost any life-changing decision, eventually pros and cons lists and “rationality” and all the “should’s” in the world along with all those other considerations we’re told inform our decisions disappear, and you’re left with an ineffable answer to a single, emotion-forward question: What do you really want?
When I told my supervisor that I was pregnant again, I reminded him of our previous conversation. “Well, you’re not really proving me wrong!” he said. We laughed.
There’s a lot to say about my last experience being pregnant. My animals didn’t freak out as much this time1 (and I don’t think my dog knew I was pregnant before I did). I got to take some Tylenol as a special f-you to you-know-who. I had the worst heartburn I’d ever had while pregnant, which was delightfully directly correlated with my baby being born with significantly more hair than my other children.
This time around my husband and I decided to keep the sex of the baby a surprise throughout my pregnancy. Despite not believing in any type of maternal intuition, and being one of those pedantic non-gender-essentialist liberals who always corrects others that a fetus has a sex, not a gender, I couldn’t help but try to guess whether I was going to have a boy or a girl.
In case you’re wondering, yes, there is a scientific study about whether or not pregnant people can predict the sex of the fetus, and the answer is: Of course not!
Throughout my pregnancy I would tell people that I had a small hunch that it was going to be a boy. My pregnancy was different in many ways from my previous ones, but the majority of similarities were shared with the pregnancy that brought my son: vomiting, heartburn, and even how my labor started (with my water breaking and going into spontaneous contractions).
On the flip side, whenever I dreamed about the baby, she was always a girl. To be clear: I’m not the type of person who puts any stock in interpreting dreams so literally.
This time, however, the dreams won.
These past few months have been a whirlwind. The last month of my pregnancy and first few weeks with our newborn have been dramatic, to say the least. Our baby was born days before one big snow storm and I’m writing this immediately after another. In between stomach viruses, school cancellations, unexpected hospital visits, endless laundry, extra pediatric appointments, postpartum night sweats, and keeping up with the banal evils ruining our country, we’ve been able to savor the small joys of having a new member of our family.
When I feel lost in the chaos, I try to hold onto the small, corporeal moments I’m already feeling nostalgic for: The sweet smell of my baby’s head, the sensation of her snoring on my chest, the simultaneously rough yet delicate way my older children fawn over her, and the giggles and coos and even the tantrums and cries that fill our home. I’ll take it all.
Funnily enough, the first restaurant my husband and I took our newborn was that same Middle Eastern cafe where we would go after my prenatal appointments. And, I shit you not, we struck up a conversation with a stranger who was considering having additional children. He asked us how we decided to go for a third.
And I thought back to that moment years ago where in that same cafe our new baby was merely the hint of a question; a strange, seemingly quixotic thought shared between two people.
My husband and I looked at each other, smiled, shrugged, and offered a very brief summary of all that I just shared with you. The man left, and we continued to enjoy our coffees and shakshouka, our newborn sleeping soundly beside us.
My cat did poop in my home office while I was seeing a therapy client for the first time ever. I think this was less about me being pregnant and more about him simply being a dumb, spiteful cat.
Oh my goodness, congratulations Jasmine! Beautiful!
Congratulations on your third! There’s nothing like a newborn, and every stage, although exhausting is worth the time and energy. God bless you and your sweet family.