The Magic Number

I have a lot of friends with two kids.  Two girls.  Two boys.  A boy and a girl.  Whatever the combination, every last one of the couples raising these cherubs is exhausted.  My husband, who is definitely not known for his political correctness or holding his tongue once told a mother at my daughter's school, a woman with four children, that she was crazy.  That four was too much.  He said it in English and French, he was so serious about it.  She spoke English and French and looked at him aghast.  I am certainly not telling anyone else what to do with their time or their energy or their family planning budget, but I do know, that in the Penn-Virot household, these two people are enough.

I suppose that I cannot be surprised that two girls of mine love a little chatter, but man, these two have my eyeballs busting out of my head.  Between that and the nonstop cleaning, flash cards, extra activities, trying to remember all the characters from all their favorite programming, recognizing all the squiggly animals from the daily drawing pad, breaking up fights, (Yes, between a 4 year old and an 18-month old, usually over a toy or a pen or a silly band), watching all the cartwheels, dance moves, rolls, fast "hopscotching," jumps on the couch, off the couch, you get the picture, I just don't have anything more to give.  Add to that the management of the finances, payment of household bills, school, and extracurriculars, laundry, housecleaning, and all that entails and one wonders how we have even done so well with the two!

And yet, people ask, "Do you want to try for the boy?"  "Virginie is getting so big, would you have one more?"  If I were still in New York, I am sure the answer would be something along the lines of "Hell to the naw!"  TRY for the boy?  Like I am playing skeeball and if I get it in the top circle we got it?!  I don't think I ever got it in the top circle!  It's not a risk I am willing to take.  But here in Barbados, when asked, I find myself saying things like, "Well, if it is God's intention," or "I would have to take another baby as a gift."  But that is mostly because I really don't think God is trying to see that through.  He knows I am doing my best with the girlies I got now.  I know that I, armed with my 28-day, do not intend to chance it.  Frankly, I think we need another solution.  Even the pill is only 99% effective and I am soon to be 41 years old.  After a week without power and two little girls boa constrictor-wrapped around my head and neck and shoulders and waist and ankles, I just can't imagine that I would not be institutionalized should another wee one make his or her way to our abode.  I seem to be teetering on the line as it is.

We have decisions to make and really do not want to make them here in Barbados.  While it still has some of the most expensive health insurance in the land, the US would provide us with greater options and opportunities to handle this dilemma should one or both of us choose to go under.  I know I am being indirect.  It feels like a jinx to say it out loud.  Ungrateful.  But we can't have any more kids.  I surely can't because I am not sure I have the strength to take care of them and give them what I hope to be able to give my children (and my husband, on some of the points)--love, attention, affection, good schooling, the ability to explore the world through travel, language, arts.  Could I do all of that if I were stretched so thin?  Could I?

My godmother always reminds me when we sign off during a chat or email, that I must remember to put my mask on first before assisting others, even the small ones.  Because if I cannot breathe, then I will pass out before anyone else even sees the mask, and we are all doomed.  I want us to thrive.  To grow and explore and develop into a unit so strong that when each of us thinks of him or herself, we automatically think of the others.  So that "I" is always backed by "we."  I can do it and for me, two (kiddies) is the magic number.


(c)  Copyright 2010.  City Mom in the Jungle