First Comes Love

Does having another baby mean 100% more work? The toys are already everywhere, so that part is done, but in considering a sibling for Sam, I have a lot to take into account. For instance, Sam is the happiest, most good-natured, great-sleeping baby ever. Number two could only, then, be the most rotten peasant child, constantly nagging me and trying to sell me Chicklets.

Like any other parent who’s had a second child, I worry that I could never love it equally to Sam. Sam is my guy, he’s my sweetie and true love. How could I possibly two-time him?

Then there’s the whole fat thing. I willed myself to get back into my size 4s this time around, but I’m sure after the second kid it would be entirely out of my hands.

And then there’s this little thing called education. Do we want our children going to the best private schools, or do we want to continue traveling at a frenetic pace?

As I sit here waiting for Sam to wake, I laugh at how only two years ago I was considering taking a job in Canada (writing for the You-Know-Who), because Matt was in need of getting his act together. We decided that we couldn’t live without each other; then came Sam, then came the baby carriage, then came marriage. I’ve always been a wee bit backwards.

And maybe, just maybe, don’t push me or buy me any more damn baby rattles, I’ll have another baby.