So, especially after Jessica sent me this ridiculous article (Where do you even find that stuff?) and an acquaintance and I conversed about his wife wanting no more children because their second was “exhausting,” and because I’m having the second of two sort-of-surprise children, I have been thinking about babies.
It is very likely that I cannot continue to work full-time once we have a third child, or once these first two are around school age (because I want to homeschool them). And I like working full time. It is much more dignified than picking up the living room for the fourteenth time that day after Ransom has attacked his toy box. Also, Ransom does not make me any money.
At any rate, my handsome husband has revealed that these surprise babies are all his evil plan, because he wants to have four or five children. I suppose I wouldn’t mind as long as someone else was birthing and nursing them.
Rambling sarcasm aside, I am actually here to discuss an attitude change. Ransom is very good at bringing change (he should be president). Before and while we moved I started to feel particularly annoyed about Ransom. He was waking 4-5 times a night (alone worth a death sentence) and extremely clingy and fussy. Why couldn’t I have at least gotten a nice, quiet baby? Why must he be so annoying?
Nathaniel’s aunt sent me two little books from a missionary mother who had four children in five years. She wrote about how children present an opportunity and a challenge to serve a needy neighbor—and helping them is not just an occasional pastime for a mother, but a duty. Once again, Ransom’s existence showed me how selfish I am. Since then, I have not minded him as much. He has actually gotten much cuter (I think the same thing happens to husbands when they wash the dishes).
I don’t know if the same thing happens about more children. There may be (is almost certainly) a breaking point for some women. But others, I suspect, think they will break but have more anyway and discover they bend into something more beautiful.