Kids. Apparently, people like to have them. As in more than one. Those people must enjoy circuses to an unhealthy level because my life is a freakin' side show and I only have one. Now, don't get me wrong. I love my kid. As in singular. She's a genius. She's hilarious. She's four. Did I have grand ideas about having a big family? Heck no. Well, it might have been an option except that my husband is quite a bit older than I am and didn't want me to push him to his youngest child's graduation in a wheelchair. It seemed like a good idea to have kids, plural, until we had our daughter, singular.
LJ never slept. That is not an exaggeration. The kid never.slept.at.all. Always wanted to be held, to be nursed to sleep, to be played with. All day, every day. I kept telling myself and my husband (bless his heart living with a mombie- mom+zombie) that she would grow out of it and thank the cosmos that at nearly four, she has. But four years without sleep? I'm surprised I'm not in prison or in a nuthouse.
Kids. Good grief. Y'all must be insane.
LJ has sensory issues and we are guessing she is somewhere on the autism spectrum (we are working on a diagnosis). In other words, not only does my kid have to moving all the time she also gets even more amped up with large crowds and anything different in her routine. She bites herself, hits herself, hits me, hits her dad. Terrorizes our chickens and don't even get me started on my poor, gimpy, elderly dog. We walk on egg shells and brace for impact all.the.time.
Kids. Isn't four a crowd?
I have plenty of people around me with more than one kid. Cousins, sisters, heck- my mother had 3 kids. What? Why? I hear friends telling me that they can't wait to have more. What? Why? The more the merrier, they say. What? Why?
My kid is only four and she eats like a 40 year old man. Like, constantly. I could go to Wal-Mart and buy snacks/food the entire week and the weekend gets here and all I hear is, "Mom!!! I need a snack!!!" Child, you just ate an entire box of macaroni by yourself. You seriously ate all of the pizza. You ate two cheeseburgers. I just do not see how y'all are feeding more than one child. What kind of job do you have? Maybe I need to find a new one.
Sometimes I look at my husband and I just say, "Dude, look what we created." It isn't out of admiration and love. It's out of fear. I'm concerned that both my husband and I's worst traits are now bundled up in one small, combustible package. What have we bestowed upon this world? The pressure to have a perfect kid? Yikes. The pressure to have 2? 3? That's unimaginable. My break-out prone face cannot handle that kid of stress.
Now, sometimes I look at my LJ and my heart nearly explodes because I love that child more than any other mother has loved their kid. I want to hug her so fiercely and never let go. I see her dad in her eyes and see my own devilish grin spread across her lips when she's put Nutella all over the dog's nose. And in my heart, I just know that I could never have enough love left over to give to another child. Not even close. Just one kid? Yes, please.
I'm not sure how my mother loved my sisters and I the same amount. I'm guessing if I asked her, she would tell me she loved me the most, which I would easily believe. But would it be the truth? I tell all my chickens I love them the same but truly, I have my favorite. And she's my first.
I'm not stupid. I know that some people have been trying for years to have just one. I'm not discounting that. Having a kid is not easy for all and I am not ignorant enough to discount the blessing that my child is.
But I is broke. I is hungry. I is tired.
Just one. Lord yes. I don't even let my husband make eye contact with me from across the dinner table anymore. Just one.
Teacher. Wife. Mother. Becca J also has an unhealthy addiction to chickens, DIY projects, and the outdoors. She also writes at her personal blog, The Homespun Hen, where she chronicles her adventures in chickens. With so much going on in life, she tries to find the humor in the little things.