It can’t come as a surprise to any of our friends and family that Leah and I are planning on trying to have another kid.
Just writing that sentence gives me the willies. Not because I’m dreading another three sleepless days in the hospital. I’m worried about what we’re going to tell Ava about her new sibling.
Why do we want another child? Leah and I each have a sibling, and it’s a nice (familiar) arrangement. Leah’s five years older than her sister Rachel, and I’m 18 months older than my brother. These age gaps are important. I don’t remember anything at all about my brother coming along, and I certainly don’t recall having any anxiety about losing my parents’ attention when the new baby was born.
Leah, on the other hand, loves telling stories about Rachel showing up. They’re full of enmity and affection and all sorts of emotion, the kinds of reactions you’d expect from a five-year-old. I’ve never asked Leah’s folks what they told her about the new baby. Had I been older when Scott was born (was I even talking at 18 months?), I might have asked my parents what the point was. Really. You have one perfectly healthy and beautiful (if I do say so myself) baby, why go and complicate things? Think twice the diapers and half the already-paltry free time. And the money? “Daycare,” anyone? “College?” “Braces?” What’re you thinking? (Ed. note: I never had braces. No, really!)
I guess mostly I don’t want Ava to feel like our desire to have another child is somehow a reflection of a lack we see in her. And I worry that we won’t have as much time for Ava, when I already feel like she slips away from me a little more every hour I’m away from her.
But Leah and I are both believers in siblings. She and Rachel have a wonderful relationship now, though it has its little strains now and then. My brother and I are fairly close (I just realized as I’m writing this that I haven’t seen or talked to him for weeks now, even though we live 1.5 miles from each other). When we were younger, Scott and I spent hours and hours together playing in the woods behind our house. He cried the time I threatened to run away and stormed off to hide behind the neighbor’s woodpile two doors down. And we used to fight like crazy. Not argue. Fight. Pulled hair, kicking, punches to the gut. I was almost always the aggressor, and Scott — who at the time was still smaller than I was — took a lot of abuse. I imagine I liked having a brother much more than he ever has.
So, what to tell Ava…. Maybe she’ll be so excited about having a little brother or sister she won’t even ask us for an explanation. She does love babies, after all, at least right now. Should that phase last, she’ll no doubt be thilled to help take care of a new little one. I only hope she never feels slighted or left out. And I hope she never runs away.