My husband, John, is painting the kids’ rooms this weekend. We’ve been in this house for a year now and the cheap builder’s paint is not cutting it. Too many poop smears and fingerprints on the walls to count. A little eggshell coat will be a welcome reprieve. We chose some basic paint colors in the beginning, but it’s time to get a little more creative (which I’m pretty much leaving up to John since I’m not “allowed” to touch a paintbrush… not that I really want to). It’s fun picking out paint and décor for our little boy and girl, but it also feels like a rite of passage—especially when it comes to little Jack’s room. He’s my 3-year-old, and we still have his room pretty much set up for a baby.

For the past year, every time I go into Jack’s room, it’s there. Staring at me. Empty. The glider chair. When we moved into this house last June, we put the chair in Jack’s room because that was the place where he’d still crawl into my lap and let me read him a story, rock him slowly off to a nap, stare down hopefully into that sweet-dreaming baby face. And I savored every moment of the time spent in that chair because I knew that with every Goodnight Moon, Going to Bed Book, and Peek-a-Boo I Love You, we were getting one step closer to the time when that chair would be just a little too small—and my “baby” boy would be a little too big.

To me, that glider is a symbol of my own birth into motherhood. The place where, in the wee hours of the morning (heck, all night long) I learned a new meaning of the word “love.”

Let’s wait a while.

I never really babysat much as a kid. I never had any desire. I was too busy talking on the phone or going out with friends. I wasn’t interested in dealing with kids and the few times I babysat, I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I liked kids enough from afar, but I was happy to leave them alone.

I married at 29 and still, I wasn’t feeling the “bite” of the baby bug. I was too busy working long hours at my job, going out with friends, taking trips with my husband. We thought about having kids but it was always some other time, in the future. We always thought, “we have plenty of time.” So we waited. We made a lot of lasting memories together doing many fun things…but we waited.

Baby Bug

A feeling that I was somehow behind in this “kid game” started the first week Natalie was born in late December 2008. I felt that I was changed in many ways. I was a mom. I was just about to turn 34 and I wondered why I had waited so long. Life hadn’t prepared me for the way I would feel knowing that another human being’s whole world, whole existence, was dependent on me. Knowing that this miracle of life that God had given me was my gift to protect, to love, to teach. Not something to own but someone to give my world a deeper meaning. Someone whose dreams would become more important than my own. Someone whose pain would cut me deeper than any ache I had known. Someone whose laughter would make my face hurt from smiling. (That’s me and Natalie in the picture, during her first week home.)

An empty glider chair, I’m sure many more experienced moms will tell me, isn’t such a big deal. Even before the glider, there was an empty bassinet next to our bed. And there will be many more “empties” along this great road of parenthood. The empty car seats that are no longer needed, the empty kitchen table when friends seem more important, the empty back seat of my car when they learn how to drive, empty beds when they stay out most of the night with friends and, last but not least, the empty nest. And with every new phase, there will be lots of good times, many proud moments, days of hearty laughter and memories built to last.

But as I contemplate putting away the glider chair and calling it quits on the baby phase, my heart is heavy and my eyes are full. It’s not because my two beautiful children aren’t “enough.” And if someone told me we were physically unable to bear any more children (a choice that nature will soon make for us), I would accept that fact with little more than a tear because I know that I am incredibly blessed. We hit the jackpot. We have two very healthy, vibrant, well-adjusted children who sometimes misbehave and drive us crazy. There are so many people out there who wish for just one child to love, and many of them never get the opportunity. All that being said, “the ache” remains.

Table for 5?

In many ways, I’m positive I want another child. In other ways, I’m scared to death. I wonder if I can handle it, if we can handle it…and not just because we’re older. My son, Jack, is a great kid and he can be extremely challenging. The folks at daycare like to say he’s “active” – well, he’s 3 years old and I can tell you there’s never a dull moment when he is around. I had a miscarriage late last summer and sometimes I wonder how I could have possibly dealt with having an infant right now along with “Jack Attack” as he’s been affectionately named at both daycare centers he’s attended! But people do it every day—and somehow, they manage.

Usually when I think about having a third child two scenes play out in my head—the first one shows me at 2am nursing an infant (moments that I’ve always loved) paired with sleepless nights and tired mornings. The second is our entire 5-person family sitting around the dinner table on a Sunday evening when everyone is old enough to stay in his or her seat and have a conversation. Maybe there’s a friend or two joining us, perhaps my parents or a neighbor. Probably someone is in a hurry to get somewhere else or move onto another activity but regardless, we’re all together. And we’re happy. We’ve got mommy, daddy, Jack, Natalie and one more special person to love. And I wonder, what could possibly be bad about that?

I think about how challenging it would be to spread my time among three children, especially as they get older and need to be shuttled to a million different activities at a million different times (and sometimes at the same time, making it really tough). I wonder how I’d find enough time to give each child the attention he or she needs when it’s sometimes difficult even with two. I often think about other moms who have 3, 4, 5 and more children, and I wonder how they do it. How do they manage everything? Are they as OCD as I can be about keeping the crumbs off the floor and the finger paint off the walls? If they are, then they’re probably half insane by now and would likely tell me I need to lighten up (and they’d be right).

Little People, Big Blessings

So I am a little overbearing with the cleanliness and I’m admittedly not a great “playmate” when it comes to the kids. Daddy is better at playing with them. I like helping them with arts and crafts, kissing boo boos, feeding them, braiding hair. I love taking care of them, watching them grow, and loving them. And as far as that goes, I know that my job as a mom will never end—no matter how big they get or how much they think they don’t need me.

I am simply, perhaps selfishly, not ready to let go of that feeling of what it first meant to be a mother. And it makes me want to go back, relive it, smell that baby smell, hear the quiet of all those sleepless nights spent doing the most important job in the world. Hold tiny toes in my hands; listen to the sweet grunts and tiny sighs of an impossibly small human being whose world is just beginning to unfold.

In life, I believe we are wise to count our blessings and be grateful. You never know what’s around the corner. I can’t imagine spending one day regretting a few more months or years spent in that glider. But no matter what, I’ll still be a mom and I’ll be thankful. Because regardless of how many spaces in my life become empty as the children grow, my heart and my arms will always remain full.