A couple days ago I talked to a mom friend at Iz’s daycare. Her kid is the same age as Isobel (they’re only 30 days apart) and she just had their second baby. I congratulated her, asked her mom questions. How’s the baby sleeping? How are you feeling? She said, “I think the transition from none to one was harder than one to two has been.” I smiled, nodded. She asked: “You guys thinking of having any more?”
I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking about how many of my friends are trying for a second or third. I was thinking about it when I wrote this four months ago. I’ve been thinking about it because I realized the other day we’d long passed the 2-year-interval window that I always said I wanted between the two kids I figured I’d have. (My sister and I are two years apart.) I thought about it when my hairdresser gave me an update on how her third baby is doing and asked if I was going to have another. I was thinking about it after a friendly cashier at the grocery store was “chatting” with Iz and then asked her, “Do you have any brothers or sisters at home?” A family member also said, “When you have another kid, you’ll want to [blah blah blah].”
And then last night, I had a weird dream. I remember it very clearly—that was one of the weird things about it. I usually forget dreams by the time I’ve blinked away the fog of sleep. Anyway, it was Isobel and me, in our jammies, reading. There was a big bowl of popcorn. A window was open. She was older, maybe pre-teen? I don’t know. Just older. The room was quiet except for the pages turning. I knew in the dream that it was just her. There was no baby in the other room or toddler playing nearby. Just an older Iz and me, being lazy. In the dream, she stopped reading, turned to me and said, “This is nice.” I woke up.
I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. Life is hard to predict and assigning significance to dreams is a fool’s errand. (I mean, she might hate reading. She might hate me.) But I keep thinking about that dream today. “This is nice.” It was. It is.