Friday, June 24th, 2011
My husband and I often get questions about the possibility of baby #2. I understand this. Roy’s over a year old now. Will he always bear the full brunt of our enthusiastic parental adoration? Will he have to share the spotlight with a sibling? The people want to know. I’m positive that in the past, I’ve asked the exact same thing of others.
Still, when I hear, “Are you going to have another one?” it takes me off guard. I’m an honest person, sometimes to a fault. Please don’t ask me what I think about that dress unless you really want to know. Plus, I’m pretty uncomfortable with small talk. I’d rather have one, long conversation than 20 short ones. So when I hear that big question, my head swims with the long, honest answer, which involves a lot of heavy stuff including (but not limited to) money, sex, death, fertility and therapy. I’m guessing that’s not the answer most are looking for.
Then I decided that if I can manage to answer, “How are you?” with a simple, “Fine, thanks,” or “I’ve been better,” I can provide a concise, honest response to the passing, “Are you going to have another one?” Lately, I’ve settled on one word: Maybe. Because it’s true. It’s not a “no.” It’s not a “yes.” Which is accurate. Maybe we will have another one.
Usually, this is enough. The conversation spirals into why they were happy with one, or with more than one, and I’m content to take the story in and forgo the spotlight. Every once in a while, I get, “Well, you’re not getting any younger.” Most days, this does not bother me, because it is true. I am not getting any younger. Neither are you. Each and every one of us is getting older by the moment. I do realize the speaker is likely trying to tactfully refer to my ovaries. But that gives me the right to tactfully take things existentially, rather than personally, right?Add a Comment