enough

As the conversation about a second child continues, I find myself thinking a lot about my first child ... My heart is so filled with love for him, that I wonder if I will be able to as fully and fiercely love another baby when the time comes.

I know it sounds terrible (Really, what type of person is worried about loving her own baby?), but it's hard for me to comprehend.

In fact, when I stop to think about it, I'm not at all worried about the forty (give or take) weeks spent growing and then releasing the second child into the world ... Or how a second child will change the dynamic and day-to-day routine in our household ... Or how I'll manage getting up in the middle of the night and then keeping myself together the following day ... Or how we'll fit into our current house (if it still refuses to sell) ... Or any other logistical issues that might arise ...

Instead, I'm more worried if I will feel the same feelings I did when Malcolm entered our world ... If my heart will have enough room for the newbie.

I'm pretty sure that it will ... That nine months of gestation will forge the beginnings of a bond and things will progress naturally from there. But I still have that little nagging question mark in the back of my mind.

I guess it's because, in many ways, Malcolm is enough.

Truly.

I always thought I wanted "lots of kids" and never considered having a singleton, but I honestly couldn't be happier with our current situation. Malcolm brings me so much joy that I often find myself feeling like I don't deserve it ... He is the perfect kid for me, for our family, and I don't need anyone but him. So, if we failed to conceive a second time (for whatever reason) or lost a baby through miscarriage and it just wasn't going to work out, I know I'd be okay.

Like I said, he is enough.

Sure, when I look at the three of us together, heading somewhere in the car or crammed around the kitchen table, I feel in my gut that we aren't a full family yet. I do believe that there are more of us waiting to be added ... But if the "more" in my mind failed to join us, I'd still be happy.

I'd be content and so, so thankful for the one I have.

The one that will be turning two in just over a month.

The one that loves to dance in the living room.

The one that brings me to tears (from laughter) with his crazy antics.

The one that is still holding out on saying multiple words (but signs like a pro).

The one that made me feel complete in the first place when I didn't realize that anything had been missing.

Malcolm is enough.

Yet the proverbial biological clock continues to tick and I want to take the chance ... Let's roll the dice again and see what happens. If we were so lucky the first time, why not the second? Maybe baby 2.0 will be an upgrade from the first (if that is even possible?!) ...

And surely, like the old Grinch in the popular children's story, my heart will grow in size.

Things will work themselves out and all of my premature worrying will be for nothing.