Love the one(s) you're with

Since you've not seen my children in quite some time, I thought you may have forgotten what they look like.

This was taken yesterday morning, on our last pre-before-Will-goes-to-school-playground outing. He starts tomorrow and I guess this, coupled with the fact that they're both starting to look so much older, has me feeling a wee bit nostalgic. And more philosophical than usual. What? Don't laugh.

We met Will's teacher last night and I know he's in very capable, experienced hands. The thing about being a teacher myself is that I have a great, great, great (can't emphasize great quite enough) amount of respect for other teachers. Sure, there may be some teachers here and there who aren't exactly inspiring or lack some quality that the more stellar educators have, but I know in my heart of hearts that the vast, vast majority of teachers are worth their salt and more. The school district is one of the (many) reasons we moved to this neighborhood, and I feel good about our kids' chances in life after working their way up through the system here. So, yes, I'll be anxious when I drop him off at his big (new! super nice!) school but I know they've got it covered and then some. Deep breath. One foot in front of the other.

What I'm not exactly prepared for is how both Will and Laura suddenly seem light years older than their beginning-of-summer selves. Will's obsession with the Titanic (?) continues, among many other curious interests, and Laura suddenly seems to be talking (loudly!) in long, well-formed-James-Joyce-style paragraphs. How this happened, I do not know. And the funny thing is, as parents, you'd think we would have figured this out long ago, that children age huge spans of time in minutes, and that you age right along with them on that same crazy timeline. But it always catches me off guard, this strange and illogical sense of their development being a little bit impossible within the confines of the space time continuum.

I guess I'm also feeling nostalgic because, in the words of Carroll's immortal Walrus, "the time has come to talk of many things." The many things, though, don't involve shoes, ships or sealing-wax, but babies and strollers and maternity clothes, all waiting to be boxed up and donated to someone excitedly awaiting a little one of their own. Because we've finally made our decision: we're a two child family and that's what we're going to stay. And while I wasn't ready to give all of this stuff away a year ago, on the off chance that we would someday have a third, I'm ready now. 

It's a complicated decision and it wasn't exactly an easy one, but I feel good about it now. Yes, there will always be a part of me that would love to look at a just-born baby with the lightning-bolt moment of you're-really-mine clarity, to hear a hungry baby down my "baby milk" like it's his or her job, to watch another set of tiny feet make those first crazy, wobbly steps. But there's also another, larger part of me that's already moved on, that's looking ahead to what the two crazy kids we already have are going to do, who they're going to be, the lightning-bolt moments I'm sure they'll provide along the way.

The fact of the matter is that I think two kids are really all I should do. I wish that I were the kind of mother (like my sister, who's a month away from having her fourth) who has a big family and does it with ease and grace and a sense of humor. But I know my limitations. I could have a third, I know. I have no doubt that I could take care of three, keep everyone fed and (reasonably) happy and make it to everyone's checkups and activities mostly on time. Living away from our families for my children's entire lives has taught me nothing if not that I'm capable in this capacity.

But somewhere in the middle of all that, I know that I'd get stressed out and crabby and yell at the kids far too often. Because I know myself, and I especially know my faults. Dealing with stress is not what I do best. And just thinking of another baby kind of makes me break out in a sweat. Will and Laura deserve a mom who's not always in a rotten mood, and Jamison deserves a wife who's not completely wiped out at the end of the day after the kids are in bed (although I'm still working on this, even with just the two.)

So while I sort through the old baby gear and clothes, I know that I'll be sad. It's hard to say goodbye to that part of your life, the part where you met your babies. But it's time. The silver lining, though, is that I do the two kid thing well. Not perfect, by any means, but I'm confident in my (our) ability to raise the two I've been given. I'm going to enjoy them for who they are and not think too much about tomorrow. I've been given two incredible little gifts and it's time to soak them in without trying to picture us with or without another little gift.

Deep breath. One foot in front of the other.

(More post-first-day-dispatches coming soon. Wish us all luck.)