Four years after I had my second son, I begged my husband for a third child. After he said no, I argued that I felt like someone was missing from our family, and that we might regret not having another one. He argued that we couldn’t afford a third child, and things were just getting easier with our boys getting older. Plus, he said, adding a baby would change the “man- to- man” defense we were able to handle so well. Thankfully, he ended up caving, and we’ve enjoyed most of the past five years with our daughter (if you could see her attitude, you’d understand where the MOST part comes from).
From just a few days after her birth, she’s tagged along to baseball and basketball games, soccer practices and school plays. My husband and I have split ourselves between the boys’ activities, and have determined which one of us will take the girl based on which field has a playground or better concession stand. She’s taken naps in strollers, colored on blankets, and stuffed herself with more candy and slushies than any ten year old should have in a lifetime (and yes, I did say she is only five). But just when we’ve gotten into a groove of having each boy in two sports, toting our daughter, and having our calendars in sync, low and behold, people have started asking when HER turn is going to come.
I know I could have started her in dance at two, when they look so cute in those tutus. I should have signed her up for swimming lessons at three (like I did for my oldest at that age) — maybe if I had, she wouldn’t freak so much when she gets splashed in the face. I did register her for soccer and T-ball last year, but we missed several of her games when the boys had traveling tournaments (and she didn’t actually KNOW she was missing anything). It sounds like we just don’t care to make time for the third child, but honestly, it’s just really hard to think about getting one more person to one more place.
It turns out that the man-to-man issue my husband was worried about was actually a valid concern.
I don’t want to have to choose between one more thing, or worry about whose feelings I’m going to hurt when I pick one kid over the other. And having three activities, all at the same time, means one of my kids will have to catch a ride with a teammate, and have neither of their parents present to cheer them on. I won’t know the details of every game: Who made the assist? How did he get fouled? How many minutes were left on the clock when you shot the final basket?
It just doesn’t seem fair.
But — it’s also not fair for my daughter not to know what it’s like to be the focus of attention, just because she was born last. She’s put in her time and paid her dues, so I guess it’s finally her turn. I want her to feel the unconditional support that the boys have already felt. I want her to meet teammates who become life-long friends like the ones I met over 30 years ago. I want her to try lots of things – cheerleading, softball, basketball, volleyball – and decide what she wants to stick with not just because she’s good at it, but because she enjoys it. I want her to experience a triumphant “YES!” when she accomplishes a new feat. And as much as I don’t want her to hurt, I want her to learn that not everybody in life is going to let her win every single game.
Many days already, I feel like our family is part of a circus; Adding one more kid into the mix will be a heck of a lot to juggle. But I’m willing to deal with a little hassle so she can start learning some valuable lessons.
Keep your eyes out for the white minivan taxi, whose driver has her coffee cup in hand, whose passengers may or may not be wearing clean uniforms, and whose wheels may be spinning a little bit faster than they should be. I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re getting ready to see it a lot more often.