So far my favourite judgement has been "well, you couldn't have left it much longer, could you?" Actually, rather than implying that my ovaries were deteriorating at the rate of Jude Law's hairline, they meant that I couldn't possibly leave a sizeable age gap between my children. I have never understood this myself: the 'perfect age-gap' analysis, as though my children would explode if I left more than four years between them. And so follow the analysis on your parenting choices.
Until my son was about two and a half years old, I was continually asked when I would be having another child. That was the cut off point, apparently, because after this time it was rare that anyone ever asked me such a question again. Presumably, because they thought I didn't want anymore children, or that I was having trouble conceiving (because obviously there couldn't be an option of having a child any later, right?). Although I was glad I was off the hook, I was starting to wonder why I didn't ever think the magic two-year age gap was an option for me. More so, I was starting to wonder how that ever became the 'norm'.
The problem with this invented 'norm' is that I felt tremendous pressure once my son had turned one to make my mind up about whether I wanted any more children or not. Each year, the bags of baby clothes I'd kept 'just in case' I wanted another became more of a millstone around my neck. Every time I went to throw something away there would be this niggle – this feeling of a ticking clock, as though the clothes would self combust once Albie turned three. Every year I waited I knew the baby would potentially be less of a 'play-mate' for Albie in years to come. I waited for the desire to have another child and it never came. I heard of people having a kid anyway and that just didn't sit with me – I couldn't make a decision that meant putting myself though some sort of self-torture. I couldn't go through it again. So I started to give stuff away.
Deep down I'd always wanted another child, but it didn't feel right to have one based on an age gap, or for a playmate for my son, or to fit in with some sort of 'norm'. Someone once told me that I would just know when the time was right, if at all, to have another. I hoped that were true. In hindsight I realise that this was not the magical, chemical reaction in my brain that I first thought it would be, but a sense of 'rightness' in the decision I was to take ownership of. Once I'd decided to let go of my hang-ups, I realised that I did want another child and that I didn't have to wait for feelings of broodiness to make that decision. I didn't have to wait for feelings at all, in fact, but a knowledge that I could make good decisions based on the future we wanted as a family. I had a sense of rightness; a peace. The decision didn't own me anymore, I owned it.
So I don't believe in the perfect age gap or the perfect time to have a child, because everyone will be different. There are no guarantees that your children will get on if they are close in age; there are no promises of an easier life either way. We need to stop limiting people's choices and allow people to just live. I wish I hadn't wasted so much of my time worrying about the decision – it robbed me of some of the joy of just enjoying my son. And let me make this perfectly clear, Albie does not need a brother or a sister. He is perfectly happy without, as are we, but we made a choice that meant investing more into our family. Now when we have 'family snugs', as Albie calls them, he cuddles my tummy too. He's happy to be part of the journey that will be no less challenging, but all the more rewarding for us all.
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