There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe

Sometimes I wonder how many kids Tim & I will end up having. When I was a teenager, I thought, "Three. Three sounds like a good number." Like most kids that age, I gave no thought to factors that would affect my numbers. What if I couldn't bear children? What if I didn't have the financial means to take care of more than two? What if my husband only wanted one? What if I had twins on my third pregnancy? What if I couldn't emotionally handle more than one?

My mother had five children. I am the middle child. I have two older sisters and two younger brothers. One thing I always hoped for was to have children that were as tightly knit as my brothers and sisters are. Do we fight sometimes? Yep. Do we get in each other's business? Daily. But my siblings are funny, passionate people. It's like a support network of crazy people. We manage our own, and even when we're furious at each other, we'd trample anyone who would try to break the network. I know--it sounds like a cult.

I guess what I'm saying is, I think someday I'd like to have more children. I want Baby Dowdel to have all the advantages I did: sibling support & protection. Even the hard things were still good. I didn't always get what I wanted as a kid (like my own music player), because I had to share. I didn't get to lock myself away from the world for a day to have a pity party, because, well, there was someone in every room. I couldn't get too haughty, either, because siblings have a way of regulating the pecking order.

I see the obvious benefits of having one child, too. A parent can devote so much more time, money, and attention caring for one child than eight. Population control: can't beat it.

But.

I like that I have an instant Gallup-type poll at my disposal. If I relay an incident from my life to my family, I get immediate, honest responses (notice I didn't have to ask for feedback). Not the kind responses coworkers or gentle friends might give (you know, where they actually care about how you react?). My family will tell it like it is. There's something comforting about having at least one person in the world who can say, smiling and without pause, "Wow, why'd you act so stupid?" It's a reminder that I'm not above criticism. Critical love: it's a precious part of our mob mentality.

Welcome to the network, Baby Dowdel!