Since Wyatt is a toddler now, I frequently get asked when Zac and I are going to have another one.
I was amazed at how quickly people expected us to start working on a little brother or sister for Wyatt. As I recall, I was still on maternity leave the first time the topic came up.
No one seems to take me seriously when I say that there is no plan for future Cohrons. I usually laugh it off, but I’m not above resorting to a look that could kill to get my point across to someone who insists on pressing the issue.
There is a long list of reasons why Wyatt should remain an only child.
A new addition would put us in a very tough spot financially, and I don’t believe in having children I know we can’t afford.
We don’t even have a bedroom to spare. If Wyatt didn’t want to bunk with the new kid, I guess he or she would have to learn to like sleeping on the couch.
Last but not least, finding the right balance between my personal and professional life is a constant struggle. It wouldn’t be right to throw a newborn into the mix when I feel like I don’t get nearly enough time with my firstborn.
If it had been up to me to let Zac know when I was ready for a child, I believe that I would have kept him waiting indefinitely.
I’ll never forget a night four years ago when we were talking about the future and Zac told me he already had a name picked out for a son.
I plastered a smile on my face so he wouldn’t notice that I was quietly having a meltdown.
As stupid as it may seem, that night was the first time I realized what I already should have assumed — Zac wanted kids and he expected me to bear them.
I took a cue from Scarlett O’Hara and decided to think about that another day. My plan worked out great until the little pink plus sign appeared three months after our wedding.
I will always be grateful for the unexpected turns my life has taken, especially becoming a mother.
I’m sure every mom thinks her child is utterly fascinating, but mine truly is.
For example, when he wants a refill, he hands one of us the cup and says, “Big!”
If he notices a burned spot on his cheese toast, he wrinkles his nose, shakes his head and says, “Dirty.”
He loves to help, so I’ve started passing him the remote as we pull into the driveway each night so he can put up the carport door.
One evening, I told him “Hit the button,” and he responded, “Uh uh. Wait.”
We ended up playing chicken with the door, and the hood of my car was almost the loser.
The other day, he disposed of a half-eaten strawberry in his potty. There was nothing else in it at the time, but I guess he was adding an air freshener in case of a breakthrough.
Wyatt learns something new every day, whether it’s a word, a skill or an unorthodox use for one of his many toys.
As exciting as it is to watch Wyatt grow up, it also hurts my heart a little.
Having so many Facebook friends posting pictures of their newborns hasn’t helped my mood much. Part of me wishes that I could turn back the clock to the days when Wyatt was a tiny little bundle of joy like that.
I made the mistake of sharing my feelings with a few folks from my inner circle, and they all had the same advice: “It’s time for another one.”
I battled what I named my “mid-20s baby fever” for a couple of days. Then I had a text conversation with an expectant mom about her horrible morning sickness.
Although I never had that particular pregnancy symptom, it got me thinking about swollen ankles, labor pains, midnight feedings and two more years of dirty diapers.
We’ve come a long way, baby. And I’d like to keep it that way.