The village of my heart

Both my husband and I come from extremely tight-knit families. Our immediate relatives are our parents, still together after 47 and 39 years of marriage respectively and our siblings (we have one apiece). To this nuclear group, we add an extended array of familial relations - aunts, uncles, first cousins, second cousins, grandparents etc.

Were this amount of relatives not enough already for most modern families, my own particular branches of the proverbial family tree are swelled further in numbers by the varied troupe of friends which my parents, sister and I, have had the good fortune to incorporate over the years. Many have become as dear to us as our relations connected by blood.

When Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton's book "It Takes a Village" came out more than a decade ago, I never managed to read it but I remember thinking how amazingly clear the concept behind her title seemed. I understood the village part more than well. The woman who sits here before you writing this post is like a still in progress puzzle which is built of impossibly little pieces put together by events, by strangers, by actions but most importantly, by family and friends.

I am a product of my village and to continue the cycle, my village, itself a product, is something I continue to shape as it shapes me. Never did this obvious truth stand out so blindingly as when my son came into this world.

Few events can disengage us from the vanity of our self-love as having a child can. Few events can jerk us out of the selfishness of the me, as bringing a baby into life. All of a sudden, you care more for what is in the sphere of your existence because you know the power it has to equally affect your child.

In the last few weeks, because of the holidays, my husband, my son and I, have had the enormous good fortune to be inundated by visitors. Two sets of grandparents, plus an aunt and an uncle to my son have left their mark in more ways than my eyes and ears have been able to record. They have given of themselves to my little boy as only loving relatives can, and like a flower, truly, he has bloomed. While I rejoice in witnessing his burgeoning awareness to relationships other than that which he shares with his father and myself, my heart breaks for the interruption this invaluable experience will suffer at their eventual departure.

I consider my son's awakening to the loving family unit one of more important foundations that we, his parents, can provide him with in life and, for that reason I feel keenly how our geographical separation from our families impoverishes his existence. We are introducing him to the same family that forged us into who we are but I know that he will never experience that life-shaping link to the degree that we ourselves enjoyed.

Because of my son, I value my family more deeply than I thought myself capable of. Because of him, I honor my village and guard it so zealously now that some of its most important elements are not within immediate reach. In my moments of deep introspection - you could call it prayer - I thank everything under the stars for all I have even as I find myself wishing for more, not for me, but for him, my little boy who deserves all I can give, all that we can give to him. The very best village life can build. I wish that with my whole heart this New Year's day not only for my son, but for every child that comes into this world.

For an audio version of this post click here.

Expanding my family

Having a second child is something I am determined to do though my reasons for wanting one oscillate daily between absolute conviction on the rightness of such a step and worry about the disruption, albeit a happy one, which would visit our existing Trinity.

I worry a lot about the second child issue because I am getting on in years and I feel a sincere desire to get through a pregnancy now vs. later, if possible. I also worry about it because my toddler is growing older and I would wish his brother or sister to have as minimal an age difference as my husband and I can manage for him. It would help too, I think, if the second child were a boy. I feel strongly that though siblings of different sexes can love each other unconditionally, there is an even stronger bond to be had when they share the same sex for all the reasons you can well imagine. Though, don't get me wrong, I'd be thrilled to have a little girl.

I say disrupt the Trinity because that is what we have right now. My husband, my son and I have weathered the tempests of sleepless nights, impending food regurgitations, unexplainable crying jags (many my own), heart-wrenching colics and first-time air travel. Indeed, we are somehow and miraculously over the many upheavals new parents and their children can suffer.

I have, you could say, achieved a happy plateau of established routines, relative understanding of wishes and desires (as pertain to my son), enjoyment in my role as a stay at home mother, sharing moments with my husband and, a mesmerizing one could say, almost impossibly growing love for my child that exceeds everything I thought it could ever be.
I discover daily the person I am through letting my son be who he is and as my reward for this effort I think I glimpse the future child and he fills me with such wonder! I cannot even express...
In short, we are happy the three of us. Very happy and at peace. We have found our rhythm. Why would I want to shake this up?

I will continue searching for the fourth member of our family because my sister is my best friend and I would hope that my son will be able to call his sibling the same. My sister and I share a history that is populated with the kind of moments an only child could never have enjoyed. With fervor, I wish this same closeness of the heart and blood only siblings can achieve, for my son.

I will try to have another baby because quite frankly, babies are irresistible and everything that is good and wonderful no matter how much work or heartache they might entail along their growth. I long for another child. A smaller, more delicate bundle than the one my son has become. A baby who will look at me with those misty eyes and let me, once more, glimpse another future. The rhythm will come once more. We will be happy from the start, the four of us.