This morning, I put my firstborn on the bus to Kindergarten.
{Somebody might want to call me to see whether I’m still functioning or if I’ve dissolved into a blubbering puddle on my living room floor. Thank you.}
I’ve been on a pretty steep learning curve for the past several months – learning about how public school works, the policies and processes involved, adjusting my work schedule where I can, and cobbling together after-school care where I can’t. I’m not gonna lie. I’ve been stressed.
But off he went, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We made it.
I’m also relieved to know that we don’t have to do this again for four more years.
I never expected this age gap between my kids. I always thought I’d have them closer together. They’ll be playmates! I said. That way they’ll always have a friend!
And then I had my son. The months ticked by, I did the mental calculations in my head, and I started to get nervous. I understood that I was in no position to entertain having a second child at that point, but I was also afraid that my dreams of having two little playmates were crumbling. I was messing up my whole family. If we did ever have another child, they’d be too far apart. I bet they won’t even like each other, my brain irrationally told me.
Enter kid #2.
For us, the four-year gap between children has been perfect. I got to enjoy Conlan’s littlest years with undivided attention. I was able to get through challenging 2- and 3-year old phases with more grace and patience than I would have if I’d been in the sleep-deprived fog of newborn parenting. My son understood things like, “I can’t help you right now, I’m feeding the baby. Please wait five minutes.”
And gone are the fears that my kids wouldn’t like each other. I don’t think it’s possible for them to adore each other any more than they already do.
I still remember the beautiful, relaxing day I was walking around the zoo with my two-year old boy. I couldn’t have possibly enjoyed that glorious, unhurried day any more. Then I took a moment and looked around. I saw other mommies doing the same, but one thing was different. Their bellies were swollen and pregnant, carrying their toddler’s highly anticipated sibling.
And in that moment I felt like I had missed the bus. You know the one. The space-your-kids-two-years-apart bus. My stomach dropped and I wondered if we were doing it all wrong.
I now know that we weren’t. I’m glad I listened to my heart and knew we weren’t ready earlier. I’m thankful I didn’t rush adding another child to our family; I know that there are plenty of women who are equipped and called to have children spaced more closely together, but I was finally able to admit that I was not one of them. And it was okay.
So for those of you with more widely-spaced kids, ignore the pressure. It doesn’t come from other people anyway. It comes from that place inside yourself that constantly second-guesses your own parenting ability. You and God know the right time. Maybe it’s 1 year, 2 years, 5 years, or 10 years. Regardless, your family is perfect today.
You didn’t miss the bus, I promise.
