I didn’t take the PSAT my sophomore year of high school like everyone else, more due to forgetting to register than anything else. When I was “late” taking the ACT in my junior year, my guidance counselor was nervous I’d not have time to retake it to improve my score.
I nailed it, scoring in the 99th percentile, surprising myself even more than my circle of competitive nerd friends. (Going into the test, I prayed for at least a 27 so I wouldn’t be harassed incessantly for my dumbness. God, we were all jerks.)
My counselor, after she finished crowing to her peers about my score, pressured me to take the test again to see if I could do even better, but I demurred over and over. Why pay the application fee when I was happy?, I told her.
Really, though, I was afraid. Taking it again might net me that 27 after all, proving it was a fluke, at best, or I was a fraud, at worst.
I think I’ve always wanted just one kid. For a while, I tried to believe I’d be okay childless, but I couldn’t ignore that my dreams of my future had always included a child… But just one child, I have come to admit. I’m a mom, my husband’s a dad, and our parents get to be grandparents. Javi is pretty effing awesome and it feels like we have enough.
More honestly, though, I’m afraid. Despite being shell-shocked by our first few months of parenting, we got a really good kid! He wasn’t colicky or allergic and has been mostly healthy and a good sleeper. He’s smart and funny and athletic and intense and independent and the best parts of my husband and I.
Surely the universe isn’t this predictable, but I’m convinced a next kid is bound to be the difficult yin to his relatively easy yang. I don’t want to test the theory.
For now, then, we think we’re “one and done.” Sometimes I wish we were certain we wanted more kids, though, so the question would be one of when, not the constantly intruding one of if.