From One Child to Two The first time I told my mother I was pregnant, she shrieked with glee. She had been praying for the arrival of her first grandchild since my wedding. Three years later, when I told her I was expecting another baby, she sighed heavily. "A second child is a lot of work," she said. And although she moved on to questions about my health and speculated about the baby's sex, the worry in her voice certainly outweighed the joy. I couldn't get off the phone soon enough to burst into tears. While she has since apologized, many times, and I know she loves her grandson just as much as her granddaughter, her gut reaction reminded me of the polarizing emotions surrounding the debate of having a second child. The pros of one child? It's cheaper. With all your resources devoted to an only child, he or she will be spoiled with every opportunity you can afford. You can travel lightly and frequently, and devote all your energies and dreams to this child. The cons? He or she will get lonely. And become selfish and not learn how to share. What happens when you die? You are going to leave your poor child all alone in this world without a sibling? When our daughter turned 2, the decision to try for another seemed easy. My husband and I both came from dual-child households, and we couldn't imagine our lives without our siblings. My mother's reaction was the bluntest, but she was not alone. A second child is often regarded with more judgment than joy. While bearing one child was considered a blessing, exceeding that number appeared selfish and called into question our resources, the first child's well-being and our careers. Could we really afford a second child in this economy? What would be taken away from our first with this new mouth to feed? How would we get any of our own work done? Once our son arrived, I grew to reluctantly understand this opinion. While our hearts indeed grew to love another child just as much as our first, our bodies struggled to catch up to the extra hours we needed to raise two. Our shared Google calendar became a rainbow of appointments, play dates, classes and activities that required daily carpool adjustments. Synchronized naps were a myth. It seemed as if we were going to the grocery store to replenish strawberries and avocados every day. The cold and flu season enjoyed a lengthy residence in our household, to the point that a tissue box was stationed in every room of the house. Our standards for hygiene for our home and ourselves nose-dived. If we weren't playing, feeding or napping the children, we were hurrying past each other to prepare meals, wash laundry or empty the dishwasher. Any excursion out of the house required a loaded snack bag, careful planning and navigating around nap times. I grew comfortable with the white noise our family generated, so long as screaming or crying wasn't involved. Frequently, I would see a pair of freshly minted parents tranquilly cooing at their sleeping infant and feel wistful. Of course, they would look like us in a few years, their hair not so neat, their faces no longer rested. Parents can look adorable with a single child. Have you ever seen a serene mother goddess wrangling a gaggle of toddlers? My exhaustion morphed into despair at night. After several hours trying to put both children to sleep, I would open my neglected laptop and stare at the many unread e-mails and unfinished projects cluttering up my screen. I wondered how I would ever be productive again, if I would ever have the energy or motivation to accomplish anything outside of parenting. After our son's first birthday, I felt the pressure level off, or perhaps I had simply relaxed into our family's new demands. Our children's needs were so basic and clear, compared to my murky insecurities of what being a parent or a writer had to be. I learned to become more patient with my expectations of motherhood and career. I learned to appreciate the incredible partner I had in my husband, who often carried more than his share of the child care and housework. I now have time to take a breath and see what our sleepless days and nights have yielded. Our daughter dotes on her younger brother, and our son's energy and wildness have brought even more joy and welcome noise into our lives. Sometimes I worry that our son doesn't benefit from the attention that we once lavished on our first. While his older sister enjoyed daily baths, leisurely story hours and weekend trips to the beach or redwoods, our son spends a fair amount of time in a stroller or carrier, tagging along on daily errands or watching his sister's gymnastics or ballet classes. But what he gets in exchange, hopefully, exceeds the occasional forgotten bath or extra commuting hours in his car seat. At 15 months old, he barrels through our house, eager to see and touch everything. He hasn't experienced much silence in his life, growing up in a house humming with activity and chatter, but hopefully, like his mother, he won't miss it.