Three, it's a Magic Number?

Maybe every mother who makes the decision to have a third child experiences some momentary fear that somehow they are upsetting a cosmic balance in the universe that two children, 4 family members somehow represents. There is a common sense to two children; one for each of us, an organized kind of chaos that seems manageable with working parents, compact cars, and a busy social life. Perhaps that is why as I am rounding third (crawling, mind you) in my final months of pregnancy, I am overwhelmed by sense of panic, and awoken almost nightly by a voice in my head that asks, "what have you done?"
Where is the clarity I had, say, nine months ago, when I was certain that a new family member would bring such joy and equity to our lives. I pictured not the "yours" and "mine" that seems to come with two children, but a sense of "ours" that connotes larger families. Yes, I thought, more does equal more craziness, more time, more money, but more love too. Now, I fear, I have tested the gods of happiness, or at least peacefulness. Just yesterday I watched my 7 and 4 year olds play together for one hour (one hour!) with playdough, designing all sorts of concoctions for their "cooking competition." They were the iron chefs of playdough, and I was the badly dubbed judge lathering on the compliments for taste and creativity as I rocked in the porch swing. While my husband was out of town this weekend, the three of us played Scrabble Jr. and cuddled on my bed to watch a movie that we could all enjoy.
How, I imagine, will such a scene play out in the future if I should be so inclined to send my husband off on a three day golf trip? I am now picturing a screaming infant interupting the lovely and peaceful family game night, and a return to the dreaded Dora cartoons. Or worse, I can see hours of time that my children will spend in front of a television because I will be too tired or too parented out to care. I can just hear my kids echoing my own thoughts about my preparenthood self, "you used to be fun."

I don't know what the future holds, other than a certainty that it is coming, and there will be chaos. But I hope it will be a good kind of chaos, a loud, happy, running to greet me at the door kind of mayhem. There is something amazing and sometimes teeth clenching about watching an older child mature and take on the responsibility of a younger sibling. Sometimes, there is cruelty and jealously, but in the best times, there is a lesson learned about the kind of love and generosity needed to be a kind and helpful human in this world. I get to see glimpses of this in my daughter and son, the way he admires her or wishes to save a half a gummy bear for her, and the way she admits hours later (once the tears have dried) that, "Ian really is a good Scrabble player, Mom." I guess this is my hope for my children, especially my son, getting to be a big brother now, that they get to widen their experience of love and family to include a new person and all the joy, tears, laughter, pain and wonder that this new life will bring to us.
If you are not a truly hopeful person, you might not think that children can make the world a better place. But I do believe in the power of love, and I suppose it is this kind of near sighted optimism that got me here in the first place, and that hopefully will see me through.