I hope you all had a lovely holiday-filled week last week and a restful weekend! Our Christmas Eve was bustling and joyful as we hosted a group for dinner, and our Christmas Day was quiet and intimate. I was quite unsure how this Christmas would transpire with our location and my desire to be with my family. While I was certainly saddened for us to be “alone” on Christmas, there was one aspect that kept my day merry and bright: experiencing Christmas through and with Waverley. Opening gifts with her and seeing her reactions of surprise and joy (another book! my favorite thing!) was heartwarming and emotional. Sharing my traditions with her was especially emotional; you should have seen me excitedly offer her a bite of kolache, waiting with bated breath if she’d like it (naturally, she did. Gobbled them right up). I began to understand what all of the fuss is about with kids and Christmas. I wanted to live in those moments forever.

The emotions quickly led to a recurring thought I’ve been experiencing.

…

When should we have another baby? After Waverley, I swore she’d be an only child or #2 wouldn’t come for years. Yet now that she’s one year-old I find myself frequently reminiscing over her newborn days, squealing at her tinyness, and dreaming of those magical naps that occur in the first few weeks of a baby’s life. I’ve forgotten how awful the sleep deprivation really was, how my life was catapulted into another reality, and the stretchy undies + pad combo. I can fit into nearly all of my pre-baby clothes now and I am re-entering the working world yet for some reason, against all odds…I have a twinge of baby fever. As my friend perfectly phrased it, I am entering that dangerous territory when one starts to forget how crazy hard having a newborn is. This forgetfulness has to be the only reason people have more than one child, amiright?

It doesn’t help matters that one year-olds are quite possibly the best people to hangout with. Waverley is at that perfect age where cuteness, silliness, agreeableness, and predictability meet in a once-in-a-lifetime eclipse of rainbows. Sure, she has moments of fussiness and grows outraged when we don’t let her eat Charlie’s dog food/throw things in the toilet/live in the bathtub/suck on electrical cords (etc, etc, etc) but the outrage is quickly deterable and life resumes to emptying out cupboards and tearing up toilet paper. 99.9% of the things she does are hilarious and an older child could not get away with them (such as raising her hands up and boisterously yelling after tooting). She loves getting treats when we’re out and about yet doesn’t know enough to ask for them yet. She wears what I dress her in, even if it happens to be as ridiculous as a gray tutu + a red reindeer sweater + pink tights. She’s happiest being held and read to. I mean, what is better than that? Siiiiigggghhh.

Which is why, I recently realized, so many siblings are between 20 and 30 months apart. This truly is the dangerous territory.

Now I am legitimately living in this dangerous territory, wondering when the best time is to have another baby. I’m afraid of waiting too long and seriously crushing Waverley’s psyche and soul or having two too close together and seriously ruining my psyche/soul/body/life/career.

Sheesh. Tough call.

So now I would love to hear from all of you and learn your thoughts on the matter. Please share the good, the bad, and the warm fuzzies on having children close together and farther apart. What’s the best age difference between babies?