One recent morning, I went to our weekly mama-baby group with my wife, Laura, my daughter's other mother.
This group has been meeting since before our babies were born, first in prenatal yoga, then at a couples' birthing class, and now weekly, with our babies. A Nor'easter was heading our way, so schools and businesses had closed in anticipation of the storm. When we arrived, we were excited to see that the four other babies had both parents there as well. One of the other moms exclaimed, "It's so great to have the dads here, too!" Then, remembering that our family was different, restated, "I mean the other parents.
Laura and I are used to being in this situation. We knew that our friend didn't mean to insult us, and we didn't take offense. But it was a small reminder that our family doesn't fit into the mold of "mother, father, child."
In so many ways, our family is the same as the other families in our group: We also feel tired after months of interrupted sleep; we have changed countless dirty diapers; we marvel at each new milestone in our daughter's life. And yet we are reminded, as we were that day, that there are ways in which being one of two moms is different.
Some of these ways are more tangible than others. In our moms' group, we talk about whether or not we want to have another child, and when. I share our timeline - we will start trying again this spring, when our daughter is one - but it will not be me who will carry the next child. This time, Laura wants to be the one to conceive. She, too, wants to experience pregnancy, labor, childbirth, and breastfeeding.
For us, the decision about whether or not to have another child is both simpler and more complicated. Two women conceiving a child require an impressive amount of logistics - it cannot happen by accident - but we do not have to wait for my body to recover from the strains of being pregnant, the intensity of childbirth, or the demands of breastfeeding.
In fact, if the timing is right, we hope to be able to breastfeed simultaneously, each of us creating an intimate bond with both of our children. We envision how both babies could nurse with either one of us: I could give Laura a break by nursing the new baby in the middle of the night; she could enhance her relationship to our first child by nursing her as a toddler.
As my wife stood by my side throughout the year I tried to get pregnant, the hours of preparatory birthing classes, the powerful contractions during labor, the discomfort of a clogged milk duct, she imagined, "Next time, this could be me." Even the most compassionate husbands are unable to do this.
And so, on days like that snow day last winter, I think, yes, it's great to have the dads here, too, but for me, it's even better to have another mom.
