Special Snowflake

Each child is different. Everyone, from my grandmother (mother of 7; grandmother of 14) to the friendly Kroger bagger has told me so. You can't predict how your future children will look (or more importantly, ACT) based on the child who's wailing and banging his head on the floor because you won't let him watch more than 25 episodes of "Yo Gabba Gabba" without seeing the light of day for a few minutes. (On a side note, isn't that strange? Assuming a first child has the same parents as subsequent children, the second, etc. is being created by the same mishmash of genetic material. And (s)he's being raised by the same people at, approximately, the same time. Really, siblings SHOULD be more alike than they are, right?!) Anyway, Tripp and I have gone back and forth about whether or not we want more kids. Henry is wonderful--he has enriched our lives in ways I never could have imagined. I love him, and I would never change anything about him. That being said, I don't know if I could make it through another Henry. As a newborn/infant, Henry screamed A LOT. He also didn't sleep much. While the baby books say newborns generally sleep around 16-18 hours/day, Henry slept about 9, mostly in 10-20 minute intervals which were mere parentheses to his hours and hours of shrill, red-faced shrieking. Things have gotten much better, but the kid still tends to be very, shall we say, vocal. I love that about him. But I don't think I'm strong enough for another kid like him; and we can't guarantee that a future child won't be just as intense.
All of this flashed through my brain today during a playdate. A woman with two impossibly cute and well-tempered little girls (one around 3, the other around 18 months) described what she considered a rough day with her daughters: "[Three year old] didn't want to get dressed. She kept saying, 'Just a few more minutes, Mommy.' Finally, I got so frustrated that I screamed at her. Then she started crying and wanted a hug; but I was so upset that I couldn't hug her. We ended up not going out that day." Wow, I thought. Other than the speaking, that sounds like a fairly typical morning at our house. I started to feel annoyed and jealous (that's a BAD day?). But when I really considered it, I realized I wouldn't want it any other way. I love my high-maintenance baby. Along with the frustrated screams are the happy squeals of delight, belly laughs, and mischievous sense of humor. (I know he's only one, but I swear that kid already has a highly-developed, sophisticated sense of timing!) I know I'll love any other children we have just as much. Even if they're all throwing themselves on the floor because I won't let them watch another "Gabba" episode.