Am I being un-Australian?

By Bruce Atherton

Three years ago in a bid to overcome Australia’s low birth rate our beloved Treasurer, Peter Costello, suggested couples should have three children – one for Mum, one for Dad and one for the country.

At the time Kate and I were making good progress towards our quota – our first-born, Darcey, was two years old and her sister Grace was on the way – so we were confident we could do our bit for Australia. It was only a matter of time until number three was with us.

I can’t recall when I had my first un-Australian thought. Like many parents I had moments when I seriously questioned my sanity for having any children at all, but the exact moment when I first considered dudding the Treasurer is lost to me.

Perhaps it was the evening I did a bit of math and realised that even if Kate and I did get a wriggle on and number three was born within a year, I’d be in my mid 60s by the time he or she was 21 years old. That sent a shudder through me. Would I be an embarrassment for my youngest as I trundled towards 70? At the 21st birthday party would I be tucked up in bed by 10pm after getting smashed on a glass of champagne?

Or maybe it was that time I was stuck in the car with our girls for 90 minutes on a “short trip” to see their grandparents. Although Darcey and Grace had opposite sides of the back seat to occupy, their relentless struggle to claim territorial rights over wars start. No man’s land was a territory to be exclusively occupied by their dolls, books and jackets ... at any cost.

And then, after a barrage of piercing screams that only abated after I threatened to drop the big one (no fairy television for a week), the cold war began. Suddenly Grace was spying on Darcey and her foot was pointed towards her in a threatening manner. Sounds like the missile crisis, eh? Now imagine what it would be like if there was a third war mongerer in the mix? Or - God forbid - an unplanned fourth?

It’s possible. What if we tried for a third and had twins? Our crazy couplet would double in size. We’d need a new cot, a new pram, a new car … a new house. I can still picture a woman emerging from the ultrasound room at our hospital five years ago. She was in a daze and walked unsteadily towards her husband who threw out his arms, imploring her to tell him what was wrong.

“Two,” she said. It was all she could manage.

“What?”

“Two,” she said again, holding up her fingers to illustrate the point.

He ushered her away before she collapsed.

And let’s not forget the stories you hear from those who have bravely accepted the Treasurer’s challenge. We have friends who recently had a third child. Their stories of sleep deprivation and the unsettling effect it’s had on their other children – not to mention their parents – has stirred up some memories in me. Memories of fatigue. Memories of baby screams that cut through my head like a butcher’s bandsaw. Memories that make me feel like Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now:  “the horror … the horror”.

Thinking back on it though, I suspect my conspiracy against the nation may have been hatched recently one morning when Kate and I were snoozing in bed. Darcey was making Grace’s breakfast and they were both in a co-operative mood. Grace was chattering away in broken English and Darcey was directing proceedings.

“Here’s you go sweetie, two weetbix. Would you like some banana with that? Oh, we need a bib for you; here you go (insert muffled sounds of distress).”

But generally they were beaut together. They looked after one another. They even had an encounter with a spider which unfolded without hysterics.

“Ah look Grace, a spider,” Darcey said. “Not to worry it’s a Daddy Long Legs; we’ll find something to get it outside. I’ll get the scissors.”

At this point there was a small intervention by Kate, but really, our girls are growing up and their days of total reliance are behind us. In a way, our family has entered a new phase of life.

But it’s not just that. I love my children and my life is happy and fulfilling because of them (which I’m bound to say because I don’t want them to find a dusty copy of this in 30 years’ time and decide I’m a heartless curmudgeon). But really, hand on my heart, what I have right now - my wife, my two children – is more than enough. I’m happy with the gifts the universe has given me. I don’t want to be greedy - even if it is un-Australian.

And besides, I get to sleep in these days. Forty winks verses three children? It’s a no brainer. What do you reckon Kate?

This article was first published in Australian Family Magazine, May 2007.