I was fairly comfortable in the decision that I most likely would not have any more children. (OK mom, stop hyperventilating, I am NOT pregnant). But after the discussion that my husband and I had this afternoon, I'm not so sure. I've been so tremendously wrapped up in raising my daughter, my first blood, my baby girl--that I felt like I would never be ready to even think about another child in my life. Plus, I have a boy and a girl, they get along great and I didn't think I wanted to bring another little alien into the mix to possibly screw up the nice little life we have. However, today something shifted. My stepson voiced his opinion (again) about his need for a little brother, what with all the little girls running around in his life. And the thousandth person in the last few months told me that it was "time for another one," before the age difference spanning between my daughter and the next got too large. The difference today was that instead of rolling my eyes and coming back with a funny quip about how hell would freeze over first, I tilted my head, pursed my lips and marveled at the lack of sarcasm ready to roll off my tongue. My mind even flitted to an image of me with a bulging belly, hands running over the little swelling of a life inside it. I don't know what changed. When I went to bed last night, I didn't want a baby. But today, somehow, I think I do.
So I asked my husband.
"Do you want to have another baby now?"
"Not really."
That was it. "Not really." Hmm. That didn't leave me with all that much closure on the topic so I probed a little further.
"Well, do you think you might want to consider it soon? Or do you still think you might not want another one?"
This got me a roll of the eyes (which I was expecting). Because men think that it's always "the wrong time" to have talks like this. Really, they just don't want to talk at all. And you better believe that if women could get pregnant from blow jobs I would have gotten a resounding "Yessiree!"
"I don't know. Let's move into the house and then we can think about it. We were unprepared last time and I want to be prepared this time. Let's make sure we're ready."
Wow, that sounded really mature and responsible, didn't it? Yeah, but there is one thing that men just don't seem to understand. It is this: when that clock starts ticking again, there is NO controlling it with maturity, level headed-ness and responsibility. When we want a baby, we want it NOW.
I frowned. Not the answer I wanted. Of course I wanted him to say, "Yeah, let's ditch the little jelly bracelet you have to stick up your vagina every month, have sex like bunnies and wait for the blessed event to happen!" But, the little angel voice in my head (that I tend to ignore most of the time) said "He's right. Now's not the time."
Poo. Double poo. I was already designing the nursery for my little baby boy. I had already envisioned my husband finishing the basement in the new house so that my stepson could have a room down there to make room for the nursery upstairs. (Just so you know, I would NOT go with something lame like ducks, I was thinking skull and crossbones...what do you think?) I mean, I have already had the name picked out since I was about 12 years old, so that should be considered being "prepared," shouldn't it? Nursery--check. Name--check. How much more prepared could you be?
Alright, alright, he has a point. We have a lot on our plates right now. I would have to re-route my thought process to get the visions of dancing skulls and crossbones out my head and realize that we needed to get some other things kosher before we skidded down that road again. So I thought to myself, "Self--there's something else you need to get done before you can have a baby anyway." And you know what that is?
LOSE THE BABY WEIGHT FROM THE LAST ONE!
So now I have a goal. Now I have a little carrot dangling from a stick to help motivate me to get my fat ass moving and lose these extra ugly pounds of adipose that I feel smothering me. Maybe with this little extra motivation, I will actually stop shoving the food in my mouth and make the time to exercise. Believe me, I do NOT want another 30 pounds of fat hugging the 30 pounds that are already rudely clinging to me, unwanted and despised. Plus, with the extra weight, I would put myself in further peril with the threat of gestational diabetes during my next pregnancy. Aha--now there is greater meaning, there is true NEED, and if I ignore this, I and my unborn son will be the ones that suffer.
Little Barney is counting on me.
(and no, that is not really the name I have chosen...stay tuned to find out!)
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