Way more than you ever wanted to know about a stranger's (hopeful) journey into motherhood.

Princesses or Trucks

It’s so strange how this pregnancy feels so different. My first trimester was so not fun. I woke up sick every morning and threw up a lot — a lot more than with my first child. Every smell made me want to barf: garbage, wet pull-ups, my godson’s feet, but even “goodish” smells — air freshener, whatever my husband was cooking, the flowers he brought home — ugh. It was like my body didn’t know what was up. The first thing I did every morning was down some saltines and club soda. And sometimes even that came back up.

My gag reflex became super active (get your head out of the gutter). I can’t brush my teeth without nearly vomiting. And if I see anyone with anything in their mouth — gag. My daughter likes to chew on toys, her PJs, her finger — and it really grosses me out. She put a string of ribbon in her mouth, and oh god, take that out, that’s so gross! I was watching a football game when they showed a player chewing on the end of his mouth guard. Gag! I had to look away — whew, that was close.

Plus, my appetite was virtually nonexistent. Anyone else get annoyed when it’s time to eat again? I would feel stomach pain, which would remind me, oh, I haven’t eaten in … 6 hours. Oops. With my first child, I ate ALL THE FOOD all the time. This time, food is meh. Just doesn’t taste that great. I lost 4 pounds the first month, which was a little concerning. I assumed it was a lack of wine in my diet that helped with that as well. (Oh, wine, I do miss you.) My doctor wasn’t concerned though. Since I started this round overweight (still holding about 20 pounds that I never lost after #1), she said, “Let’s aim for 25 pounds.” I said, “That would put me over 200 pounds. How about we aim for 20?” I’m not worrying about it, really. I eat when I’m hungry and make myself eat when I’m not and it’s time. I don’t have any crazy cravings (not eating ice like the first time) so binges are few and reasonable amounts. I’m just happy to be finally keeping food down!

I feel about 10 years older, of course. My ligaments, joints, bones … they’re all like, “You fucking serious?!” It also doesn’t help that I’m crazy out of shape. I’m not good at making myself exercise, even though I love it and feel amazing afterward. I’ve done a few prenatal yoga routines, but they’re so boring. It’s hard to feel motivated. I finally found one that felt like actual exercise — lots of squats and leg lifts — and I could hardly walk the next day. Lesson learned.

So, logically, when you have a different pregnancy, you think you must be having the opposite sex child, right? Asking fellow moms told me it’s not true. I couldn’t help but hope for another girl. I mean, we have all the stuff already, and my husband is a terrific father to our little princess, and I looked forward to pulling all those adorable clothes out of the garage again. And oh, how she wants a sister!

I’d love a little boy too, because a mini DH would be adorable. But I was leaning toward girl when anyone asked… So imagine my surprise when during the amnio, the ultrasound tech said, “See this?” And I, seeing what I thought I saw the first time, said, “Girl!” And both my husband and the technician said, “No.” Oh… sorry kid. That’s a penis? Oh… OK. Oh, my God, I have a penis inside me! “We got our Ace!” I said to DH. (I keep teasing him that I want to name him Ace. He thinks it’s horrible, so of course I bring it up every chance I get.)


Do you see it? I see a face! Sorry Ace.


A boy! My husband will get his son, and my daughter will get a little brother. We will dress him in bow ties and teach him how to be respectful to women. I’m not going to lie, I gave away a large portion of little C’s baby clothes, and I cried. But I’ll find cute boy things and cry over those too, I’m sure.

When we told #1 about having a boy, she said, “But I already have a little brother — I have Coco!” That would be her little friend she’s in childcare with every day. The one she also claims she’s going to marry. She’s not super excited about a brother, but I know she’s going to love helping us with the baby and eventually bossing him around. I love it when she says, “Two boys and two girls. Daddy can take care of the baby, and you can take care of me!” I can only imagine how her little world is about to be flipped on its head. Please, please don’t become a nightmare child in reaction to a new baby, mmmmkay?

I read an article about what raising a boy is like: Dirt and energy and pee and touching his penis and bouncing off walls and boogers and trucks and trains and oh yeah… lots of fun. I’m not ready for most of that, I’ll admit. But is any mother? Here’s hoping he’s a sweet, happy, smart, kind little boy who’ll love his mother to pieces.

The results of his amnio came on my birthday: Baby boy is normal and healthy. Whew. Best present ever! A month after that was the anatomy ultrasound: All parts and pieces accounted for and normal. Yay!



Flexible lil bugger


Revealing the News

We waited until Halloween to tell the families we were expecting. I was at 12 weeks — a relatively safe time to share. We attempted to do a cute pumpkin patch photo shoot, with the due date on a pumpkin, but 3-year-olds aren’t that cooperative in a blazing hot pumpkin patch right before naptime.

So in attempt #2, we got her a t-shirt that says Best Big Sister and filmed her opening it. We read it to her, and she got it right away. “I’m going to be a big sister!” It was the cutest.

We took pics of her wearing the shirt and holding the due date pumpkin. I sent the photo out to family — and only a few people got it. Most didn’t even look at the shirt or the pumpkin. They just said, “Oh, cute!” Sigh… it’s never like it is on Pinterest, is it?


My sister asked me if I was pranking her. A vocal opponent of my baby project, she responded with, “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Too late to worry about that now! And thank you for the support.

My mom couldn’t access the photo via Facebook or her email, because her computer was acting up, and she’s a tech-phobe in general. So after spending 15 minutes trying to help her access her computer, I just gave up and told her on the phone. While not screaming with joy, she managed to congratulate me for a minute before changing the subject back to her.

My in-laws responded with appropriate screams and jubilation, just like the first time. Thank you other side.

I know breaking the news for subsequent kids has a little less celebration to it, but you can’t help wanting family to be just as excited as you. Did you have any disappointments when revealing the news?

We all know there is no such thing as a perfect parent, but thanks to the Internet, it can seem like every other mom has her shit together in an extraordinary way. Have you had it up to your eyeballs with those “perfect” moms? Have you reached your limit of Pinterest-perfect holiday family photos and blog posts on how to craft the perfect “ugly” Christmas sweater for little Emma, while making Santa treats for little Ashton’s class and capturing the baby’s footprint in glitter glory on an ornament for the tree? How about that working mom you know who has three perfect kids under 6 and time to make new blankets for kids in the foster care system, while teaching her children valuable lessons on giving?

Let’s call BS on perfect parenting, and open up about the ways in which we sometimes let it slide. Thanks to my awesome moms group — where there is always support and zero judgment — below are some confessions that we can all relate to. Let’s face it, we’re all guilty of phoning it in at some point!

Share your less-than-stellar parenting moment in the comments.

  • I fed my kids goldfish and chocolate milk for dinner last night. They also tried to sleep with me in bed, and I snuck out to the spare bed once they fell asleep. Sometimes cuddling isn’t right. — Tammy
  • We watched 3 full length movies yesterday because she’s sick with the flu, and we are exhausted. — Sydney
  • I’ve given my kid cookies for breakfast and no fucks at the same time. — Katie
  • We had movers come in to load the heavy stuff over the weekend, so I let my daughter sit in a closet on her beanbag chair, with a bowl of chips, a cup of milk, and the iPad so she would leave us alone. She thought it was like a movie theater and didn’t want to leave. — Michelle


  • For the past few nights, my kids have either had pizza or Top Ramen for dinner. We are selling our house, and I don’t feel like cooking and messing up my kitchen. — Theresa
  • My son has reached the stage of only eating mac and cheese. Every day last week — sometimes multiple times a day. This kills me since mom and dad are Paleo-loving, ranch-bought, grass-fed beef lovers. — Callie
  • When there is pie in our house, it is considered breakfast food by all. — Nora
  • During my first trimester this time around, my son became an iPad master. Whatever to not have him attacking me while I barfed my guts out. — Saban
  • On the weekends, I let my kids raise themselves like Lord of the Flies. We are here in the house, but they are independent. Meaning they decide when and what they eat, when they want to go to bed, and how much screen time they get. As long as they don’t make choices that are too foolish, we let it ride. They hate Mondays more than anyone. — Hannah


  • One time, I put my kid in timeout so I could clean the house without her destroying everything behind me. — Emily
  • When I’m too exhausted to play, I lay down in their bed and say, “Let’s play ‘family’. I’m the baby, and it’s nap time.” — Joanne
  • Sometimes I get tired of hovering, and so I just watch them fall down without lifting a finger. — Charlene
  • We’ve been letting him sleep in his own shit in the mornings for about a month now. Two extra hours of sleep?! Worth it. — Alicia
  • I was so stressed two weeks ago that I pumped an extra supply of milk, just so I could sneak out to the bar and do a nerd quiz and beer night. Didn’t even bother to tell my husband where I was going. He came home from work, I handed the crumb snatchers over, told him pizza will arrive in 15 minutes and bounced. — Linda
  • I send my kid to school practically every morning without breakfast. He doesn’t want to eat, and I don’t make him. Most important meal of the day, my ass. — Janet


  • I stayed in bed till 11, and I blamed it on the baby. “Oh, honey, I didn’t want to wake her by getting up.” — Nancy
  • When I need a break, at least once a day, I put on Frozen and walk away. — Rachel
  • Youtube videos are currently our life’s solution to everything. You don’t want to get in the car? Want to watch videos? Done. You don’t want to eat? Want to watch videos? Done. You are throwing a meltdown over nothing? Want to watch videos? Done. You get the point. — Francine
  • My 2-year-old ate ranch dressing for dinner once. And lately, she says “shit” every time she drops something. — Susan
  • I tell my kids that my dark chocolate-covered fruit and nut mix is spicy and bitter so that they will stop asking me for it. The next step is to dust a few pieces with cayenne and give it to them. — Kara


  • I tell my kids we are going to do something later, and then when we don’t do it, I make them think they misunderstood what I said earlier. — Tamara
  • Mine is almost 2 months old and just wants to be held all the time. So I hold her … while I watch seasons of Bones all day. So much for enriching her mind. — Montana
  • Currently, I’m letting him drool on my leg and smear it all over so I can have 5 minutes to dick around on Facebook. I’d like to think I’m training a tiny Picasso. — Charlene
  • Mine is sleeping in until IDGAF because dad has to put him down later. — Brooke
  • I once had sex with my husband… while breastfeeding our baby. — Laura


Thank goodness kids are resilient! Do you relate to some of these? Congratulations – you’re a REAL mom, and you’re still doing a great job!

Share your confessions in the comments.


The Best Gift

And there goes another year. 2015 went fast. Half of it was filled with the frustrations of trying to make another baby. I was mostly convinced it was too late. That my time was over at 42. But then I’d see a doctor, and they’d tell me differently: “I just delivered a baby for a 50-year-old.” And, “You have eggs, your organs look fine. There’s no reason you can’t have hope.” And, “Go home and get pregnant. Just keep trying.” And so I’d come home with hope and renewed energy to try again.

I started having strange, heavy periods right after being convinced that I was pregnant. I mean, crazy amounts of blood would come out of me. I once woke up, felt it, and by the time I walked down the hall to the bathroom, it was a full on murder scene in my house. And for four days after, I’d soak pads and tampons every hour. My doctor said they sounded like chemical pregnancies, but there’s no way to know really, unless I wanted to try testing early. “Just keep trying.”

So I started testing early. And sure enough, I had a few positive tests. Brief elation, lots of anxiety, even a fear of thinking it might actually be true. Both DH and I fought off the hope because it hurts so much when it’s dashed. After the miscarriage in 2014, we both protected our hearts. Let’s not get our hopes up just yet. I’d show him the positive test, he’d smile, and that was that. We wouldn’t even talk about it. A week later, I’d tell him the bad news. And repeat.

My daughter, who is now 3, would tell me, “I want a baby sister named Alice.” I’d just keep telling her, we’ll see. (And pull the knife from my heart.)

We were one week out from seeing a specialist to talk about intrauterine insemination as our next step. I kept telling my doctor it would do no good. I was pretty sure I could get pregnant — I just couldn’t stay pregnant. But then, on the morning of August 31, 2015, I took an early test, and it was positive … and it stuck.

After two years of trying, one miscarriage, several chemical pregnancies … I’m now 21 weeks along with #2.

Second trimester, and I’ve just about stopped preparing myself for it all ending. I used to hold my breath at doctor’s appointments and cry when I heard a heartbeat. I was so afraid to really believe. Each appointment would have me begging my doctor for an ultrasound, so I could see the blink of the heartbeat. She’d tell me that she doesn’t do ultrasounds at every appointment, but just this once, she’d pull in the handheld machine that gave a grainy view of the little one. Heart beating just fine. Deep breath, tears, relief. Until next time, when I’d beg her again to see it.

But not anymore. I’ve been able to feel the baby move for 5 weeks now. It’s very real, and I’m going to just believe and be happy. We are really lucky. The old fashioned way worked for us. I’m 43 and pregnant.


December 21, 2015


A Quickie to Cap off 2014

Hello. I’m ducking in for a quick update because holy shit, it’s almost 2015, and I haven’t written anything since March.

2014 was a shittastic year that I look forward to slamming the door on: Lost a baby, couple car accidents, had to move, DH lost his job… etc. It wasn’t a fun one, to say the least. But we survived and are looking ahead to better times.

We’re at the point where we have to make a decision about our family. I just turned 42, and we haven’t gotten pregnant since we started trying again in April — 9 months ago. And I think it’s time I get out of denial and face the fact that we may have missed the window on this one. We both feel strongly about not risking a baby that isn’t healthy, so we don’t want to keep blindly trying when we can look at other options to complete our family, like adoption or fostering.

It’s hard though. I don’t feel too old. I know my age makes doctors shake their heads and use words like “geriatric pregnancy.” I know I only have a 5 percent chance of getting pregnant each month. I know that science says it’s probably not going to happen. But I’m having a hard time believing that. The first one was so easy at 38, and the second one at 41 … I just keep thinking that it could still happen. I really wish I had started reading about fertility as soon as C was born. I was very much NOT into having another so soon, but maybe if I had known how hard it may be later, I would’ve been inspired to try sooner.

Ah, well, shit happens. Eggs get old. Wonky eggs get fertilized and then you lose it later. My insides aren’t what they used to be. It’s time to deal with it and move on. Doesn’t mean C won’t get a sibling somehow, some day. And doesn’t mean we won’t be happy with our awesome one child and mounds of more money. I mean, I still have dreams of going to Italy.

In other news, our first born is still doing fantastic. She’s way ahead of other kids her age, and I’m not saying she’s a genius, but I did take a gifted child quiz the other day, and she had all the signs minus one or two. She’s the best, and I could sit here and write about all the ways she’s awesome, but I won’t. I’ll just put this here:

"I want all the princesses."

“I want all the princesses.”

One of my never-ending resolutions is to write more. I’ve got so many posts in my head that I’d love to get out on paper: my love/hate relationship with our nanny, the grossest thing about raising a 2-year-old, the recent hilarious thing she did, doing it on my mother-in-law’s bathroom floor on Christmas Eve — you know, the really important good stuff. I’ll work on that in 2015. Happy New Year.

So…. this is what I’ve been up to. Let’s play catch-up:

Hello 2014!

I am 3 months into the making baby #2 plan. So far, no baby. At least, I’m pretty sure. I haven’t taken any tests this time around, and our last fertile session was while visiting his mother in GA over the holidays, and you can probably guess how many times we tried to get it on while sleeping in twin beds at his mother’s house (uh… 0 times.) I did make sure we gave it a go on the night before we left though, two days before estimated ovulation. You never know.

I’m not panicking yet. Although it took us 2 ½ months last time, I’m now 3 years older (41) so I know it could be a completely different timeline this time around, if we’re to be so lucky. I’m just concentrating on cleaning up my diet (OK, failing at this so far), preparing my still-overweight body with a little exercise (ugh, I’m so lazy) and trying to stay positive. All three things I suck at.

Sad to say, the hardest part is carving out time for sex. We have the benefit of getting #1 to bed by 7:00 usually, so that leaves us with an hour and a half after DH gets home to make it happen. I have to plan ahead for it too. Like, if I know it’s ovulation week, and Tuesday and Thursday should be the ideal nights for sex, I have to give advance notice — for myself more than DH. If I plan for it, it’ll likely happen. If I wait for inspiration to strike and naturally make the moves … 9:00 hits and then it’s just time for sleep. I turn into a grandma and only care about crawling under the covers for shut-eye. Pathetic, I know! So, I’ve been tracking it all in my little black book – with penciled in “S” for the nights we need to sneak off to bed early.

Only twice in December. That’s it. I have friends who are trying to get pregnant, and they do it 2x a day! Gah! Just thinking about that makes me tired. Anyway, I should get my period next week. And when it shows up, I’ll know we gotta try a little harder.

Our little girl is 1 1/2 already. It’s so fun to see her vocabulary grow every day — I think she has at least 100 words now. Our pediatrician said they hope for 3 words at this age! I had fun showing him all her tricks — saying “bless you” and “love you,” naming all the body parts, and giving kisses and hugs. Her new thing is saying “I naked!” when she’s partially undressed. What’s even funnier is when she points to the shirtless David Beckham commercial or the lady in the nude-colored, revealing dress at the mall and says the same thing: “I naked!” What a crackup. She’s the best. And that’s why we’re greedy motherfuckers who have to try for another one.


Holy shit. It worked! That last-minute, night-before-we-travel-to-GA-for-Christmas, let’s-just-do-it-now, two-days-early sex worked! I was drinking my second glass of wine last night when it occurred to me that I should’ve gotten my period two days earlier. I decided to test in the morning though, so I would be able to sleep. First morning pee = two lines. I took it out to DH in the living room and showed him. “Does this look like two lines to you?” “Sort of.” “Well, even blurry lines mean we’re pregnant.” Big smiles.

I can’t believe it was that easy. And once again, in less than 3 months time. We rule at procreating! I can’t believe how lucky we are.


I don’t feel pregnant at all yet. No weight gain. No boob pain. One morning with slight nausea, but otherwise, nothing. It makes me nervous. I have my first appointment this afternoon to get an ultrasound and take a look. Fingers crossed.

Heart broken. First ultrasound showed no heartbeat. I was 9 weeks along, and the baby measured 8 weeks, 4 days. So it happened recently. I can’t help but go over the past week, to try to see if it’s something I did wrong. What if it’s when I lean over little C’s crib to lay her down? Was it that hike I went on? Was it the day after day of eating nothing but tomato pie? I’ll never know, but it won’t stop the feelings of guilt. I had one job. I couldn’t keep my baby alive. I don’t take care of myself. Maybe I wasn’t fully excited about it… a number of negative guilty thoughts that ran through my head, my fault, my fault, my fault….

The doctor told me that there’s no way to know what happened. I asked, “Is it because of my age?” He said possibly, that my eggs at 41 aren’t the same as younger eggs. That it could’ve had a chromosomal problem, and this was nature’s way of taking care of it. According to the internet, 1 in 4 women will miscarry. For women in their 40s, miscarriage rates are 30 to 50 percent, mainly due to chromosomal defects in the eggs. The good news is, there’s no reason to believe we can’t try again and go on to have a normal pregnancy.

Yesterday, I had a D&C to remove it. It was awful. They didn’t knock me out for it this time, like they did for the one I had after C was born, when they removed the remaining placenta that didn’t come out. They told me I would be “sedated” and be “in a fog” but conscious. There was nothing foggy about it. I got a little dizzy but was fully aware. I heard it all, and I felt it all, despite pain meds in my IV, three injections in my cervix and a sedative. Thankfully, it only lasted a minute and the horribleness was over. DH was brought in and held my hand while I rested, trying not to cry. The pain was mostly gone in about 30 minutes, when I was able to get dressed and go home. I rested on the couch, stuffed my feelings with fast-food and waited for our nanny to bring home C. I couldn’t wait to see her. She mends me. And so does my husband. Crushed as well, he’s been a rock by my side, offering positive energy to balance my negative.

Today, I am much better physically. But I’m taking the day off to have my mental breakdown. I didn’t let myself cry much about it yet. I have a hard time letting go when others are around. So today, I sent C out with our nanny. I’m going to process this, let it sink it, let the tears come and just be sad, alone. Tomorrow will be a new day.


Turns out, yesterday was a beautiful day, and I didn’t feel like crying (surprise.) So I cleaned the house for hours. It was also therapeutic. Then I had a glass of wine in the backyard. Then I started cleaning up the yard, pulling out weeds and throwing away broken yard lights. Then my daughter came home and I played with her while telling her I loved her, over, and over and over.

Today, on the other hand, sucked. I had to go back to work and pretend that I was OK, that it was a normal day, as if nothing horrible happened to me two days ago. A few of my coworkers know, which helped me, oddly. I want to tell everyone. I suck at secrets, and keeping this one private feels like it’s shameful or something, and I hate that. And I get these brief moments of anger/sadness/depression. Like I want to scream – “Who gives a shit about this fucking job!! Don’t you know what just happened to me???!” My husband isn’t ready to tell everyone yet. So I just shared on the derby moms group on Facebook that I’m a part of:

I was getting excited to reach the time when I could share the news that I was expecting #2, but then … no heartbeat. I had surgery to remove it on Tuesday, the day after I learned, at 9 weeks. I only told a handful of friends that I was pregnant. Now I have to be back at work, pretending that everything is normal when it’s not. It sucks. And I kind of want to tell everyone – like announce it on FB – so that I can stop feeling like it’s a shameful secret, and I don’t have to pretend that I’m ok. So I’m starting here, so my husband doesn’t get mad at me (he’s not ready to share with everyone yet.) I lost my baby and I’m sad.

And I exhale. Sharing helps. Other women know what I’m going through. It’ll be OK.

I’m grateful that it happened early. And that it’s a common thing. And it doesn’t mean anything long-term. But still… the guilt. I don’t really like being pregnant. I don’t fully appreciate it. Maybe I didn’t deserve this one. Maybe I had to experience this loss in order to fully know and appreciate what my body is doing. Maybe, because I don’t take care of myself, I couldn’t support a new life. I don’t know…


I bought a car. I decided I needed one, got a loan in 30 minutes, picked the one I wanted in two hours, and spent 2.5 hours at a dealership making it mine, while my husband chased after our bored toddler. You know… lose a baby, get a car. It makes sense. Only now I’m feeling a little sick about it. I didn’t negotiate at all. I don’t even know what my payment is going to be. I’m having a little bit of buyer’s remorse, a little bit of “Oh my God, what have I done?” I think I may have rushed through something that probably should’ve taken much longer. I am not a patient person. But I think my husband may have been right when he warned me that I didn’t need to make a car dealer’s day. Oops.


It’s been over two weeks, and I’m still healing. No idea if spotting this long is normal. I should probably call my doctor or get a follow-up exam. Meh. We’ll see what happens.

So, I took my friend’s advice on waiting before we announced to the world that we had a miscarriage. And now I don’t care to tell anyone. I was on the fence about telling family. I know my family has a way of not making me feel better, so that was out. But I thought maybe telling his family would feel ok. They’re very supportive and would know the right things to say. But in the end, enough time passed that I don’t care to share. The friends that knew I was pregnant know the end result. That’s good enough.

My mother apparently thinks that I should already be in menopause. During our phone call the other day, she asks, “So, have you gone through the change yet?” I was like, huh? I said, “No, I’m only 41.” And she says, “Well, I did at 38. Or was it 36?” And I reminded her that she had a hysterectomy after 5 kids, so she didn’t “go through” any change — it was taken care of surgically. She ends with, “Yeah, that’s true. It was easy for me. I was just wondering.”

In my mother’s head, I think this was her way of asking me if we’re having more children. And this would be why I don’t tell her anything. She cannot ever say the right thing. I’m pretty sure if I told her that we miscarried, she’d blame it on my age and make me feel like shit for trying.

This is normal though, right? My friend shared that her mother made her feel like shit for not spanking her daughter when she pooped her pants (potty training.) Oy. I can’t wait to someday learn what I say to my daughter that makes her feel like shit. As I bitched about my family to my other friend, she said the most profound thing: “It’s weird when we reach the point where our parents stop being our parents and start being fuckups like the rest of us.” So true.

Lost in Mommyland

Uh…. Wow, so, there goes 7 months. I thought I wanted to make this a mommy blog, but as it turns out, Mommy fails at blogging about parenthood – she just blogs about pregnancy. (Duhn, duhn, duhn … a cliff hanger!)

But let’s catch up, shall we? C is 15 months old. She walks (and is starting to run!), she has a few words: mama, nana, dada, caw (for bird), hi, night-night and baby. She has sounds that we know mean “kitty,” “dog,” “look at that” and “I need help.” She is transitioning to one nap a day, instead of two. She eats everything. She is a delight to whomever encounters her. And she has a personality that is beginning to form: She gets frustrated easily (a Mom trait), loves cats and dogs and giraffes and pigs, is happy more often than not, is a tough cookie who can shake off the owies in no time, leans toward cars and the like more than dolls and the like, and loves to swing and slide and get tossed around by Daddy. And to the delight of us both, she LOVES books. I get a total mom boner when I see her with a book.

I mean, just look at her:

Gorgeous baby on a train

Gorgeous baby on a train

But the time has come upon us, the time I was dreading, the time I tried to ignore was coming but was reminded of every day I took my birth control pill … the time to decide … if we’re going for number two.


We’ve had maybe four conversations about this. The first one was before we got married and DH asked me how many kids I wanted. I said, “One? Maybe?” And he said, “I think two would be nice.” And after a debate, I said, “Well, you better get going, because I need to be married.” And that kickstarted that adventure. The second time was sometime before C turned 1, and it was me setting a timeline (because I’m the planner after all). We would wait until baby C was 1, then we’d wait three more months to work out our worries, and then by October, we’d make the decision to expand the fam or just be a party of three. And then that decision had to be final, because I was approaching 41, and my eggs were past the recommended “sell by” date. That second conversation was much like the first, I mumbled a couple negatives, and he countered with the positives, and it was over. The third conversation was last Friday night. It was even briefer than the first two, and involved some frustrations with our nanny situation and ended with us both worked up and unable to sleep — right before bed. The following night was the last time it came up. I again vomited out all my negative worries and fears, and DH passionately defended our little family and made a case for how amazing we’re doing and how we’ll be even more amazing with one more child.

I want to believe him, but I’m still on the fence. I’ve made my pro/con list and it’s 6 against and 5 for. Some days it sounds nice, other days it makes me groan. I’m a naturally negative person, so I tend to focus on that side of things a bit. So if I take that into consideration, it’s really a half and half conundrum.

It is October. Time is running out. I’m starting to panic. Do I jump in and make this my job, like last time and make it happen — go off birth control, schedule the sex, track the ovulation and obsess? Or do I just say “fuck it” and go off birth control and see what happens? Or, do I put my foot down and say, “C is the most amazing creation. All our beautiful went into her. Let’s not jinx it”?

What do you think? Moms of two or more — want to weigh in? Should we or shouldn’t we?


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