Opening and Closing a Chapter

The night after we returned home from the hospital to watch Charlie's forehead get stitched back together, hubby and I returned home, exhausted and frazzled.

We weren't the only ones. When I went to pick up Will from the neighbor's house, he too was frazzled, except with him, the cause was separation anxiety. Each time I tried to put him to bed, he would wake up screaming, wanting to be held a little longer. After four attempts, I finally took him to bed with me.

Hubby later came in to kiss me sweetly and see if I was OK. Although I felt stressed out, I also felt so incredibly thankful for all that we have. “I love our baby boys,” I said. He smiled at me, then asked: “Want to try for the next one?”

Stunned silence. This coming from the man who made it abundantly clear that we would be done having kids after two. That he felt too “old” to keep procreating like a bunny rabbit. That he -- and I agreed -- wanted our time alone together as soon as possible. That we wanted things to be less hectic, and sooner.

I laughed it off and didn't say anything. I didn't want to jinx the possibility.

* * *

I spent the next two days exploring opposite sides of the fence.

At first: this odd feeling that I should want another child, yet I didn't. I should want a girl, right? Yet I feel complete without one. Three kids would be more fun that two, yes? Yet I feel my life is pretty full of fun already. Peace and quiet, that is what I want.

But then. How cool would it be to be pregnant again? To take each breath and deliver that breath to the life inside me? To literally push a life out into the world again? To see a new face that is both a combination of the two of us, and yet, its own unique being? To give both my boys a new little sibling to look after. A new little sibling that might possibly be a girl.

And then, hours later, the practical thoughts. If we have three, that will delay when I can return to the workforce – the workforce that will give me things like 401ks, pre-tax savings plans, adult interaction, coffee breaks. If I have three children, then as a daycare provider, I would have to let one of my daycare kids go and say goodbye to some significant income, too, as I can only legally watch a maximum of six kids... unless, I thought, I wait until Charlie is in Kindergarten, in which case I don't have to count him and I can have the income of four children... but if baby #3 is delayed until Charlie reaches Kindergarten, then I can't get pregnant for fourteen more months, allowing fourteen more months for hubby to discover a grey hair or feel old and change his mind.

And furthermore... if we have three, we would most certainly need a bigger house, one that is not already bursting at the seams, but we can't move into a bigger house until I have a traditional paycheck that a bank will count as legitimate, and if I get a traditional job then I can't stay home with my third baby and I want to give him or her what I gave my first two.

And the numbers. With three, it will be at least two more years until we are all sleeping through the night, and four-and-a-half more years until we can go to restaurants like civilized people, and two hundred and twenty-five more months until hubby and I can retire, child-free.

But if we have three, then maybe we can have a girl.

Later I go to the library and flip through Taking Charge of Your Fertility. I am not ready to buy it yet. But I skim the chapter on increasing one's odds of producing a girl.

* * *

Later, we are all driving to see Christmas lights downtown. I have a strange feeling that before I let this verbal boxing match continue in my brain any longer, I should clarify something.

Me: You know the other day when you mentioned trying for a third? You meant that, right?
Him: Oh, no, honey. I changed my mind about 30 seconds after I said it.
Me: Did you think maybe you should tell me? Because I've been thinking about it ever since.
Him: I'm so sorry. I thought we were pretty clear about this.

* * *

So, decision made. I was perfectly happy with two before, with only a fleeting question about what it would be like to have a girl, followed by a fleeting feeling that I didn't actually need one. And then I had two days where I allowed myself to picture this family of five, and to plan how to accomplish it. And now the door is closed and there is no more reason to think of it.

Closure?

In response to my pre-diabetic diagnosis and my semi-complete failure to give up sugar, I have decided to make the other change that I should have made long ago: start exercising.

Studies show that when pre-diabetic people make lifestyle changes with diet and exercise, the chances of developing diabetes is reduced by 58%. So really, I have no excuse.

I look at the directory of evening classes offered at my local recreation center, and there is one beginners yoga class offered in the evening, called Pre/Post Natal Yoga. Well, my baby is 8 months. Can I be considered Post Natal? I do need an easy class, so this will be a good way to start.

I arrive at class, and I am the only one not pregnant.

Being in a class with six pregnant women and a cutely pregnant instructor named Charity feels a little odd. When it is time to start deep-breathing, I feel excited. I remember how much this relaxed me last time. But then she starts talking about "delivering precious oxygen to our babies." I feel strangely empty.

When doing leg lifts, she says something about "if you are too far along in your pregnancy to lie on your back, you may do this lying on your side." Everyone turns to their sides, and I ask her how to do it the normal way. Then we do a squat-type exercise with a partner, important not just for strengthening our upper legs, but in case we choose to squat during labor.

I hear my mom's voice in my head -- the one that spoke to me just the other day as she read my fortune from my Chinese cookie, the one that mentioned a new arrival -- and she said, "Oh, maybe this time it will be a girl." I told her straight up we are done having kids and my two boys are enough. Later she said, "Well, if you knew for sure that you could have a girl, then would you try again?" Without thought, I said No. I didn't mention that I had just finished asking our insurance company about our vasectomy benefit.

Then, at the end of class, we meditated for 5 minutes, deep breathing and listening to wonderfully odd music. It was serene. And my eyes filled up with tears when Charity directed us to thank our amazing bodies for creating this life inside us.