If my family were a democracy, I'd be pregnant right now

For two weeks last month, I thought I was pregnant.  And I was giddy.  I've wanted a third child ever since my daughter was born four years ago.  Her older brother is now seven.  When I was pregnant last time, I just knew it wouldn't be the last time.  It's difficult to put into words, but I'm just not done.

Those are weird words for me to type, because I spend a good part of every day complaining about the hassles and annoyances of taking care of the two kids I already have.  Part of it is that I'm just a complainer.  I always have been.  And I've actually gotten better about it in the past few years, but still, old habits are hard to break.  So to listen to me, you'd think that the last thing I'd want is another kid.  My two are both in school, full time.  We're in a routine that allows me to pursue things not related to being a mom.  So why would I want another?

Because it's not the day to day, routine things that are fulfilling. Changing diapers and making meals and helping with homework and potty training and taking them to school and dance class and teaching manners don't fulfill me.  Getting a call from the principal's office about your child's behavior sucks.  Saving money for college sucks. Contemplating someday teaching them how to drive and releasing them into an unsuspecting world scares the crap out of me.  I lie awake at night trying to figure out how I'm going to set my kids up to navigate the increasingly terrifying world of teenage sex in such a way that they'll come out whole on the other side.

I do these things because I willingly took on the job of being a mother and feel it's my responsibility to do them, but they're not why I like being a mom.  They're the vegetables that I have to eat in order to get to dessert.  No, the real prize is when I catch my kids doing something nice for somebody else when they think nobody is watching.  When my son sees me across the school-yard and runs so fast to hug me that he almost knocks me down.  When my daughter paints a picture of me and puts a crown on my head because making me a princess is the highest compliment she can think of.

Those moments make the everyday drudgery worth it, and I can't get enough.  And it's not just me.  Both of my kids are baby crazy right now.  We were walking down the street the other day and saw a newborn in a carriage and my daughter (who rarely takes a breath) said "Mama, let's ask she if we can have she's baby because I don't think her will mind.  Her will give the baby to us because her can have another one and we need a baby more, because I want to hold the baby and kiss the baby and love the baby.  And the baby can sleep in my room in my bed and I will sleep on the floor and make sure that the baby sleeps in the bed and doesn't fall.  Please Mama, please can we have she's baby?"

My son is saying the exact same things to us that we used to say to him more than four years ago when I was pregnant.  He'll come up to me and hug me and say "Mommy, I know that babies are a lot of trouble and need a lot of attention and sleep a lot and cry a lot.  And smell sometimes.  I know all of these things, and I still think we should have another baby."

So who is the dissenter?  Who has the one vote that counts more than the other three combined?  The holder of the sperm, that's who.  And while I've managed thus far to nag him into pretty much whatever I've wanted, I can't do that this time.  As much as I want another baby, I can't do it if he's not 100% for it.  And I mean that literally and figuratively.  Some of his reasons I can understand.  We're at the point now where we can send the kids downstairs in the morning to watch TV and we can get a little extra sleep.  We don't have to watch them every second.  And having a baby would be like starting over.  I agree that giving all of that up will be hard, which is why we should do it as soon as possible!  The quickest way to get past the difficult early years is to get them started as soon as possible.

His other main reason is, I think, a little insane: he doesn't want to tempt fate.  He feels that we've been incredibly lucky to have two healthy, happy children, and the next one could be the one with some horrible disease.  It's not like I don't think about those things, but why would he pick three as the unlucky number?  If that's how he felt why didn't we stop at one?

Still, I think things are shifting in my direction.  When we thought I was pregnant, he didn't freak out.  At times he even seemed happy about it.  So I think he's slowly warming up to the idea.  I just worry that by the time we're on the same page, it will be too late.  My eggs aren't getting any younger.  We've already entered that scary post-thirty-five category that comes with all sorts of additional tests and risks, and the very fears that delayed a third baby may very well contribute to what he was so afraid of.  The longer we wait, the worse the odds are of us having a smooth pregnancy and healthy baby.  But I have to be patient.  In the meantime, I'm just going to turn up the TV, because that ticking is getting louder...

This is an original post to NYC Moms Blog. Amy also blogs about parenting in Brooklyn, blogging full time without making any money, and keeping herself sane and comfortable at Selfish Mom, and attempts to keep one step ahead of the stalkers and paparazzi at  Filming in Brooklyn.