Maybe

My maternity leave is coming to an end. In seven short days I will be, once again, gainfully employed and last week I thought I *might* be pregnant.

I'll pause while you let that sink in for a minute.

Yeah, I know, it's funny right? Down right hilarious. In fact when I told Michael of my suspicions, oh how we laughed. Well I laughed in that high pitched hysterical way that could very easily swing over to high pitched hysterical crying. Mike, well his head exploded, just a little bit. Then, in what was far from his finest moment of husbandry, said some things that don't really bear repeating. Realizing it was the shock talking, I was willing to cut him some slack. Also with the possibility of a third child on the horizon I was really going to need his pay cheque.

What makes this so funny and not in a funny ha ha kind of way, but rather a large scale cosmic joke kind of way, is that for the first time in 10 years I have been actively trying not to get pregnant with as much vim and vigor I expended trying to get pregnant. Yes, I have become the birth control nazi. Fort Knox has nothing on me. Every time Mike was a little tempted to throw caution to the wind I would order a Code Red, batten down the hatches and cite Murphy's Law. The same law that now appeared to be kicking my ass.

The day following "the talk" Michael came home for lunch with a peace offering , a pregnancy test. A two pack even. First test was a nice strong negative. Now we would wait for three days and test again. While in "maybe baby" limbo a friend asked me, "Should I pray for baby or no baby?" I answered her as honestly as I could, "I don't know."

You see I love the idea of being pregnant. I love babies and larger families. If I let my heart rule there would be more babies to come. Then my brain has to butt in and say "hey, stupid let's take a look at your stats".

• Years spent to achieve the two beautiful girls we have: 10
• Percentage of children delivered early: 100%
  
• Percentage of children born with heart defects: 100%
  
• Percentage of deliveries with complications: 50%
  
• Percentage of children born with breathing difficulties: 50%

I remember, very clearly, making the decision that there would be no more children for us. Mike and I were visiting Maya in the Level 2 NICU when I informed him I was done. That period following Maya's arrival in the world was the blackest part of my life. I could not fathom the thought of opening myself to that potential hell again.

I remember Mike walking in the house one night after being at the hospital and I was certain he had come to tell me she was gone. That we had lost her. I stood in front of him crying and screaming at him to talk to me. He could do nothing but sob, shattered at what he had seen that night. Being with her just following her lumbar puncture when her breathing was at it's worst. It's most erratic. Watching her simply cease to breathe. Her little body jerking as she restarted.
Realizing how easily this could go horribly, horribly wrong.

No parent should have to live with the threat of losing a child. At the time it wasn't something I could even begin to wrap my head around. Mike was astounded that I could get on the phone and recite the days news to worried friends and family without totally losing it. The only way I could do it, the only way I could get through it all was to disengage myself. I would pretend I was just reciting a story. It wasn't really happening to us. Not our baby. Of course that only worked in small doses, but it certainly kept me from completely crumbling under the pressure.

In the end our story had a happy ending. And I have guilt about that. I guess you could call it survivor guilt. Why our baby? Why were we so lucky? I have people in my life who are struggling to start a family of their own. I felt sick to my stomach at the thought that I may have to tell them that I was pregnant. That I got pregnant while using birth control. I know how that kind of news can hurt in a way you can't appreciate unless you've been on the other side. I feel like I have no business asking for anything more and yet I couldn't say whether I was praying for the test to be positive or negative.

As it turns out the retest was also negative. I felt not quite equal parts of disappointment and relief. The storm had passed. I returned to being more emotionally even keeled. I had made the right decision almost a year ago I told myself.

Then tonight as we're cleaning up after dinner Mike says, "You know, I've been thinking."

"About?"

"Maybe we should have another baby."

And that was singularly the most wonderful and frightening thing he could have ever said.