Do you ever have one of those dreams that is so real and so close to the facts of your real life that when you wake up you feel like you should do something to find out if it really true or not? This morning I woke up ready to go take a pregnancy test.

I dreamed that I was pregnant. Six weeks pregnant, to be exact. Although I hadn’t had any tell tale signs, no nausea, no missed period, I just knew I should go pee on a stick to find out. Then when that came out positive I was shocked and angry and hoping that it was a faulty test, so I took another test and once again, two pink lines. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. I was upset. I just knew this pregnancy was going to screw up my life, just as the previous two in real life had, and that it was probably going to stink even more than the first two because I had two little kids running around instead of one. Since I wasn’t able to come to terms with it I didn’t feel ready to tell Chris and so I kept it to myself, bitter and stewing and completely unable to make it right with my psyche, but nevertheless, stuck. Knocked up, with child, bun in the oven, for better or for most assuredly worse. Waking up was an incredible relief.

I have been thinking a lot about having more children. The obvious answer, after witnessing my pregnancies is that I should never hop into the sack again without at least ten forms of birth control and written consent. When I say my pregnancies are bad, you don’t know the half of it. If I go to hell, it will be my regular life, only I will be pregnant. The thing is, I have my matched set, my big brother, my little sister. We are the quintessential All American Family. All I need is a golden retriever named Buddy and I can move into a Pottery Barn catalogue. So there is no need for more.

But what if there is? We all know that what is logical and sound doesn’t always mesh with what the heart wants, and what is ultimately right for a person. Despite the fact that it would mean nine months in hell, there is a good chance that we are not finished.

Looking at my family right now, I have to admit, I have a good thing going. My children adore each other. Chris and I both still want to be married to each other. We all have our issues, but really, we’ve got something good here. Something that not everyone gets to have.

The day before I had my dream I gave away most of Maggie’s newborn clothes. I instructed my friend’s mother to just pass them on when she was finished with them, and she was surprised I didn’t want them back. The thing is, the next child isn’t enough of a reality to hold on to all of the extras, and if it is reality, it isn’t a reality I want for at least a few years. When Maggie was born I thought, “I don’t want to get pregnant for at least a year.” She is ten months old now and I’m still having the same thought. I think that when it is right, you just know. You both know, even if it’s an accident.

For now, I’m just really glad it isn’t.