Chris and I have been contemplating a third child. I am a bundle of conflicting opinions, fears, and what-if’s. You see, we are smart enough to know that we have a good thing going here. Yes, Jonas is amazingly adept at destruction and wild behavior, yes, Maggie is a total drama queen and loves the part of Jonas’ partner in crime- but seriously, these are two great, happy, healthy, cute kids. We are extremely blessed, and we know it.

During the good moments, I look at our little family and my insides go all warm and gooey like a chocolate s’more, and I think, “this is what it’s all about” and the thought of additional children just sounds perfect. I envision Pottery Barn Christmases and all the grandkids I could someday have. Then there are the nights when the two I’ve already birthed tag team me and I’m fortunate to get 15 minutes of sleep- a third kid could totally take that 15 minutes away. On those nights I envision my “happy family” fighting a week long stomach flu. It’s enough to make my insides run cold.

About a year ago, we were running some errands and I asked Chris what he thought a good spacing would be for the next one (clearly, this was a good day). We are both very happy with the Maggie and Jonas space of 2.5 years, so that was what he responded with. When I informed him that that scenario would entail getting pregnant TODAY, all the blood drained out of his face. Suddenly 3 years sounded VERY good- and 3.5- EVEN BETTER!

Honestly, the biggest issue for me isn’t the child (I’m 90% sold on him)- it’s the pregnancy. My pregnancies have been so horrific that the thought of having to put my life on hold and torment my family with 8 months of vomiting, IVs, bedrest, hospital stays, and then the postpartum depression and post nursing anxiety - well. It’s enough to make you take pause.

And while you take that pause all the what-if’s attack, and I find myself contemplating the realities that say that my next child could be exceptionally challenging, or could be sick, or could look like a cross between Donald Trump and Quasimodo. What if it turns out that 3 children is infinitely more difficult than 2? I keep getting mixed reports from the parents I know- they are no help.

I’m comfortable where I am. Oh, I get frustrated and I have bad days, but on a whole- I’ve got this routine down. I am quite capable of managing with Chris deployed. My hormones are leveled out (thank you drugs), and I have a great job and so many opportunities on the horizon. What if everything that could go wrong, goes wrong?

When I was sick as a dog expecting Maggie, I told myself that next time I got baby hungry I’d get a pet. Amazingly, shortly after the baby hunger struck, a cat showed up. Is it a sign? I will confess that having a soft bundle of fur to cuddle does help- but it doesn’t cure. Chris and I are making sure that the next car we get can seat an additional child (I’m opting for an additional 2 seats, because with our luck, if we buy a 5 seater, we’ll get pregnant with twins a week later-we’re that kind of people).

It all boils down to faith, I suppose, and I’ve never been very good at faith. I like controlled situations in which I know the outcome. I like knowing what is expected of me, and what I can expect from others. This is all so impossible to predict. It’s wonderful, scary and exhausting all at the same time.