I seriously cried a lot. I fought a lot. And ultimately I obeyed. And here’s how that conversation went down.
Well, husband, here’s the deal.
You want another baby. Fine. We’ll try for 6 months to a year and see what happens. On three conditions. 1 – Three carseats won’t fit in the Jetta and I’m going to need a new car. I want a Mazda5. 2 – I want to move home. I’m going to need help with that many kids. I sure can’t do it by myself. 3 – I need a new maternity wardrobe. I’m going to need some money.
His response was pretty much a look of unbelief and excitement at the same time. And with his usual reasonableness he told me it would be cheaper to just hire a baby-sitter than to move home. The other 2 were understandable.
We’ll see, I told him.
I also might have warned him that this was going to be the hardest thing that I had ever done, that I was going to need his help, and there was a good chance that we would all be miserable. But, yes, I was willing to try. And, shockingly, there was part of me that actually wanted another baby.
We decided that we should probably pray about something like this and make sure this was how God was directing us before I went off all my meds. You see, I was diagnosed with restless syndrome in college and have a sleep specialist that I see in St. Louis. The bum thing is that he won’t let me taken any sleep meds if I’m pregnant or trying to get pregnant or nursing. Dang doctor. I also love my birth control. I get a little bit crazy without it.
Chad did finally admit that he didn’t think I’d ever actually agree to this. And he admitted that it was a little scary now that it was actually an option. We were getting older afterall. I completed agreed. We were off our rockers. Although if this worked like we thought it would we actually would be in a rocker quite a bit more.