Sometimes I think about a third child. I think about the tender fragility of a tiny body secure in my arms. I think about how newborns do that funny, wobbly, rooting thing that always makes me smile. Or that moment when you see the second pink line and you realize that your whole life has just changed. The preparations, carefully washing and folding small cotton pajamas and cozy socks and placing them carefully in cleaned drawers. I think about that fluttering feeling that turns into solid, fluid stirrings in the belly, and how that always used to make me smile, like I knew something about this new baby that no one else did. I think about the anticipation of birth, meeting a son or daughter for the first time, those sleepless but amazing first weeks . . .
Then there are nights like last night. Jeff was at work, and both kids ended up in bed with me before too long, Faith asleep and pressed up to my right side, James, warm and quiet, pushed up to my left. In my king sized bed I had no room to turn over and I thought how would there be enough of me to go around for a new baby?