I'm not quite sure when it became appropriate workplace conversation to ask someone if they were going to have a third baby. But I must have a sign pinned to my back that says "Ask Susan if she's trying for a third." Over the past few weeks, at least four different people at work have asked me when I'll be trying for three. "Gonna go for that girl?" people ask with a grin. "Come on, three isn't much more than two" they say.
It shocks me into hysterical, stunned laughter everytime someone asks me this.
I feel as though I have just emerged (with my brain slightly less intact) from the cacoon of having a new baby. We are still learning to be a family of four. I am still falling in love, over and over again with Baby Max. I am still so very shocked that we've made it this far with two, and just how very complete our family feels, that having a third just doesn't even enter into the equation.
And for me, whose pregnancies and early deliveries were full of fear and worry, the delight and joy I feel for these delicious boys is so much more fulfilling than the thought of 9 months (or 7 or 8) of deep seeded panic.
So, folks, we're going to chug along as we have been. Momma P and her house o' boys. Celebrating big occasions like birthdays and small moments of love like hearing Ben say "Baby Max is my best friend."
And feeling pretty darned lucky about how it's turning out.
