Call Me Charlie

Issue 259

You guys,

My most responsible decision was to stop trying to have a third baby. Prior to that decision, for eight months, I diligently kept track of my ovulation cycle so that we could get pregnant. I thought about boy and girl names. I thought about how we would tell George and Layla and how they would react. But it wasn’t happening, and I kept having knee injuries from playing tennis, and Sam finally asked, as I laid on the couch unable to move, if I thought it was really a good idea to keep trying.

For three days I was sad about not growing our family. And then everything got better. I realized I’m not the kind of mom that loves being a mom. I snap at my kids. I’m selfish with my time. I hate the playground, which always seems like a great idea but is always terrifying, and as I stand in the mulch yelling at them to go down the slide so other kids can go, I simultaneously imagine them falling from great heights and breaking their necks.

My kids are getting older. They’re 3 and 4, and the older they get the better it gets. They have thoughts and ideas and big personalities and they make me laugh. I hated the first year. The lack of sleep, the feeding schedule that never ends, the crying, the carrying them everywhere. “Oh they’re so cute, I miss that stage!” people would say, and I couldn’t understand it. It’s the worst stage. The most isolating and boring and taxing stage.

The further time passed, the more conviction I had about our decision to stop trying for a third baby. I felt more gratitude to be George and Layla’s mom, and to focus on just them, and give them more of myself, since I hadn’t been doing the best job of that. Sam and I would pass each other in the house on any given day and one of us would say, “I’m so happy we’re not having another kid.” The possibilities felt endless for us. We could do anything with our little complete family.

And then one day, after Sam had been sick for six weeks and was finally feeling back to himself, we had sex one afternoon while the kids were at school, which is the best time to do it without interruption. Sam, the most responsible and pragmatic person I know, who meticulously tracks every expense in a spreadsheet, who checks the pool’s pH levels in December, who has calendar reminders to change the air filters, forgot, ever so briefly, that unprotected sex can lead to pregnancy.

“Did you just come?” I asked.

“Yea,” he said, his eyes still closed. His mind still closed.

“Oh my god,” he said, his eyes snapping open. “But you just had your period, right?”

“Yea,” I said. “I just had my period. Like, two weeks ago.”

What followed was panic, apology, remorse. The morning-after pill was mentioned. What would we do?

“At least we could still go to Greece,” I said. We’d been planning this trip for seven months, ever since we decided not to have another baby. We signed up for a program where a cohort of families travel to Greece and live on an island for three months. The kids attend a Montessori school, there’s a coworking space for the adults, markets and grocery stores and restaurants nearby. Everything is within walking distance.

“We couldn’t go to Greece,” Sam said. “You’d be due in December.”

We stood in the bedroom facing each other, pacing. I had to get on calls. Sam had to get on calls. He apologized for the thirtieth time. I told him it was okay.

A few hours later we reconvened in the kitchen.

“How are you feeling about things now?” Sam asked.

“Is the morning-after pill still on the table?” I said.

“What?” Sam said. “I thought you said you didn’t want to.”

“I don’t!” I said. “I just want to know all my options. Nevermind. I don’t want to do that.”

Over the course of the next week Sam slowly became invigorated by the possibility of a third kid. We could postpone Greece until the following year. We’d hire a night nurse this time. We’d be better at the infant stage, and George and Layla could help, too!

I was not at his level of enthusiasm but I couldn’t help but think how uncharacteristic it was of Sam to forget our very clear plan during sex. He remembered everything, all the time, and was often reminding me of everything I’d forgotten. He was the most risk-averse person I knew. We either wouldn’t get pregnant, just like we hadn’t when we tried for eight months, and life would go on as planned, or we would. And if we did, then it must be meant to be. We are not religious people but God was mentioned.

We’re still waiting to find out.

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Until next week,

Charlie

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