My husband called me earlier today and when I realized it was him, I wanted to cry. There are not words to accurately described how stressed out I get from work, so instead, I am taking a minute to breathe.

And be like Zoot. And Swistle.

A year ago I was 21 weeks pregnant. We were beginning the worst heat wave Huntsville had seen in 50 years (almost a month straight of triple digit temperatures). I had been married almost a year, and we finally learned that Lil Peep was hung with a massively large penis.

Today, I am a working mom. I am a stepmother. I am in a new job that I am so incredibly proud of and so incredibly stressed about. I have mommy guilt every. single. day. about my “choice” to work. I love my job. I am so incredibly blessed to be in the marriage I’m in. I’m exhausted. I love my child in a way I never imagined I could love anything. I am in a job I’m in no way qualified for. I am pretty damn good at it, regardless. I have a family that makes me so incredibly lucky. My life is constant, fluid, and unexpected. I am overwhelmed constantly. I would have it no other way.

A year from now, we will have launched our first vehicle. It is instinctive to say that my child will be walking, but in reality, all I can say definitively is “We will have addressed my child’s foot deformity and how it affects his mobility.” Which is akin to saying, “A year from now.. I will have laid my heart out, bare on the doctor’s table, and we are stronger from it. All of us.”

I want so badly to say that a year from now, I will be skinny/will have perfect hair/will have planted our yard/etc, but all I can think about in a year from now is my child, and what obstacles he’ll.. we’ll.. have overcome.

It’s odd, when your child goes to daycare.  You begin to think of his classmates as his siblings.  I know all of the other babies by name, personality, and disposition.  When I come in to pick up Binja after his day is over, I go around and greet each of the other babies by name and snuggle them.

(I don’t know if this is protocol or not.  Psshaw.)

There is another child in his class.  We’ll call him Ernie, because he has a grin as wide that that lovable muppet.  And because I could name him here, but I would like to hope that every parent who reads this assumes their child is Ernie and works twice as hard to fix the issue.

Ernie is a month or so older than Binja, and is all smiles.  He lights up whenever I come in the room, and LOVES to be held.  He also loves all of the other babies, and will snuggle with them from time to time.  He’s just all around precious.

But Ernie breaks my heart.  His parents are too busy for him.

Now, I know that today’s economy is not kind to the working family.  I know that we all have to pull our 40 hour work weeks (or more!) to keep the family afloat.  I know that we have daycare open for just that reason.

But Ernie often is there in the morning when Binja is dropped off and remains behind when I pick him up.  We have, on more than one occasion, had the staff apologize to us for dipping into our diaper/wipe reserves.. because Ernie’s supply had gone unreplenished for days.  Bryan has walked in on a diaper change with Ernie where the staff was discussing sores from the untreated diaper rash.  And there have been stretches of days where Ernie was sick, but not too sick to send home, and he was miserable and weepy at daycare.

Again, I know that some parents don’t have the liberty I do.  They don’t have flexible hours or easygoing management or the ability to take care of family issues.  I do consider that.

But everytime I go in there, I make sure to give just a little bit of uninterrupted attention to Ernie.  Because I think of him as a brother to Binja, and I would want any parents to feel open to doing the same to my child.

While my husband is en route to another city, let’s all have a conversation that involves him so he can’t jump in on it, shall we?  It won’t make him crazy AT ALL.

Waiting in my feed reader this morning was this little gem from Suburban Turmoil about that hypothetical next child.  Every couple has scares that prompts them to have that conversation.

Admittedly, I was the most unhappy and angry and bitter pregnant woman in the history of conception and gestation.  I was one for the record books, and I know that.  I was difficult, whiny, annoying, and .. did I mention difficult?  Because that one deserves two mentions.  If I were Bryan, I would also put my foot down that we are to have NO MORE BABIES.

In fact, we both agreed during the pregnancy.  This was the one.  The one and only.  No more.  End of story.  Period. (No pun intended, but YES THAT IS A FREAKIN’ AWESOME PUN.)

I agreed because I really had never intended to have any kids.  My being half a mom to The Boy was puhlenty for me, thank you very much, because how do you insane people DO this all the time?  What with the discipline, and the routines, and the grown-up-ness that IS parenting?

Bryan agreed because he worries about his age.  In his mid-thirties now with an infant is exhausting, and I hear two and three times a week about how he hates getting older.  Our bodies are just doing things we only envisioned happening to our parents, and it’s a little wake-up call that HELLO!, we are also starting to age a bit.

(Bryan, you could eat vegetables.  That could help.  Just sayin’.)

But.. the minute I pushed that little boy out, I started thinking.  And with each morning that he is all smiles and drool, I think.  And every night that he cuddles under my chin before dozing off, I think.  All of this thinking consists of: I sure wouldn’t mind doing this again.

I’ve raised that to Bryan a couple of times.  He pretty regularly shoots it down without a second thought.  “I don’t want to be retired when my child is in high school,” he says.  You know, like the economy will ever allow either of us to retire.

But I still think about it.  Every weekend we have two kids in the house, I adore it.  I adore the noise, the way they entertain each other, the juggling of bags and toys and whatnot.  I adore how crowded those weekends feel, and how complete our house feels.  I adore that.  And want more of it.

I haven’t pressed it, cause Lord knows we are NOT looking to endure that journey any time soon.  To be honest, I’m not sure I’ve even brought it up recently.  Our lives have been plenty full without the thought of a hypothetical ‘nother one.

But the other night, we sat down and watched Juno for the first time.  And during the delivery scene, Bryan said, “THAT’S what you were missing.  You didn’t have really cool striped socks.”

I giggled.  “You’re right,” I said.  “I sure didn’t have those.”

He looked at me.  “Next time,” he said, meeting my eyes.

“Yeah, next time,” I nodded, pretending to blow it off but really thinking, I am the luckiest woman on the planet.