Danger Will Robinson

We always meant to have a large family.

One evening shortly after we met, Husband invited me to his apartment for dinner and I happily accepted. By that time, I already had a pretty good idea that he was maybe, possibly, potentially the one. After dinner, (homemade lasagne, quelle impressive, no?) we sipped wine and did that little dance that couples do when they are poised at the edge of deep affection laced with blinding lust. They want to leap into the precipice, but each is afraid the other might not follow. They fear falling on their face, broken and bleeding, alone and foolish.

The truth was, we were panting for one another, but neither wanted to let on. I fully intended to sleep with him that night, (shut up, I was a consenting adult who had been on my own for five years) but I wanted to be sure he understood that I'm not the type for whom casual sex holds any appeal, and that if he debauched me and then tried to blow me off, I would stalk his ass like Alex Forrest and that I would make her little Lapin A La Cocette look like alphabet soup.

No, not really. But I did want him to know that I wasn't looking for a quick lay. I was looking for a serious relationship. I was ready to get married, and it's surprising how effectively one can weed out the man whores and the playboys just by stating that fact preemptorily. Nothing sends a commitment phobe packing more swiftly than a proclomation of that nature.

So I said, directly, "I'd like to get married and have babies."

He waggled his eyebrows at me lasciviously and said "Me too." which made it very clear that it wasn't the having of babies that appealed to him, but rather, the getting of them.

That made me laugh, and then we didn't get much more talking done that night.

Luckily, however, it turned out that he really did want to get married and have a family. And he agreed that 4 or 5 children would be simply fabulous.

Oh, what sweetly naieve fools were we.

Pre-Pubescent One was a very easy baby. Diminutive One was not. His infancy and toddlerhood left me emotionally, physically and psychologically exhausted. Even though I did want another baby, I knew I couldn't handle him and care for an infant. I wanted to wait until I felt sure that the new baby would get as much time and attention as his/her predecessors.

That day was very slow in coming.

When Diminutive One went to kindergarten, I decided it was probably a good time. Except...that for the first time in 9 years, I had some time to myself. Suddenly, I could breathe.

I could shower without worrying about catastrophe striking at the hands of my willful youngest son, who had stopped napping at 18 months (which prompted a very protracted period of mourning on my part). I could grocery shop in half the time, with no melt-downs over trinkets or treats. I could clean without "help".

I was reluctant to give it up, so I gave myself the gift of a year. I was only 35, I had a little time.

Somehow that year stretched into two, and then three and then suddenly, my boys were 7 and 10. 8 and 11. 9 and 12.

And then I realized that the urge was gone. I liked our lives. I liked the freedom, I liked the spontenaiety. I liked sleeping. The logistics of almost every outing and endeavor became immeasurably easier.

Also, by this time, the fiscal realities of raising children were resting heavily on the shoulders of my Husband; the lone wage earner in our household. He expressed, timidly, that he was quite happy to stop at two. And I, reluctantly but pragmatically, agreed.

Husband suggested a vasectomy, but I wasn't quite ready to embrace that kind of permanence. I begged him to give it some time, to let me come around to the idea. To say my good-byes unhurriedly, with fondness instead of resentment.

So in my heart, I bade a sad but resigned farewell to the girl child I would never bear and made my peace with that.

And then I gave my blessing for the old clip and snip.

But somehow, it never happened.

I've always had very sporadic and infrequent periods and we had to try quite concertedly to get pregnant with both boys. So his procrastination didn't concern me overmuch. But then, suddenly, a year or so ago, my periods became exceedingly and surprisingly regular. Whereas before, I could go months and months and months without menstruating, I now have a ridiculously reliable 28 day cycle.

This means, of course, that I am ovulating regulary. So, we have become masters at tactical avoidance. But you know...our luck can only hold out for so long.

And proof of this came last fall in the form of a beautiful baby boy, born to Pre-Pubescent One's Coach and his wife, both of whom are over 40 and have children similar in age to our boys.

What a lovely surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. Coach underwent the "procedure" when his wife was 8 months pregnant. Better late than never, I suppose.

The baby is five months old now. I hold him and play with him at every ballgame. And LORD it feels good to cuddle a little one again. Better than it should. The first time I held him after he was born, I felt my breasts tingle in response to his boneless warmth, his milky smell, his sweet cry. That primal instinct never goes away; to feed, nurture, protect.

Last night, as I held the baby, Diminutive One came over to inspect him. He was shy with the baby but the baby was not shy with him. He reached for Diminutive One's nose and swatted at him with a volley of chubby fisted punches. I took his little hand in mine, bopped Diminutive on the nose three times and said "boom boom boom!"

The baby laughed uproariously.

Is there anything sweeter than that sound? Pure mirth, unabashed joy, achingly innocent glee. A baby's laughter is a balm for any hurt or ill.

We played this game for several minutes, and an awareness began to overtake me as we did so. An awareness of yearning I had thought long dead, since it had not resurrected even when my sister gave birth to a set of beatiful twins four years ago. I was amazed, elated and enamored. But not the slightest bit envious.

So the longing startled me with it's intensity. It was a white hot streak of sheer unadulterated need; the need to create life again. Perhaps it was simply a biological response to the baby, but it disconcerted me.

It disconcerted Husband too.

About that time he happened by on his way to first base to take up his position there. He must have seen something in my face, because he came to the fence, pointed a finger sterntly at the baby's mother sitting next to me and said with mock enmity "You need to quit pawning that baby off on my wife. What the hell're you trying to do to me???"

She laughed, because the two of them have been having the same conversation since the baby was born.

Husband walked away muttering "Danger. Danger, Will Robinson."

Will Robinson take heed. Danger indeed.

Something tells me that Husband will be looking for a good urologist very soon.

And in the meantime? I reserve the right to say "I told you so" should nature bestow upon us a little gift to enjoy in our twilight years.

I like saying "I told you so."