Cockeyed Optimist

To celebrate its new opening on Broadway, Chebbles and I have been listening to a lot of "South Pacific." This is to the chagrin of Hub-D, who feels our children should be exposed to more classical music. To my mind, classical music lacks things like Mitzi Gaynor's hootin' and hollerin' to "Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair."

Anyway, lately, I've been thinking the lyrics, "I'm stuck like a dope, with a thing called hope, and I can't get it out of my heart!"

Because something new has been brewing for me. I have started to feel a kind of (dangerous) certainty that we can and will have a third child. I feel it will just somehow magically issue forth from my loins with little or no Sturm und Drang. I imagine boring and sporadic doctor's appointments. I imagine ultrasounds fraught with high-fives and grins instead of paralyzing fear.

What if that just happened. What if I got pregnant after a few months of trying, that I sailed right on through to the second trimester? What if I became one of those moms who says, "Oh, what month am I on? I always forget."

Then I get to have a marvy VBAC with a required epidural and I get to use all or some of these baby clothes and toys one more time... it could happen.

And I'm thinking, as the days march on here and Baby V tracks and grows and smiles, that I just may be capable of adding to my family. It's just possible.