When the two drugstore pregnancy tests came back positive, I took a picture with my phone, emailed my husband, then had a mild panic attack. My first daughter was now one and a half, and my body finally belonged to me. I was exercising regularly, eating well, beginning to sleep consistently, starting a new writing project, and feeling like I could have it all. I was in love with the little family I had created and had a great set of supportive friends. Did I really want to go through it all again?
It wasn’t just the dread of night feedings, colicky babies, and sore nipples that made me nervous. I worried that my firstborn had taken all of me. My first was a demanding baby, who turned into a demanding toddler. But I cherished the little screamer with every muscle in my body. What little she left of me I gave to my husband. There was no more to spare.