Was it a magical talisman or Kryptonite?
Unable to decide between the two, I lifted the pink frilly dress off the rack. Kryptonite, I decided as my daughters began to ooh and aah at all of the baby clothes surrounding us. I replaced the dress and frowned.
"You know you could have another baby," Lesa, my oldest daughter suggested as she noted my dismay.
"You're kidding, right?" When the nine-year-old didn't reply, I continued, "Don't you remember how sick I was with your brother?"
Lyn, my seven-year-old answered, "You were really sick with Timmy. I remember. And you had to give yourself shots."
Shots weren't quite what I had to give myself. I had borderline gestational diabetes, and I had to stick myself four times a day. Because of my needle-a-phobia, it was more like sixteen times a day since I would pull back at the last second and not draw enough blood for the glucose thingamajig to read the results.
"That's right, but we have another problem. I'm old, O-L-D, old. Forty. If I became pregnant right now, I wouldn't have the baby until I was forty-one."
"But you could still have one...," Lesa said, winding a long strand of blond hair around her finger.
"Not going to happen. I don't know if my body could even handle it. It's bad enough that I've caught Lyn and Tommy's flu. The thought of feeling this way for several months... no, thank you. I'm quite content with the three of you."
I'd had this discussion about fifteen times with myself over the past couple of months as the ticking had grown louder, almost deafening, inside me. And each time, I'd come to the same conclusion: My pregnant days were over and that was fine by me.
In twenty years, I'd buy the dress for a granddaughter.
