6. Chapter Six
Chapter Si x
Mothers should refrain from allowing children to join them in mundane errands as it fosters a sense of complacency among children.
A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children
Dr. Francine Pascal Reid, (1943)
T he next morning, J.B. whisks Ben and Lucy out of the bed before the two of them decide it would be a fun thing to do to wake up Momma. When I finally crawl out of bed, still with a smile on my face from the kitchen-apades that went on last night, I jump into high gear right away.
J.B. is heading to the restaurant later this afternoon, but we have much to do before then. Brunch with Emma, Cooper and the boys. Grocery shopping. A possible play in the park.
My mind heads back to what J.B. asked me last night .
He wants to have another baby ?
What is he thinking? How can he think I have enough energy to deal with another one? And what if it’s more than one?
That thought is scarier than any Stephen King novel.
What would life be like with five kids? I’ve been pregnant twice in my life and both times I ended up with multiples. I skirt over the fact that with the surrogacy, it was Cooper and Emma’s fault. They put two egg/sperm combos inside me, and that’s what came out. My uterus is obviously a playground for babies. The more, the merrier.
So chances are if I got pregnant again, I’d be having more than one. And that is unimaginable.
There’s not enough time in the day to deal with the crying and feeding and putting them into bed…or giving them baths. How am I supposed to bathe five kids? They’d be the most disgustingly dirty children because I wouldn’t be able to clean them on a regular base.
″Are you okay, Case?” J.B. asks as we drive to Emma and Cooper’s. He catches me staring unseeingly out the window as I picture five little Pig-Pens running through the house, each with their own cloud of dirt.
″Fine.”
″You don’t seem fine.”
I glance incredulously at J.B. How can he be so casual about this? He asked me to disrupt my life, turn my body inside out again . “Were you serious last night?”
He frowns. “What about? Oh. That.”
I glance behind me. It’s quiet, and while that’s usually a bad thing, in this case, Lucy and Ben are watching something on Ben’s mini iPad, while Sophie has headphones attached to her iPod .
The teacher in me hate that children of this generation seem to have developed an addiction to screens, but the mother in me is often grateful for the quiet it provides.
″So you want another baby.”
J.B. shrugs. “I thought we could think about it.”
″But why ?”
″Because I love our kids?”
″Do you love them enough to have three more?”
″Seriously, what are the chances of that?” he asks with a roll of his eyes.
I point my thumb towards the backseat. “But what if they don’t love having another one? What if they’re upset and mad and jealous? What if they grow up resenting the fact we threw another baby on them? And what if they start to resent us ? What if they hate us for it?”
″They won’t hate us.”
He’s using that tone, the one that suggests that I’m overreacting a tad bit. I dial it back a little. “I like the way things are. More babies would disrupt things.”
″I just thought one–”
“You’ve seen pictures of my body–inside my body! Do you remember that internal ultrasound they made you watch, the one where you almost fainted? My insides are a perfect breeding ground for more than one baby! Look what happened before!”
″It doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. And I didn’t almost faint.”
″Sorry, that was the second one. I forgot.”
I spend the rest of the drive to Emma and Cooper’s going over my defense for not having another baby. There are many to choose from–the expense of more kids, my age, full house–but the truth is that I can’t argue passionately about any of them. And I think J.B. knows it.
He knows I love kids. It’s been my life’s dream to be a mother, and it turns out I’m pretty good at it. Better than good. Another baby…
It doesn’t mean I want to run out and get knocked up today, but it does mean that I can’t find a good reason not to. I love kids, being pregnant. I love our life.
It scares me sometimes how good things are. I got my happily ever after, as unexpected as it was. Would having another baby put a damper on that?
I don’t waste much time before I ask Cooper about it. J.B. may have known Cooper longer, but he’s my best friend as much as he is J.B.’s. When we got to Cooper and Emma’s, J.B. and Emma take the kids out to the backyard while I stay in the kitchen with Cooper.
″Did you know he wants to have another baby?” I ask Cooper. I can see the kids out the big window over the sink, chasing each other, with J.B. watching them with a smile on his face.
He’s so happy being a dad. But is that a good enough reason to disrupt our life with more?
I’m gratified when Cooper flashes an expression of surprise. “J.B.? He hasn’t said anything to me about a baby.”
″Me neither. He threw it on me last night.” I pluck a juicy strawberry out of the platter on the table. Emma is the perfect hostess. She always has kid-friendly food, as well as more adult fare, a neatly set table ready when we get there and always offers drinks before you need them. If we have people over, they’re lucky if they get a handful of carrots for an appetizer, and I’m always passing out plates for a find-your-own seat type of meal.
Emma’s outside with the kids now, teaching them how to use the bubble guns she got for them. Five of them, so there wouldn’t be a problem with sharing. The kids may be great, but kids are kids and sharing is always a hard one to learn .
″It doesn’t really surprise me.” Cooper doesn’t meet my gaze, but that could be because he’s focused on the poached eggs. I love his eggs Benedict, which is why he usually makes them for us when we come for brunch. I always ask him how he can cook all week in the restaurant and still look so happy in his own kitchen, but he says that’s just what he does. It’s how he shows people he cares. It’s like he’s Italian.
″J.B.’s always talking about the kids,” Cooper continues, whisking the hollandaise sauce. “And asking about mine. He’s a different man since you had the trips, Casey. It’s amazing to see.”
″He’s a great dad,” I say. “That’s not the issue.”
″Are you trying to tell me you don’t want another baby?” This time he meets my gaze with raised eyebrows of skepticism.
″I didn’t say that.”
″I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t.” Cooper’s always had a calming effect on me, but never has he been able to quiet my maelstrom of thoughts quicker than this. If Cooper thinks it’s okay for me not to want another baby then it’s really okay.
But then he continues. “Three is a lot to handle. Even if it was possible for Em and me, there’s no way we’d add on the brood. And Emma is an amazing mother. But you, Casey, this is what you were made for. You’ve got such a talent with kids–your own and everyone else’s. You show that being a teacher. You were made to be a mother.”
I drop my head, unable to show him how touched I am by his words. “It doesn’t feel like it some days.”
″Trust me, if there’s anyone who could handle your three and then more, it’s you. And J.B. knows that. He probably thinks this is what you want.”
″I’m pretty sure I never said the words I want more kids to him.”
″Did you tell him the first time?”
″That was different.”
Cooper shrugs, the exact same gesture J.B. used in the car. “Maybe it’s preventative. He’s throwing it out there before you can come out and tell him you’re pregnant again.”
″So you think he doesn’t really want another one?” I grasp at the thought like a lifeboat floating away.
Cooper thrusts his chin towards the window. I glance out at the perfect moment where all five kids converge on a laughing J.B., sending him to his knees as they pelt him with bubbles from their bubble guns. “What do you think?”
I sigh.
″Two is enough for me and Em, but you two? You could have enough for a basketball team.”
I widen my eyes in horror. “Do you think that’s what he’s doing? Making his own basketball team?”
Cooper laughs as he carefully lifts out a poached egg. “You have great kids, Casey. A few more wouldn’t hurt.”
″You say that now but wait until Sophie comes calling. She’s told us she wants to live with you if we ever have to get rid of her.”
I swear Cooper pales. “Sophie? Really? Not Ben? I’m better with boys. Or Lucy?”
Our last stop on Saturday is the grocery store. Sometimes if the kids are particularly active/whiny, J.B. will go himself, but I’ve found in recent years that all three love a good trip to the local Longos grocery store.
Today was no exception, especially when J.B. instigates a scavenger hunt, giving each kid three things to find. The rules are no leaving the store, don’t eat anything, and stay out of the candy aisle.
You’d think shopping would be quick work with five of us collecting items off the weekly shopping list, but the game makes everything twice as long. Lucy is the first one to return with her mangoes, pound of butter and loaf of sourdough bread, but then she runs off to find Ben to see how he’s making out, and then the two of them have to track down Sophie, who they find standing transfixed by the whole fish lying on a bed of ice still with head and tail intact.
When Sophie reports back, it’s to tell us she’s never eating fish again because they look alive with their eyeballs in.
″They’re not alive,” J.B. says patiently.
″But they do look alive.” Lucy has a worried expression on her face. I suspect Sophie did her best to convince her the fish was indeed still breathing.
″They’re really dead,” J.B. assures them. “But not too dead or else they’d smell. Fish aren’t supposed to smell.”
″But they do when Momma cooks them,” Ben points out.
″That was once because I burnt the fish sticks.”
J.B. grimaces at the mention of the kids eating fish sticks. He has a horror of them, as well as chicken fingers and Kraft dinner.
″It’s so easy to make your own,” he always insists.
Maybe it is if you’re a trained chef and have all the time in the world. But I don’t comment as I push the cart towards the cashier line-ups.
Lucy gets to pick the line because she won the scavenger hunt. She helps me push the cart behind the one with the smiling baby waving at the kids.
I steal a glance at J.B. as we wait our turn. The three kids are mesmerized by the baby, a real cutie with a wisp of blond hair that makes it impossible to tell if it’s a boy or girl. The green onesie doesn’t help.
I guess a boy.
″What’s his name?” Sophie demands of the mother. She tickles the baby’s foot, while Ben plays peek-a-boo and Lucy constantly waves. The poor thing doesn’t know where to look.
″It’s a her,” the mother tells Sophie. She’s youngish, of the yoga-pants-and-UGGs species and still looks refreshed even in the middle of the afternoon.
Of course, she does–she only has one baby and there’s a doting dad staring at his iPhone beside her.
″Her name is Sophie.”
″That’s my name,” Sophie shrieks, loud enough for the whole store to hear. Baby Sophie laughs with delight at the outburst.
″It’s a good name,” the mother says. She glances at me, at my clothes that are wrinkled from bubble-soaked hugs from the kids and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Are they all yours? Sorry–they must be. All the hair.”
I bristle at her tone, which isn’t all that complimentary. “Yes, we’ve always been blessed with an abundance of hair.” I stop myself from glancing down at her bald baby.
″Babies are so cute,” Lucy sighs as the dad finally puts his phone away and starts loading the groceries on the belt.
I check out what they’re buying. It’s a little habit of mine. These folks are all-organic, vegetarian, and gluten-free. But not all gluten-free because there’s a loaf of white Wonder bread tucked in there .
″Bye, baby Sophie,” Sophie cries as the cart is pushed ahead to load the bags. My kids frantically wave at the baby, who smiles toothlessly back until the mother distracts her with a rice cracker.
″Aren’t babies cute, Momma?” Lucy repeats.
″They are very cute,” I say beginning to pile our selections because like the other dad, J.B. is also distracted by his phone. “The three of you were adorable.”
″Yes, we were,” Sophie agrees in all seriousness. “I’ve seen pictures. We were the cutest !”
″So if we had another baby, it would be the cutest too?” Lucy asks. She’s helping me load, spreading boxes of granola bars haphazardly on the belt and making a pyramid of the crackers.
″Of course.” A box of crackers drops to the floor and I bend to retrieve it.
When I stand, two sets of brown eyes and one of blue and hazel, are staring at me.
″We should have another baby,” Lucy decides.
″Let’s have another baby!” Sophie cheers.
″Can we have another baby?” Ben asks in all seriousness.
I glance at J.B., who appears as shocked by their requests as I am. Which is good, because if I find out that he set this up…