And God Said, "Take That Kid Home."

We've been tossing around the idea of having another baby lately, as much as you can toss around an idea like that. We've been saying things like, "We should really talk about when we want to do that," and "Wow, Marta is already two; should we think about another?"

So when we thought we could be pregnant last month, we sort of shrugged our shoulders. "OK," we said. When I told my sister my suspicions, she told me to march to the nearest drug store and buy a test, right now, do not bother with the coat. Which is exactly what I would tell her, if she would just get on with it already.

But we weren't in a hurry. When we were trying to get pregnant for Berit, competition made us crazy. I'd start testing long before I really should, and each negative made me more determined that next month I would win! (Next month I'd experience the miracle of conception, I mean.)

When we became pregnant for Marta we were so shocked and unprepared that we spent the first few months (throwing up) staring at each other over the dinner table, speechless besides the occasional "Holy shit." (Note to Marta: We love you! We wouldn't have it any other way!) (Note to Berit: We stopped swearing when you began repeating what we said.)

But last month we were just, "Oh remember? I might be pregnant. Pass the salt."

I wasn't pregnant, by the way. But the universe began talking to me, flashing pregnant bellies everywhere I went, showing me moms walking around with those brand new, teensy tiny babies, putting families with new babies in my aisle at the grocery store (nevermind that it was Sunday and Dad was there too, and therefore life looked easy in that family). I became very, very aware of Marta's fleeting twoness, which I love so much.

I also watched a 12 a.m. episode of Kenda, that girl from the Playboy mansion who has her own show now and apparently just had a baby (you can tell how pop-culture savvy I am), where she is 9 months pregnant and actually has her baby in said episode. Of course I cried. Trevor and I marveled at just how pregnant she was; we couldn't remember my being that pregnant and just that fact alone made me want to be that pregnant again (though Trevor did keep saying, "LOOK at her. I just can't get past how big she is. LOOK at her. This is so weird." And we don't even know who she is, except that she's a Playboy girl so she is automatically hot and skinny to begin with, so what do we think he was thinking about me when I was 9 months pregnant???). Technically I don't care about being pregnant again, ever, but just watching the show and trying to remember it made me wish for it really quickly, just the feeling of the baby kicking, or the ridiculousness of it all.

So this morning, like every Sunday morning, we loaded up the kids and went to church. And like every Sunday morning, I sat in the gathering space with Marta, whose conversation voice is louder than Father Denny using a microphone. Oftentimes, louder than the entire choir.

She ran, twirled, screamed, kicked. She was happy to be at church, she was mad when Berit came back and I had to take her to the potty. She didn't like that those people right there were sitting kind of near to our coats. She loved loved LOVED LOVED that little baby over there, MAMA WHAT'S HER NAME WHAT'S HER MAMA'S NAME CAN I ASK HER I WANT TO ASK HER? She told me about every saint in the gathering space, and while she could explain that she wanted to sit "In front of that Jude," she couldn't quite remember "WHO'S THAT MAN, MAMA, WHOSE DADDY IS HE?" when she got to Jesus.

After 45 minutes of this, she twirled a record 50 times in a row then sat down and started crying because she wanted to sit with Daddy and Berit, who were comfortably and quietly sitting in the church proper, and yes she could be quiet YES SHE COULD and then she started doing those ACK! ACK! sounds that are babies' ways of saying mean things to you.

So we left. Kicking and screaming the whole way, we left the church, and I sat in the car saying to myself, "Oh sure, have another baby and you'll manage just fine, see? you can go to one place for one hour and manage to keep two children quiet, sure you can."

I think that, if God was purposely putting baby stuff in front of my face to send me a message, He would have given us one easy Mass, where we could sit and worship in peace with our little family, so we could say hey, we can do this. We are good at this. Maybe even the people behind us would tap us after Mass and say, "What good children you have!" like they used to when Berit was two and Marta was new and sleeping through church.

Just now, just after I typed 'church,' Marta woke up and started yelling, like maybe there was something seriously wrong, so I went in and picked her up and rocked her, and she fell asleep in my arms like she did when she was small. When I went to put her back in her bed she said, dreamily, "No, no sleep on the kitten."

Oh Marta. You are such a monster.