One is the Loneliest Number

Yesterday, I had an appointment with my doctor to have my birth control device removed. Before leaving for the appointment, I locked myself and Sabine out of the house (car keys inside, too). Before that, I read this article in the New York Times about a father's regrets.

I actually thought these were perhaps two ridiculously clear signs that one is enough. But then I remembered I'm not superstitious. So I proceeded to try and break into my own house via the kitchen window. I tore off the screen. I tried sliding open, then popping out the window. When that didn't work, I thought about breaking it to get to those damn keys, which I could see from the window on the kitchen counter. This appointment was almost IMPOSSIBLE to get (having Kaiser Permanente as your form of health insurance is a little like waiting in a very long line--filled with red tape--at the deli counter).

Normally, when these kinds of mishaps occur (and they happen to me a lot), I just call and reschedule or show up late. But the fact that I actually considered breaking the window to get those keys let me know that no matter how terrified I am of another emergency c-section, staying up all night, a morphed body and juggling two tiny monsters, I really, really want to do this all over again by having the sequel to Sabine.

Image via Observando

More wondering about two instead of one.