Fourth Baby

Fourth baby. Fourth baby. Gonna carry a fourth baby, birth a fourth baby, raise a fourth baby. Gotta make room in our bedroom and room in our hearts for more love – the potent, changeless kind. More scared than with the first one. How do you love so many, watch so many, feed so many? Do I erase a little more of me each time? I already can’t imagine this world without you now. You are imprinted in my idea of things. I can’t even touch your soft skin yet and you are as concrete as this floor I sit on. How do I watch you all, protect you all, know you all? It takes me oh so long to count: one, two, three, four – like looking four ways before crossing the street and then stepping into oncoming traffic.

I tell him I’m pregnant and his face is empty… or scared. Empty or scared I can’t tell. Okay, he says. Okay, that is wonderful. I nod harder, faster. Yeah, and then I look down the hall at the 3-year old who is staring at me sly grin on his face. Baby at my feet whimpers. But he’s not the baby anymore.