1 in 1,000

I was 13 when my parents came home from visiting my grandfather in the hospital and delivered the news. Mom was pregnant, a baby due to come late summer. As bad as her memory is, one thing my mom has never forgotten over the years is my reaction to this news. I laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed. And then laughed some more. Finally, they said, "Ok, it's not that funny!" But I only laughed harder.

Why was I laughing? I just could not believe my parents were going to have another baby! There were already three of us at the time; Matt was 11, and Kerri, the youngest was eight. EIGHT! And they were so OLD. Too old, in my young mind, to be having another BABY! Mom would be 35! by the time the baby came. Was she crazy? Having another baby at 35... ;)

Steven came August 26, 1989 and he was in many ways, MY baby. Mom needed rest and for some unknown reason trusted me with her newborn. I even remember she called me to come home and take care of him when he was only a few days old because she was in too much pain. (She had had her tubes tied right after he was born. Yeah, ya' think? ;) I remember walking around the kitchen table with him in my arms, trying to soothe the crying infant, and not minding one little bit. I was the little mommy and happy to do it.

Steven was my buddy for years after that. He came with me everywhere and on more than one occasion he was mistaken as my own child. Once, I was walking down the street with Jamie, my first love, and a little old lady commented on what a beautiful family we were. Jamie and I got a kick out of this and still laugh about it to this day. (By the way, as I type this, my "baby" is serving our country in Kuwait. Man, time flies!!!)

So when I met Corey, my husband, it didn't surprise me when I told him I wanted four kids. I didn't always know I wanted four kids, but I guess when I actually sat down to think about it, it seemed right. I was the oldest of four and Steven, our little surprise, was my pal.

Unfortunately, Corey balked at this idea. A father of two already, he could not imagine having four MORE children with me. "You do realize if I had four kids with you, that'd make six for me, right?" Coming from a man who wasn't sure he ever wanted ANY children, I could see how the idea of six was a bit much for him. He said, "I'll tell you what. We'll have two. You can add that to my two and that will make four." Since I loved his sons as if they were my own, I agreed. It seemed like a good compromise to me.

After we were married in 2002, we began to plan our family and in June 2004, Callia was born, followed by Kiefer in 2006. I joked with him that I wanted more because he had reneged on our original deal. (Long story, but his sons were no longer a part of our lives.) He told me I was crazy and he was NOT going to have any more babies. Well, it seems someone or something else had other plans because when Kiefer was just three months old, I discovered I was pregnant again. Cadence was born 12 days before Kiefer's first birthday.

Corey decided a vasectomy was in order and was scheduled to have it done in October 2007 when Cady was just three months old. But, much to my surprise, he announced at the dinner table one evening he was postponing the surgery because there was a small part of him that wondered if maybe just one more baby was in our future. I was thrilled! I knew spending more time with his dad's side of the family had something to do with it. After having lost touch with them for many years, they were reunited and one thing his grandfather would always talk about was the importance of family. With more aunts, uncles and cousins than I could count (they even outnumber my dad's family, which is big enough on its own), I could see him reveling in their quirks and traditions each time we got together. This, I soon knew, was something he wanted for our family.

But, it wasn't long after that Corey changed his mind again. Cady had brain damage and it was becoming obvious she was going to require a lot more care than we had hoped. Another baby seemed unfair and an added burden. We agreed to decide officially when Cady was a year old, but Corey's mind was made up. He was done.

I took that time before Cady's birthday not to convince him to have another, but to convince myself I was done. It was difficult, but on an especially rough day with the three of them, it hit me: I'd be crazy to have another! Corey was right; caring for Cady, who was officially diagnosed with Spastic Quadriplegic Cerebral Palsy at 17 months, was too much and another baby didn't seem right. I accepted my child-bearing years were over and began to look forward to moving on to the next phase in life.

It took another year before Corey got the balls (pun INTENDED) to make the appointment and have the vasectomy, but in August 2009, it was official. Corey was snipped and my baby-making days were over. It was bittersweet, but it actually felt good to have it final. Now I knew I could never change my mind or try to convince him on the days my arms ached for a newborn (especially since my nephew was born the day after his surgery). We were done and that possibility no longer existed.

Or so we thought.

Corey did all the right things. We took precautions those first few months after the V, when the possibility of pregnancy remains, and in December, four months after the ol' snip-snip, he brought in a sample. The doc told him there were just a few DEAD sperm in the sample, so to just give it another month or two and he should be good to go.

Given this information, one can assume that six months later, he'd be officially sterile, right? WRONG. At a doctor's appointment on Aug. 2, 2010, the physician wanted to order an x-ray of my back, but noted I was late for my period (not by much, mind you). I shrugged it off, told her it was impossible. She ordered a test anyway, just to be safe. I agreed, had the blood drawn in the lab downstairs and headed home. But as I was driving, a few alarms went off in my head. There were a couple of telltale symptoms I overlooked. The more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder.

I pulled into the CVS parking lot on the way home and bought a test and a bottle of water. I chugged the water as I drove home and headed for the bathroom as soon as I walked in the door. After I was done, I stuck the stick in my back pocket and went into my bedroom and closed the door. Imagine my surprise when each of the two lines on the stick were no darker or lighter than the other! HOLY SHIT! The seemingly impossible had happened. I was pregnant!!!

I was shaking. Literally shaking. I ran into the backyard where Corey was working (when is he NOT working on the yard in the summer?) and said, "So you know how I am terrible at keeping secrets? Well this is a BIG one." I handed him the stick, my hands SHAKING. I watched the color drain from his face as he said quietly, "No."

(By the way, I meant THAT kind of secret. I can be trusted by friends to keep their secrets. Had to make that clear and keep my integrity in tact. lol)

But, yes, indeed, I was pregnant. At first, C asked the question any supposedly sterile man would ask his pregnant wife: Was there something I wanted to tell him? I assured him there wasn't and when he asked a third time, I became angry. I told him, "I understand you needed to ask once, and maybe even twice, but now you are insulting me." He apologized and never questioned me again.

After calling the doctor, he was told it happens, 1 in 1,000 times. Great, so he had beaten the odds! I, of course, told him he was 1 in a MILLION in my eyes. ;)

We called my sister and brother-in-law and shared the news. They were flabbergasted and we joked that they should get moving so we could have one together. We tried to keep it a secret, and did so for the most part. It wasn't until I started bleeding and had to go to the hospital that my mom became suspicious. She came over that morning and when C said I was at the doctor's, she commented that it was a holiday. What kind of appointment did I have on a holiday? So, instead of coming up with something clever, he told her and the cat was out of the bag. When I got home, she joked with me, giving me an ultimatum: call my father now if I wanted to be the one to tell him because she was going to when she saw him. So, I did. He was thrilled and he promised to keep our secret.

However, the bleeding got worse and by eight weeks, the baby died and passed naturally. I was devastated! It seemed so pointless and cruel. I had more than gotten used to the idea of having another baby and though I had endured four previous miscarriages (all between Callia and Kiefer) this one hit me much harder. I knew it was because back then, I figured we'd just keep trying. This time, it was a fluke. There would be no more "try agains."

Feeling sorry for me, C suggested we try again for another. Who knew if it was even possible, but he said if it was what I really wanted, we'd try. I was thrilled! I knew he was doing this just for me and it made me love him even more. But after a few months, I came to my senses and realized that while part of me would always yearn for another, it just didn't make sense anymore. I was about to turn 35 (not that 35 is too old to have a baby, just, for me personally, it was), Cady was already 3 and in just one more year, they'd all be in school. It was my time to write my book and do other things with my life. I was done!

I spent the next four months gently reminding C to go back to the doctor...