were teenagers, and the youngest still needed constant supervision.
I laughed when he first mentioned it.
“Another baby? Richard, we practically need a seating chart just to have breakfast.”
He wasn’t laughing.
“What’s wrong with having one more? We have the space. We have the money. The children are wonderful.”
“And who’s going to look after the baby?”
He gave me a strange look.
“You’re their mother.”
I remember staring at him.
As though those four words answered every question.
I was exhausted. My doctor had already warned me that
