Say what again?

Hubby walks unceremoniously into my office.

"If we have another baby" he announces, "its middle name has to be Tiberius."
"If that's what it takes, no problem," I answer without looking up from the article I am writing about Elizabethan underpinnings.
"Even if it's a girl."
"OK. No problem." I am trying not to think about this too deeply, for surely he is messing with me.

The talk about another baby started with a noncommittal "let's talk about it later" when Surprise was about a year old, to a "maybe but probably not" when he was around 3 to a "no way in hell" in the last year or so. There were several arguments against, with "I never want to change another dirty diaper as long as I live" seemingly at the top of the list, although he denied it. The more logical excuses reasons were the uncertain, bordering-on-treacherous economy and our advancing age. How can one use aching maternal desire in an argument against things like that?

At first this was hard. There was that phase last spring and summer when just the sight of a baby in the park would make me all weepy and despondent. But this year - all right, I admit it, after I enrolled Surprise in school - I started to get over it. If the ship has sailed, I thought, best to find something else to focus on, perhaps moving on to the next phase and not just being a stressed out stay at home mom.

But now...I don't know. It seems like too much of an opportunity to pass by.

I approached it tentatively a few days later, trying not to get my hopes up.
"So, the Tiberius thing."
"Yes," he says. "With a first name James. James Tiberius. James Tiberius Kirk, maybe."
"Are you freaking serious?"
"Yes. James Tiberius Kirk. Even if it's a girl."
"I'm not talking about the name! Why on earth did you change your mind about this? DID you change your mind about this?"
"Well....maaaaaaybee...."
"Why the hell did you do that? I was just getting used to the idea."
"Ha, that's why!" he laughs. Then adds: "Maybe it's all the nagging."

Hmmm. Didn't think the nagging actually worked. It sure isn't getting the bathroom cleaned, the curtains hung (three years, they've been sitting in a pile) or the trash put out.

"Aha! I know why! It's because of Steve's baby, isn't it?!" His friend recently had a baby. I look up her YouTube videos regularly and email them to Hubby. Ha! I knew the YouTube would crack that diaper-fearful shell.

"No its not! It's always kind of been in the back of my mind."

Oh yeah, I knew that. It was so obvious.

("It's because he wants to keep you chained to the stove," a cynical friend told me when I asked his opinion. "Has he given you your shoes back yet?")

This will take awhile to sink in and think about. Age, of course, is the biggest obstacle. I don't feel too old to be pregnant. Sure, I have the thing with the ribs. And the joints that seem to pop out and strain at the slightest movement. And the stiff neck and the dark circles and the....wait, maybe I am too old. But, all this is much improved since getting back into exercise and losing weight. Pregnancy was easy for me, even at 35 with a toddler in tow. All right, not easy. But not as difficult as expected.

So, I don't feel too old. But I'm a little worried about others' opinions: namely, doctors. I vividly remember my files during my pregnancy with Surprise. The big red ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE stamped everywhere. The constant wheedling about prenatal testing and odds of chromosomal disorders and that idiotic nuchal fold test that did nothing but still put me in the .001 percent range and cause a lot of stress. Doctors, it seems - at least the ones I knew - are disgusted by any over 35 year old woman who dares to be pregnant. How on earth would they treat someone over 40?

Something to think about, anyway. First I need to lose another ten pounds. Which, now that I think about it, is exactly what happened the last time.