The fever.

Well, it has finally hit me.

The fever.

No, not Bieber fever. Although, I am guilty of listening to his Christmas album a time or two recently (which I fully blame on Banger).

But I'm referring to baby fever (which is also Banger's fault).

A month ago, had someone asked me if I was ready to try for another baby, my answer would have unequivocally been NO. No way. For years I have said that I wouldn't even think about trying for another baby until Linden was more independent. My go-to response was always, "Not until he can put his own shoes on". Truth be told, I've just always felt like I needed more time. Time with him. Time with my husband. Time to myself. Just time.

Life has been fairly chaotic since Linden graced us with his presence. I have lived in five different cities (three countries) and my husband has played for six different teams. That's a lot of packing, moving, settling ... wash, rinse, repeat. Things are just now starting to feel easy. Well, maybe not easy but ... calm. And calm within the professional hockey world isn't easy to find, so I haven't been quick to want to screw it up.

I wish I could say that Linden has a poetically beautiful birth story but  ... it was hell. Hell on Earth. My husband is 6' 3" and 230 pounds. I am 5' 2" and 110 pounds. We make big babies. I'm not built for them. And frankly, they aren't coming out the old fashioned way. They say you forget a lot of the pain and horror of birth but I remember it vividly. While bringing new life into this world is beautiful, round two isn't something I have ever looked forward to.

So I have been content with one nugget.

That is until two weeks ago, when Banger here gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. A baby girl I just can't get enough of.

I went home to my husband that night and blurted out, "So, what do you think about having another baby?" I told myself that I was just testing the waters, but it was more than that because I was actually afraid of his response. I figured it would be something responsible like, "We don't even own a home" or "We don't even know if or where I am going to play next season". Not what I wanted to hear. And I mean, those are just details, right?

I had already started to refute the whole owning a home and having a job thing ... something about being slaves to our mortgage and spontaneity, when he cut me off, "Well, if I continue playing this way, I should have a contract for next season. And if I have a contract for next season ... I think we can try."

There it was. Just what I was hoping for.

Of course, it's not as simple as that. Nothing ever is.

Whoopsies.

I started to do a little reading on the topic of conception. Knowledge is power, right? See, Linden was a "surprise". A happy accident, if you will. So you can imagine my surprise when I read things like, "With often-hostile mucous, wayward, sluggish or just plain lost sperm and a conception window of just a day or two, it's amazing anyone ever gets pregnant."

Huh?


So like any other woman, I'll have to hope that the stars align.

But I'll also have to hope, more specifically, that the stars align between the months of April and July.

Because Mama needs a playoff baby.

And a c-section covered by insurance, because like many hockey families, our insurance coverage comes from my husband's team and only lasts the duration of the season. We can (and do) purchase small, ridiculously expensive, private packages for the off-season, but if I were to conceive while still under team coverage ... those private providers would consider my pregnancy to be a "preexisting condition". Awesomeness.

If nothing else, this should all make for some very interesting posts. Can you hear it now? "You guys ... my husband's team won't give me my medical card again! I hate hockey. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Man, oh man.

Nah, I think we have the hang of this European hockey adventure thing now. Pray for the best, plan for the worst. And hope the stars align.

As a funny anecdote: For Christmas, I bought Linden new Hausschuhe for kindergarten. Last night he said, "Mommy, watch me put my Hausschuhe on!" ... And then he did it.