"Shh… Mommy's sleeping. We gotta be quiet," you hear Jim explain to a fussy Cecelia as they pass your bedroom door early one morning. "Let's go get a bottle, and then we can play for a little while, okay?"

It's been nearly a week, and he still has no idea.

Simply deciding on how to break the news is proving to be difficult all on its own because you know that it should be done in a way that is special and romantic or cute and clever, but you are afraid to put in a whole lot of effort just in case he panics. It isn't likely—Jim manages to make the best of everything and will probably be just as excited as he was for Cecelia—but it would absolutely break your heart if you planned some huge reveal, only to have him react the same way you did. You're still 'reacting' six days later, and it's not in the way you think you are supposed to; you have to dig pretty deep to find the part of you that is genuinely happy and excited about this whole situation, and that doesn't seem right. You desperately want to feel good about what is happening, but instead, as the days have progressed, your emotions have become increasingly negative, cycling between sadness, worry, dread, and even anger.

And you're ashamed of that.

Because it's a baby. It's your baby, and you are his or her mother, and why can't you love this one as much as you immediately loved Cecelia? With her, there was an instant connection as soon as you learned of her existence. Though very much unexpected, that tiny little being was yours and Jim's alone, and every time you thought about what was going on inside of your body, you felt an indescribable warmth and fullness that made you smile so much that it practically made your face hurt. Your hands couldn't stay away from your stomach, you thought about her constantly, and even when she was still only the size of a lima bean, you talked to her about everything.

This time around, though, the promise of a baby makes your life seem like it is spinning rapidly out of control, and although you certainly feel protective of your little boy or girl, it's just not the same as it was or is with Cecelia. And it makes you feel like a horrible mother, like the most ungrateful woman on Earth because your feelings about the circumstances under which all of this is happening are overshadowing and even spilling over to how you feel about the baby. It's wrong, and you know it. This child is perfectly innocent and deserves to be loved and eagerly anticipated, but you are too absorbed in mourning the loss of moments in your life that you thought you would have and too busy worrying about the future to make that happen.

So for as much as you fear the possibility of Jim's reaction breaking your heart, you are even more worried about breaking his if he realizes how conflicted you are.

You want to tell him. Obviously, you need to tell him—you could even walk out there right now and just say it—but even though he is your husband and best friend, you just can't.

xx

Cecelia's squealing laughter wakes you up some time later, and despite the emotional weight you are carrying, it makes you feel so much better. She is such an easygoing, sweet baby, and just hearing how happy she is brings a smile to your face no matter what. So you roll out of bed, ignoring the slight nausea, and make your way into the living room where Jim and Cecelia lay on a blanket on the floor.

You love seeing them like this. She is on her back, kicking her tiny feet and giggling hysterically in a little pink onesie, while he is propped up on one elbow, tickling her belly and laughing right along with her in gym shorts and a t-shirt. It's such a simple thing, but it's still so perfect. She looks at him with such awe and adoration, and he is just as amazed by her. She is his little buddy—he likes taking her places and explaining the surroundings, dressing her up in her little Phillies outfit to watch games with her until she falls asleep, and finding new ways to entertain her and make her laugh. Their bond makes you fall in love with both of them even more, and you are so thankful that you ended up married to a man who not only loves you, but also so clearly loves every second of being a dad.

He looks up to see you watching them, and immediately, he grins, sitting up and playfully swinging Cecelia into his lap before leaning down towards her ear as if telling a secret:

"Hey, look who's up, Cees!"

The two of you share a look, and you smile, padding across the carpet to sit next to your husband and daughter as her green eyes light up and her facial expression changes to showcase a slightly drooly open-mouthed grin.

"Hi, baby!" You greet her with an enthusiastic hug and kiss as Jim transfers her to your arms and leans in for a kiss of his own. "Mm… good morning."

"Glad to see you're still alive, Bees. You've been out for almost thirteen hours."

That catches you off-guard.

You knew you slept in, and you have been sleeping more lately—staying in bed until the very last minute in the mornings, dozing at work, and nodding off while nursing Cece or spending time with Jim—but never for thirteen straight hours. Naps? Yes. But sleeping for half a day? No.

You try to play it off like it's no big deal, like you totally meant to completely pass out like that, but Jim knows you too well.

"Are you feeling okay? You've been really tired lately."

This could be it. You could just take his hands in yours and tell him right this second because he knows that something is up, but instead, you make some weak attempt at a joke about Cecelia literally sucking the energy right out of you and then ask if one in the afternoon is too late to make blueberry pancakes.

xx

As Saturday drags on, your anxiety increases. At work this week, there have been enough distractions and responsibilities to keep your mind off of things, but when there is nothing but time, the pressure is on, and you can't stop thinking about how and when you are going to tell him. You obsess over the tone you are going to use and the way in which you are going to word things, and you still can't decide if you should tell him during a quiet everyday moment or try to be sentimental about it. It really should not be this difficult, and you are growing frustrated with yourself, which puts you a little on edge and only adds to your preoccupation.

So while Jim is taking a well-deserved late afternoon nap with Cecelia, you decide to call your mother. She may not be able to tell you what to do or how to do it, but you really could use someone to talk you into just going for it.

"Mom?"

"Pammy?" She asks, instantly concerned because your voice comes out in a strained childlike whimper as you try to keep it quiet in the kitchen. "What's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant," you manage after a long pause, breathing out heavily in relief for finally having told someone who can actually talk back.

"Again? Oh, honey, that's—"

"Jim doesn't know yet," you interrupt before either she gets too excited or you start to cry. "And I don't know how to tell him because we didn't plan it, and I don't know how this is going to work or what he's going to think or what we're going to do," you explain hurriedly in one breath. "Mom, what if he's mad?"

"Are we talking about your husband here? Because Jim doesn't get angry over anything, and I really can't see him being upset over a new baby."

"Yes, but I'm upset, though," you confess shamefully, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "I didn't… I wasn't expecting this, and it's so stupid that we let it happen again. I mean, god, we are in our thirties. It's embarrassing. We should know better, especially after Cece."

"But you wanted to give her a sibling at some point, didn't you?"

"Yeah," you sniffle. "Just not now. I wanted to plan for this, to have time with her and Jim, maybe go back to school to finish my degree… I don't know. I'm trying to be happy, but I'm just not ready for this, and I don't think Jim is either, so I don't know how to tell him. He could be upset or excited, and I'm not sure which one would be worse. If he's upset and I'm upset, then what will this do to our marriage? If he's excited, and I'm not, then how—"

She cuts you off before you can finish with your biggest concern, but you called your mother for a push, and now you're going to get it.

"Pam, we could talk hypotheticals all evening, but you won't know how he feels until you tell him," she says. You already knew this, but it helps to hear it from someone else. "Sweetheart, this is happening whether or not you think you are ready, and getting yourself all worked up isn't going to solve anything. Remember, Jim is a good man, and he loves you. Things could be worse."

And she's right. Though you don't think of him much anymore, the thought occurs to you that this could have happened with Roy, and that would have been nothing short of a disaster. His reaction to something like this probably would have involved significant anger or blame, and when you compare that to even Jim's worse-case-scenario reaction, you are once again reminded of how great your life really is. Jim is supportive and loving, and he makes your problems and worries his own. You both have been through a lot together over the past seven years or so, and despite everything, your relationship has survived and deepened. For years, he has been the one to comfort you and make you laugh, and there is no one else in the world that you would rather raise a family with.

So you finally resolve to tell him when you're getting ready to go to sleep tonight. No real planning and not a lot of thinking—whatever comes to mind, you're just going to take a deep breath, close your eyes, and say it.

xx

He climbs into bed behind you that night as usual after the two of you have finished getting Cecelia to sleep, kissing your shoulder and fitting himself against your back as the fingers of his left hand intertwine with yours.

"Love you," he murmurs.

"Love you more," you tease back, giving his hand a playful squeeze as you try to calm the nerves that are surging through you and making your heart beat like crazy.

"Normally, I would try to prove you wrong there, but our kid is exhausting," he laughs sleepily. "I mean, she's cute, but my god, I am so happy that she sleeps through the night now."

We're going to be back to sleepless nights soon enough, you think, before he asks the question that you were hoping he wouldn't:

"Hey, are you sure you're feeling okay? I bet you're even more tired than I am."

You wanted to start this conversation on your own terms, but now, there is no sense in lying—this is going to have to be your moment.

"Actually, um, I was hoping we could talk about that," you begin nervously as the overload of emotion begins to flood you, causing your throat to tighten, your body to tense, and your stomach to feel a little sicker. "It's actually, uh… I need… I need to tell you something, and I'm not sure how you're going to react."

"Are you crying?"

Yep. You are.

"Are you sick? Pam?" He tries to sit up to see your face, but you manage to get the nonverbal message across that he should stay where he is.

"No. No, I'm fine. I'm just being irrational. I'm great. Everything is going to be great," you insist unconvincingly as you begin to slide your joined hands down past your navel towards your lower stomach. "Just… don't freak out, okay? Please?"

He tries again to move so he can get a better look at you, but once again, you hold him back.

"Pam, if something is upsetting you this much, I can't promise I won't freak out at whoever or whatever it is. Something is obviously wrong, and—"

"Nothing is wrong. Just let me finish," you interrupt before taking a deep breath and untangling your fingers so that you can push your tank top up and lay his palm flat against your bare stomach. "There."

"What?"

You still can't outright say it, so pressing his palm into the leftover first-pregnancy weight that now may not ever disappear is as good as it's going to get.

"I'm trying to tell you," you explain softly, pressing your hand more firmly over his before letting up slightly to make a gentle circling motion that he often made while you were pregnant with Cecelia.

"I don't unders—Oh. Oh my god."

As soon as the realization hits him, he sits up, pulls you with him, and is so thoroughly elated that he can barely get a sentence out.

"Are you… y-you're pregnant? Are you serious? Pam? We're having another baby?" He sputters in amazement.

"Mm-hm," you nearly squeak as fresh tears rise.

He clasps your hands in his, trying to meet your eyes, but you just bury your face against his shoulder and cry out the relief and worry and guilt that you are feeling.

"Oh, Pam," he murmurs into your hair as his arms wrap around you. "Sweetie, this is amazing. Oh my god. Wow."

There isn't a hint of worry or distress in his voice—it's exactly the same as it was for Cecelia, and you wish you could just enjoy this moment. He rocks you back and forth a few times and then turns your face so that you finally make eye contact.

Right away, he knows that your tears aren't happy ones, and his smile fades.

"Wh-what's wrong? I-is there something else?"

You shake your head and hope that what is about to come out of your mouth is not going to upset him.

"I'm not ready, Jim," you confess in a sentence that turns into a hiccup. "I'm so happy that you're happy, but I wasn't planning on this happening again for a while. It wasn't supposed to be like this, and I'm just so overwhelmed. What about Cece? What about our marriage? What about money? What are we gonna do?"

You hate to ruin this moment for him, but everything feels so out of your control, and you just hope that he can understand.

"Hey, shhh…" he soothes, gathering you against him and rubbing your back. "We'll figure everything out. I love you. We've got this, okay? We've got this."

Normally, his reassurances are all it takes to put you at ease. When you failed art school, when your parents divorced, when your veil tore, when Dunder Mifflin was on the verge of collapse, and when you were afraid of giving birth, he understood your spoken and unspoken concerns and made you feel safe, but for some reason, this is different. There is a disconnect that you have never felt with him before, and even though he is holding you, kissing you, and telling you how excited he is, you don't feel any of it.

You just feel empty.

She is asleep before you have a chance to ask any of the questions that are swirling through your mind. You wonder how she is feeling, how far along she is, and how this could have possibly happened, but when her breathing gradually evens and she grows heavy in your arms, you know everything will have to wait until morning. She is clearly exhausted and has every right to be.

Because she's pregnant. Again. Pam. Your Pam. Your best friend. Your beautiful, funny, amazing wife is pregnant with your second child, and you are beside yourself with joy because you are going to be a dad again. Again. You have Pam and your sweet little girl, and now there will be a third person to love, and really, how the hell did you get to be this lucky? Your life is awesome.

You could hold her like this forever, stroking her hair and soaking up every little detail just like you did the first time this happened, but when she twitches against you, signaling her entry into a deep sleep, it seems like it is probably the time to let her rest in a more comfortable position. She is a little tense when you lay her down, slip off her glasses, and pull the sheet up to her chin, but in the coming days and weeks, you will fix that. Right now, she is scared, but you are so indescribably grateful to her for giving you this that you will do absolutely anything to make it easier on her, anything that will show her just how appreciative you are and how much you love her.

Admittedly, you're a little scared, too. You weren't expecting to have to budget for a family of four for at least another couple of years, and if there is one thing you've learned from Cecelia, it's that kids are expensive. You kind of wanted to save up or find a better job before adding a fourth person to your family, and you know that Pam has always wanted to finish her art education degree. But now that can't happen, and you hate that you can't give your wife and kids everything. Still, with Sabre's no-caps-on-commission policy, you are pretty confident that you and Pam will at least be able to cover all the basics for your growing family. It isn't an ideal situation, and it is daunting, but you have each other, and you will make it work.

And besides, you're just too thrilled over your new son or daughter to really be worrying about anything just yet. It's actually making you feel a little bit light headed, but it's still one of the best damn feelings you have ever experienced.

Pam. Pregnant. A baby. Again.

You get to live through everything again: first ultrasound, first sign of a baby bump, first kicks, and that very first cry. You get to see your wife all glowing and pregnant and blushing when she catches your eyes at work. You get to see her face when she finally gets to hold that tiny, perfect baby in her arms. You get to experience new firsts, too—moments that you wouldn't have dared to imagine four years ago: Pam introducing Cecelia to her newborn sibling, Cecelia as a big sister, all four of you laying in bed on a Saturday morning as a family, and watching your kids grow with Pam by your side.

It's going to be great.

xx

The next morning wakes you with sun peeking in through the blinds, your daughter cooing over the monitor, and your wife bolting out of bed for the bathroom for round one of second-pregnancy morning sickness.

Or at least you hope it's round one because if it isn't, that means she has been getting sick for days all by herself.

"I'm here," you murmur softly, pulling her hair back just in time for her to lean over the toilet and lose what little was left in her stomach from last night. The back of her neck is sweaty, and she's shaking, and you remember that you absolutely hate this part because there really isn't anything that you can do.

For the next several minutes, though, you do your best—supporting her body with your own, offering her sips of water, and rubbing comforting circles on her back—until she finally collapses limply against your chest. She looks like she wants to cry, and you are at a loss as to what to say, so you wipe off her mouth, kiss her damp forehead, and simply ask:

"You okay now?"

Your intention was to sound comforting, but as soon as the words come out, you mentally kick yourself.

Of course she isn't okay. Pam has spent the last fourteen months either growing or feeding someone, and now there is no clear end in sight. She is very obviously miserable, and you feel like an idiot because she is the one who has to throw up for weeks, gain almost a quarter of her weight, and deal with mood swings, fatigue, and swollen everything for a second time while you just sit back, romanticize everything, and ask stupid, insensitive questions like 'Are you okay?'

"No," she sniffles.

Her tone practically tears your heart in two, and suddenly, you are overcome with guilt for doing this to her again so soon. You are so looking forward to meeting your new little boy or girl, but it's killing you to see Pam like this. She only just finished being pregnant, and now she has to do it all over again. You can't even begin to imagine the physical and emotional stress that back-to-back pregnancies would cause. It's no wonder she was so upset. And why couldn't you have understood that last night instead of just grinning like crazy and telling her everything would be okay?

You feel like an ass.

"Sorry. That was a really stupid question," you laugh sheepishly, and she mumbles in dismal agreement.

You want to say something that will make her feel better—something profound, something that will make her smile, something that will convey the extent of your feelings for her and the depth of your gratitude towards her for marrying you and giving you your children—but the words just aren't coming. And even if they did, you have a feeling that they wouldn't do any good right now.

"I know you aren't okay. I mean, you just finished up nine months of this, and to have to do it all again so soon? Pam, you're allowed to be a little freaked out. It wasn't easy on you the first time, and I'm sorry that you're not really getting a break here." You pause and wrap your arms more tightly around her before whispering in her ear, "But you're giving us a family."

She probably doesn't want to hear anything positive about the situation when she is in this state, but you couldn't help but throw that last part in. You are going to have two awesome kids, and Cece is going to have a friend for the rest of her life. When you were growing up, you didn't have anyone your age: Pete and Tom were six and seven years older, and Larisa (the original Halpert surprise) was eight years younger. But now your children will have a chance at the relationship that you wish you had with your siblings. They'll be close in age. They'll play together. They'll be each other's first friends. And when you and Pam are gone (as weird as it is to think about that), they'll have each other.

"Jim, I wanna lay down," she pleads in a tone that makes you ache even more. She seems unfazed by your words, and you decide to start planning something better in your head to say later. "I'm just so tired."

You press a kiss into her soft hair, and she curls even further into you, firmly burying her face into your chest as if trying to hide from the sickness or the whole situation itself.

Oh, this is breaking your heart.

"Do you need me to help you up or do you want me to get a pillow so you can lay here for a while?"

"I don't know."

She is trying so hard not to cry that her voice is strained, and you wish so much that there was no such thing as morning sickness (or all-day sickness, as was the case sometimes with Cecelia).

"Want me to carry you back to bed?"

She nods helplessly, and now you kind of want to cry as her arms loosely wrap around your neck and you carefully lift her off the cool tile floor. Slowly, you navigate the way back to the bed, and then you lay her back on her pillow just as delicately as you would if you were putting your daughter to sleep.

She gives you a weak smile through misty eyes, and you kiss her flushed cheek.

God, you love her so much.

"I'll go take care of Cece and make you some toast," you tell her because as much as you would like to just lay next to her all morning, Cecelia has been awake and quietly entertaining herself for at least the last twenty minutes, and she probably will not be silent for much longer. "Just rest, and I'll be back, okay? I've got everything under control."

xx

Upon arriving in Cecelia's room, your find your green-eyed little girl fully engrossed in the very serious task of trying to put her right foot in her mouth. She has pulled off her sock, successfully exposing the world's cutest little toes, and with each bit of concentrated effort, she makes a tiny baby grunt. Over the last several weeks, she has become so adorably fascinated by her own hands and feet, and you and Pam just love to watch her. In fact, if it weren't for Pam waiting across the hall, you would probably stand here watching for a few minutes.

"Do those toes taste good, buddy?"

At the sound of your voice, Cecelia lets go of her foot and releases an eager squeal when she turns to see you approaching her crib. Her eyes and smile are so wide that it's as if she hasn't seen you in days rather than mere hours, and it just gets you. Every. Single. Time. She may not be able to talk yet, but, her reaction to your presence on mornings like these is enough to tell you, loud and clear, that she loves you. It's a sentiment that you have been expressing to her since long before she was even born, and to actually see her reflecting it back is incredible.

She is incredible.

And soon, you guys will have another one.

"Hi, sweet pea," you coo as you lift her into your arms and plant kisses all over her little face, causing her to giggle and then nuzzle the space between your neck and shoulder. "You slept good last night, huh? Almost eight whole hours. Nicely done, kid."

You pat her diaper and find that she definitely needs a change, but she is so perfect with her spiky bed head, soft sheep-patterned lavender sleeper, and drool-coated fingers and toes that you really don't mind—you love this little girl to pieces.

"You're going to be our big girl, Cees," you tell her as you lay her back on her changing table. She kicks her legs and looks up at you with her big bright eyes, and you tap her nose to make her laugh because you just can't get enough of that little giggle that so resembles her mother's. "I'm a pretty lucky guy, you know that?"

xx

"Hey, we've got food."

"Hm? Jim, I don't feel good."

You have returned to the master bedroom with Cecelia and a plate of toast, but Pam has already managed to fall into a half-sleep. Curled up on her side with her eyes closed, she looks so pale and fragile, and her voice has a sad, childlike quality that just makes you want to put your daughter down and hold your wife instead. Alternatively, you settle for sitting beside her on the edge of the bed and lightly rubbing her back.

"Oh, Pam, I know. I know you don't, babe," you assure her gently, leaning down to push her hair out of her face and behind her ear with the hand that isn't supporting Cecelia. "But can you sit up for me? Cece and I brought you some toast, and that might help you feel a little better."

She grumbles incoherently and rolls onto her other side, giving the distinct impression that she just wants you to leave her alone, but as you begin to consider just letting her sleep, Cecelia lets you both know that she has other plans and begins to fuss.

"Has she eaten yet?" Pam mumbles into her pillow.

"That was actually next on the agenda," you answer, bouncing the baby in your arms. "Shh… come on, Cee. We've gotta take care of Mommy first, and then we can go downstairs again and get you a bottle."

"I can do it."

"No, I'll go. It's fine. You don't need to be running up and down stairs when you're sick."

"She doesn't need a bottle to eat, Jim." Pam turns over again and reaches for her glasses before you even realize what she is talking about. "Besides, I've completely thrown off her routine lately. She deserves at least one normal morning."

She sits up and pulls your pillow over on top of her own, creating a comfortable support for her to feed the baby. You've seen her do this nearly every day since Cecelia was born, but now you are curious as to how (or if) this sort of thing can work, considering the new circumstances.

"So, uh, it's okay to still do that?"

You aren't exactly sure why it wouldn't be, but something about your wife breastfeeding one baby while pregnant with another just doesn't seem... safe?

"Sure," she replies casually. You transfer the cranky infant into her arms, and as soon as the baby is settled, Pam's demeanor changes completely. "Good morning, pretty girl!"

She has a genuine smile on her face now, and you have to admit that you are a little jealous of your daughter for being able to evoke this kind of a reaction even when she is fussy and moments away from a screaming baby-meltdown.

You're also still curious about the whole eating thing.

"It won't, like, hurt the new baby? Or keep it from growing or something?"

"I just need to eat right and stay hydrated," she answers, her attention all on Cecelia who is wiggling impatiently against her chest. "I know, Cece. You're hungry. I know."

She begins to unhook her nursing tank top, prompting you to ask one more question.

"And it's okay for you and Cece, too?"

You are afraid that she might get upset, incorrectly assuming that your questions mean that you aren't confident in her skills and instincts as a mother, but instead, she waits a couple seconds and smirks.

"Well, I called my doctor's office and talked to a nurse. She said that it's fine, but if you want, we could always call Clark to double check. I'm sure we could find his number." She bites her lower lip and nudges you playfully, careful not to disturb Cecelia who still hasn't quite calmed enough to eat. "Do you want me to call Clark, Jim? I bet he would be more than happy to help. Remember how helpful he was before? Do you remember that?"

Ever since you confessed to having been sufficiently weirded out by her lactation consultant in the hospital, she loves to tease you. Sure, it's all in good fun and even mildly humorous in hindsight, but you can still feel your face and ears turning pink whenever it comes up. You have already decided on your own that if the new baby has trouble nursing, you're going to make a secret request for a specialist who is a female because, hey, Pam is your wife, and you don't want to witness some random guy touching her or talking about flicking one of her nipples ever, ever, ever again.

Ever.

You raise your eyebrows and let out a breath. "I do remember, actually."

"Yeah?" She looks pretty proud of herself for getting you a little frazzled. Her eyes are shining like they haven't in days, and it's encouraging to see her in a much better mood than she was in last night and even just minutes ago this morning.

"Yep, and I don't think we'll be needing his assistance." You kiss her forehead. "I trust you."

"You sure about that?" You lean down to kiss her again, but she pulls away and hisses in pain. "Ouch!"

"What?"

She winces and slips her little finger into the corner of Cecelia's mouth to break the suction, which the baby does not appreciate.

"Cece," she answers. "It… it hurts. I'm just really sore lately."

She adjusts herself and switches Cecelia to the other breast, inhaling sharply through her nose when the baby latches. You obviously have no idea what it physically feels like to be her right now, but Pam isn't a complainer. If she says it hurts, it hurts, and yet, despite this and the fact that she has experienced varying degrees of soreness in that particular region for more than a year now, her primary concern is still your daughter's well-being.

"I'm sorry."

You move to put an arm around her, and her face crumbles.

"I just don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to do this for her," she admits, finally allowing tears to spill down her face for the first time all morning before quickly brushing them away. "I-I-I just wanted to be able to give her this one thing. I wanted her to get the best start I could give her, and now I'm letting her down."

"Whoa, hey. You could never let her down. You've given her a great start. I mean, don't most women—"

"I don't care about what most women do," she interrupts, now crying openly. "This is me, and she is ours, Jim. We've already taken something from her by being careless, and now she's going to have to suffer because of it."

"Wow, okay. That's excessive."

"N-no, it's not."

"She's not going to suffer."

"But she will," Pam insists, taking a shaky breath. "The new baby will need all of our attention, a-and Cece will just get pushed aside, and then she'll think that I don't love her anymore, a-an-and then… and then—"

"Oh, Pam, no. No, she won't. She won't think that."

She is such a warm and loving mother, and you can't fathom a situation where Cece would ever feel unloved by her.

"Jim, she's my baby. She still needs me. We were supposed to have more time with her."

She sputters and coughs, disrupting Cecelia who has been growing progressively more agitated as her mother grew more and more distraught. The baby then expresses her frustration with an angry screech that turns into a persistent red-faced cry.

"Oh. Oh, Cece. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, baby. Shh, shh, shh. I'm sorry. Mama just got a little upset, but we're all better now. It's okay."

You allow her to try and calm your daughter (and herself) for a few moments, but Cecelia just isn't having it.

"I can go warm up a bottle," you offer tentatively.

"No. No, it's fine. I've got her," she assures you. "Come on, sweetie."

She runs a hand over Cece's head, which only upsets the baby more, and a fresh wave of her own tears surface as a result. You really can't bear to see either of them like this, but you know that you can at least fix things for one of them.

"Pam, please? She's not—"

"No! Jim, I've got her, okay?" She snaps. "We're fine! Everything is fine! I can do this."

You shrink back and give her space, but a minute later, she tearfully passes you the hungry baby and wordlessly curls up under the covers.

You have never seen her look so defeated.

xx

It's just you and Cecelia for the rest of the morning. You went to check on Pam after dressing Cece for the day, only to find her asleep again. Pregnancy tires her out, but you also know that she probably exhausted herself even more by crying herself to sleep. And you're not really sure what to do about that at the moment.

Your daughter keeps you busy, though. It's just a normal day for her, and while she is sometimes content to play alone in her exersaucer, today she just wants you, toys, talking, tickling, and funny noises, which you are more than happy to provide. You really lucked out with her. Despite a few months of all-nighters and her recent pre-teething crankiness, she is surprisingly easy-to-please, and though your mom warns that easy babies become difficult teenagers, you aren't worried. Pam always jokes that Cece is perfect and will never do anything wrong, and looking at her sweet, innocent little baby face, you almost believe that against all reason.

Because, as far as you are concerned, she is perfect. And more than you could have ever asked for. You loved her from the absolute second that you processed the doctor's words last year, and it was love at first sight again when you saw her fuzzy grey silhouette via sonogram several weeks later. And all of that was before you even knew anything about her, before you knew what it felt like to hold her in your arms, see her smile, and be her dad. You knew that she would change your life and that every cliché would be true, but actually experiencing all of it still kind of blows your mind sometimes.

God help you when the other one gets here because your brain just might break.

"Are you falling asleep there, Cece?"

Playtime has flown by, and she is fighting to keep her eyes open while chewing on a teething ring and sitting on the living room floor supported by your hand against her back. She loses her balance when she yawns, and you quickly catch her before she face-plants into the carpet.

"Yep," you confirm. "It's naptime."

She rubs her eyes and lets out a little whimper of protest when you pick her up and move to stretch out on the sofa, but she soon settles against your chest, grabbing a fistful of your t-shirt and staring up at you.

"Go to sleep, sleepy girl," you laugh softly before kissing her forehead.

In no time, her eyelids flutter closed, her tiny mouth falls open, and she begins to snore lightly. She looks an awful lot like you most of the time, but when she drifts off like this, all you can see is Pam— adorable little snore included.

xx

Though there is a running list in your head of household tasks that you could tackle while Cecelia is napping, taking your own short rest is the more appealing option. It's not that you are particularly tired; it's just that you have wanted to curl up next to Pam again ever since she was sick earlier. You have this overpowering urge to keep an eye on her and an arm around her, and you just want her to know that you are so in this and ready to do anything or be anything she needs.

So you carefully climb the stairs, lay your completely passed-out daughter in her crib, and head to your bedroom where, to your surprise, Pam looks up when you reach the doorway.

"Oh, hey. You're awake," you observe, striding towards her. "How are you feeling? Still pretty sick?"

"No," she answers, smiling softly as you stretch out facing her on your side. She still sounds tired, but there is considerably less desperation in her voice. "Where's Cece?"

"Either napping in her crib, playing with matches, or out somewhere fighting crime," you answer simply.

It gets a good laugh, and you take pride in getting your first big grin out of her in what seems like forever. She has no idea how breathtakingly pretty she is when she smiles that way, and you can't help but pull her close and kiss her.

"I'm sorry for freaking out on you before," she apologizes when you break apart, getting teary again. "It's just that—"

"Shh… Hey, come on. It's okay. You have nothing to be sorry for. I'd be freaking out, too."

"It's just a lot, and I'm scared. I'm not ready for this. Jim, can you honestly say that you're ready for this?"

Honestly? You can't. You aren't. You will be, but right now, as eager as you are, there is a more rational part of you that knows that you are going to need every day of the next eight months or so to get your shit together because you are a real man now with a real family, a hell of a lot of responsibility, and not much of a plan.

"Not yet," you answer truthfully, giving her hand a squeeze. "But I will be. I swear. Whatever it takes, whatever you need or they need, I'll do it, okay?" She nods. "And you'll be ready, too," you add confidently, sensing that her concern lies less with you and more with herself. "Pam, you're such an awesome mom. I don't know if I tell you that enough, but you are. I'm so proud of you. You'll be able to handle this."

She doesn't respond. In fact, she doesn't say anything for a while, but she does cuddle into you and allow you to hold her tightly until you tell her that you love her and she finally speaks.

"I've, uh, got a doctor's appointment on Tuesday morning," she reveals hesitantly. "You know, to get an idea of when this all happened and to make sure everything is going the way it should."

"What time?"

"9:30, so I'm thinking we should just call in sick for the day."

"Sounds good. I like the way you think, Mrs. Halpert." She laughs, and you can feel the muscles in her shoulders relax. "So, uh, when do you think this happened?"

You can't help but ask; it's been on your mind since she first told you.

"Not sure," she answers after a pause. You can hear the blush in her voice, and it makes you briefly wish that Cece also took longer naps in addition to sleeping through the night. "But there have been a lot of opportunities."

"There have been."

She snuggles even closer and sighs. "We'll find out soon enough."

xx

"Here. I'll take her," you instruct him as you reach for Cece early Monday morning. "Go finish getting ready."

He is so tired, but he smiles appreciatively and kisses you.

Your dear sweet husband has been awake for most of the night tending to your inconsolable daughter, who is currently suffering through the most painful phase of teething. It started around 11:30 last night, and now at a quarter to eight, after a collective total of two hours of sleep, she is still carrying on.

"I know, sweetie. I know you hurt, and I'm sorry," you tell her as she whimpers and rubs at her sleepy eyes. She is past the point of screaming now and has resorted to this pained little whine that just makes you want to stay home and cuddle her all day until she feels better. "I wish I could make it go away."

You knew this was coming. It's an inevitable part of infancy. She has been uncharacteristically cranky and drool-y lately, but up until last night, it has been bearable for all three of you. Now, though, when you look in her mouth, you can see two swollen bumps on her lower gums, and you really can't blame her for being upset.

"But you get to stay home today. Grandma's gonna come take good care of you, and you get to stay in those comfy jammies all day," you assure her, sitting down on the couch where she sniffles and gazes up at you with a pleading look. Her nose is running, and she just looks so miserable as she presses her face against you, your pink cardigan becoming her tissue. "Oh, Cece, it's gonna be okay, baby."

You kiss her head and hug her close as you begin to sway from side to side with your eyes closed. The swaying isn't great for your nausea, but it seems to be having a calming effect on her—either that or the baby Tylenol that Jim gave her is finally kicking in. She gradually grows quiet, and you pause, opening your eyes again to see her desperately gumming on one of her fists to ease her discomfort. There is bound to be a cold teething ring in the refrigerator or a frozen washcloth in the freezer, but you're so tired that when she gets bored with her fist, you just offer her your own fingers and close your eyes again until your mother rings the doorbell some time later.

Cece fusses and your stomach lurches when you stand up.

"Shh… come on. You're okay."

It's a reassurance to her and to yourself. Morning sickness came on gradually with Cece, but with this one, you aren't so lucky. Last time, you didn't miss a single day of work, but right now, you think a sick day sounds pretty good.

"Hi," you greet your mother as you let her in the front door.

"Good morning." She leans in for a hug, and Cece, who just wants her space, screeches. "Someone doesn't sound too happy to see me," she remarks, bending her knees so that she is at Cece's eye level. "What's the matter, baby?"

"She's teething," you answer with an exhausted sigh—your husband may have insisted on doing the majority of the parenting last night, but with a cranky baby in the house and your own restlessness, sleep was hard to come by. "Jim's been up with her all night."

"Ugh. That boy is a saint. Do you know how many nights your father stayed up with you or Penny when either of you were teething? Zero," she informs you bitterly as she follows you to the living room where she sets down her purse and reaches out for her granddaughter. "Oh, you poor baby. Come to Grandma, sweetheart," she coos, taking Cece into her arms and sitting on the couch next to you. "Your mommy cut her first teeth early, too, you know that? She did. She cried and cried and cried, and your Grandpa Beesly just slept through all of it every single night."

You roll your eyes and groan inwardly. It's been a year and a half since your parents divorced, but some days, your mother seems just as bitter as ever and throws in every little dig that she can towards your father. Obviously, today is one of those days, and you just don't have the patience or energy to deal with her like this right now. You also don't want Cece to grow up feeling caught between her grandparents.

"Mom, please don't pull her into that. She's five months old."

Before you can discuss anything further, Jim calls from the bottom of the stairs:

"Hey, babe? Have you seen my Blackberry?"

He's always losing that thing.

"On the kitchen counter next to the toaster," you answer back, suddenly met with nausea so strong that you are afraid to move. Your stomach turns, and you hope to God that Jim doesn't decide to make himself a PopTart while he's in there because the smell of fake strawberries just might cause you to ruin the living room rug.

Thankfully, you soon hear his footsteps leaving the kitchen, and moments later, he walks into the room with his phone in one hand and a refrigerated teething ring in the other.

"Morning," he says to the three of you, looking so tired but so happy at the same time. He is so thrilled over the new baby that he really hasn't stopped smiling since you told him.

"I heard you were up all night taking care of Miss Crabby Apple here," your mother says, nodding towards Cece, who starts to squirm as her father approaches.

"Eh, she woke up a few times," Jim shrugs, pocketing his phone and offering Cece her teething ring, which she eagerly puts right in her mouth. "You be a good girl, okay, buddy?" He rubs Cece's back and attempts to gently smooth down that little section of her hair that sticks up on the back of her head (just like his does).

Your mother looks up to give you one of those you-really-picked-a-good-one smiles, but instead, she notices that you are starting to look like you feel and gives you a concerned look. "Pammy, are you alright? You look pale."

"I'm fine," you answer as convincingly as possible. "Just, you know, a little tired."

"You sure?" She asks. "If you want to stay home today, I can take care of you, too."

"Pam?" Now Jim is concerned.

"I'm good," you lie, hand pressed over your throat as if it's possible to physically hold stuff down that way, and with a deep breath, you very carefully stand up. "Let's just get going."

xx

You have grown to dread work.

Sales is so much more difficult than you thought it would be, and if you are honest with yourself, you are pretty terrible at it. Jim has been pulling in a lot of commission lately, and by comparison, you may as well not be contributing to your joint bank account at all. You just don't have the sales "gene" or whatever it is that makes Jim so good at what he does. It's difficult to be persuasive, and even though you've come out of your shell a lot over the last four years, you have a hard time persisting if your first answer from a client or potential client is 'no.' And then when you do try, you get flustered and nearly always end up feeling stupid by the end of the call.

It's demoralizing, but with a new baby on the way, you literally can't afford to fail at your job now.

"Doing okay there, Swiss Cheese?" Jim asks, looking up from his desk.

Your eyes stay focused on your computer screen, not even cracking a smile over his use of your ridiculous nickname. "Just fine."

Except that you're sick and feeling like a failure. You've also been worrying almost constantly for more than a week, and you can't stop. There is a list of people you need to call, but because you can't suck up the courage to just pick up the phone, you have spent the last hour and a half drafting a letter to your newest client.

"Do you want water or anything?"

You open your mouth to respond, but as soon as you do, Dwight is sitting back down at his desk with a just-microwaved bowl of who knows what, and it smells even worse than those hard-boiled eggs he would eat last year. On a normal day, it would be gag-inducing, and today, it's worse. Jim even makes a face before he realizes the effect it's having on you and then practically dives out of his seat, pulling the trash can out from underneath your desk just in time.

And then you feel humiliated because you have just made a scene—and this time, it wasn't meant to teach Dwight a lesson. Everyone is watching you at an extremely vulnerable moment, and you know they will all have something to say.

"Is she contagious?" Angela calls to Jim, who ignores her and tries to help you up so you can run to the bathroom.

But when you inhale again, you are met with that absolutely sickening smell, so you end up frantically shaking him off and leaning forward to give up the rest of the cinnamon raisin toast that you had for breakfast.

"Jim, is she contagious?" Angela repeats in disgust.

"No," he responds emphatically, which is initially the perfect response, but then he keeps going and doesn't know what to say. "She's just… it's—"

"Oh my god," Kelly exclaims from somewhere behind you. "Pam, are you pregnant? Because, I mean, you guys, like, just had a kid. Jim, is she pregnant?"

He meets your eyes looking like a deer in headlights, and when he doesn't immediately answer, all hell breaks loose. Or at least your own personal nosy-coworkers-at-work version of hell. It's suddenly a free-for-all, and everyone has a comment.

"Oh my god! She is! You guys, she totally is! I knew it!"

"Damnit, Jim! You can't keep doing this to help your sales!"

"Was this one a mistake, too?"

"Birth control, man."

"At least you're married this time."

"Stop," Jim interjects, but it's already too late.

You are mortified. It's like your pre-wedding dinner all over again, and before you know it, you are hunched over crying instead of being sick.

"What's going on out here?"

And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, Michael and a few others emerge from the kitchen.

"Pam's pregnant," Erin answers with her usual air of obliviousness.

"AGAIN? Oh my god, Jim. Do you ever leave poor Pammy alone?"

Mortified. Absolutely mortified. Maybe it's just the hormones making things seem worse, but you really don't know how you are ever going to be able to come in to work again after this.

"Spawning Tuna!"

"Nice."

"You are one potent bastard."

"You guys, stop," Jim raises his voice. "Stop."

"Why didn't you tell me first?"

"Michael, stop!" Jim practically shouts above all the commotion. You have never seen him get so defensive, but you aren't exactly in the mood to appreciate it. "Everyone, just back off, okay? Go."

They all grumble in compliance, but the damage is done, and the secret is out.

"Hey, shh…" Jim murmurs, kneeling next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He kisses your temple and lets his lips linger momentarily until your hiccups push him away.

Everyone is still watching.

"I need to get out of here," you rasp, wiping at your eyes with the same sleeve that Cece used just a few hours ago. "Jim, please. I wanna go home."

"O-okay," he nods shakily, digging into his pocket for the car keys. "Yeah, that's… we can do that. We'll go. We'll go right now. Come on."

He helps you up and grabs your bag and his, and then without turning back, you head straight to the door, ignoring the stares and Dwight's question of who is going to dispose of the bag in your desk trash can.

xx

It was the perfect storm of stress, sleep deprivation, morning sickness, disgusting food, and coworkers with absolutely no filter. And as Jim guides you both on your silent walk of shame through the parking lot, you can't help but think that you deserved it—that the epic disaster that occurred upstairs must be some sort of payback from the universe for not being over-the-moon excited about your pregnancy.

It just feels like punishment.

Jim seems pretty shaken up, too, and hasn't said a word or even really looked at you since agreeing to go home. You hate when he's upset, but it's almost a relief to see him without the perpetual grin he has been wearing since you told him about the baby. It's like he finally sees that this situation isn't all sunshine and roses.

He opens your door upon reaching the car, and very carefully, he helps you into the passenger seat and secures the seatbelt over your hips as if you are a small child.

"I love you," he murmurs, kissing your forehead. "Just rest, okay?"

Staring straight ahead, you bite your lip and nod. A couple stray tears spill over, and you close your eyes just before he leans in closer and slips an arm around your back. It's more than you can take, and suddenly, he's halfway in the car as you desperately grab onto his shirt, pull him towards you, and just break. It can't possibly be a comfortable position for him to be in physically, but he holds you close and just lets you cry and cry over everything until you exhaust yourself.

All the while, he doesn't say anything. He doesn't try to cheer you up with a joke, and he doesn't try to tell you that everything will be fine.

Somehow, though, it's the closest you've felt to him in days.

xx

"Oh, thank God."

Your mother sounds overly excited when you call to tell her about your sudden decision for a sick day. Cece is screaming in the background, and when Jim unlocks the front door fifteen minutes later, she is still carrying on.

It's quite apparent that Grandma-and-Cece day wasn't quite as enjoyable as usual, and judging by Cece's current demeanor, the nap that you started in the car and were hoping to continue at home isn't going to happen.

"I'm too old for this," your mother grumbles while Cece wails against the burp cloth on her shoulder in the kitchen. "I love her to death, but she's a little bit of a handful today."

"Has she been like this the whole time?" Jim asks.

You step forward to reach for your daughter even though, quite honestly, you don't want to deal with her like this right now. You are still pretty nauseous, and because of all the crying in the parking lot, your head is killing you.

"Since about forty-five minutes after you left," your mother answers. "She stopped just long enough to eat, but then—"

Cece interrupts with an absolutely ear-splitting shriek, tensing up and arching her back in protest when you remove her from her grandmother's arms.

"Whoa," Jim remarks, visibly cringing along with your mother at the sound just before it occurs to you that your daughter is probably freaking out because she has no idea who just grabbed her.

"Shh… Cece, hey, it's just me, baby."

Cecelia glances up with frantic desperation at the sound of your voice, and as soon as her eyes meet yours, she comically stops mid-scream and stares up with her mouth hanging open as she tries to catch her breath.

"See? It's just Mommy, Cecelia. You're okay."

It's very rare that she calms this quickly simply by being held, and you don't know whether to laugh or cry at the surprised expression on her face that tells just how happy and relieved she is to see you, just how safe she feels with you.

This is why you love being a mom.

"What's all the fuss about, huh?" You coo, cupping her head as you shift her so that she can lay her cheek on your shoulder. Her wispy hair is soft under your fingers, and the tiny curls at the base of her neck are damp as she cuddles into you and gives an exhausted sigh. Oh, your poor baby. She must be so miserable. "There we go. That's my girl."

"Looks like she just wanted her mama," your mother observes quietly, a hint of pride in her voice.

"Apparently," Jim laughs. "God, I tried everything all night, and all you have to do is hold her for five seconds to get her to relax. Clearly, she has a favorite."

He nudges you teasingly, and you blush, but you have to admit—you are pretty proud of yourself for being the one to calm your very distraught little girl. She had her daddy and grandma doing everything in their power to make her happy, but she wanted you.

xx

After your mother leaves, you and Jim eat a light lunch and then take Cece upstairs to your bedroom for a family nap. She's already pretty drowsy when you lay her next to Jim on the bed, and in the time it takes you to remove your contacts, she is asleep.

When you emerge from the bathroom, Jim is diligently wiping drool off Cece's chin and lower lip, a clean pair of your pajamas is laid out on the end of the bed, and the ceiling fan is on low. You still feel pretty awful, but his gesture makes you smile—he knows that you refuse to get under the covers in your regular clothes and that you have a tendency to get uncomfortably hot while pregnant.

"You know, I don't know why some guys only want sons. I'd love another little girl," Jim muses, so completely absorbed in watching Cece that he doesn't even look up as you unzip your skirt and then let it fall to the floor when his comment catches you off-guard. "I mean, I'd be perfectly happy with a boy, too. I'll take whatever you give me, but Cece has me a little biased this time around."

He looks up to see what you think and finds that you are standing motionless in your button-up shirt and underwear as you come to the realization that you have never really thought about this baby as having a particular gender. You've mostly thought of him or her as "it" or "the new baby" or "Cece's brother-or-sister," but never really as a specific someone.

"Babe? Are you gonna be sick again?"

He wants a girl. A second daughter.

"No," you insist, shaking yourself out of your thoughts and continuing to change clothes. "No, I'm fine."

He says the sweetest things sometimes, and you know that he truly means it. He would be so good with another daughter, so loving and protective, and he would dote on her just as much as he does with Cece. He is so invested in this already, in your little family of four, and in no time, the tears are back.

"Pam?"

"Ignore it. Just ignore it," you squeak, removing your glasses and wiping at your eyes. "Sorry. I'm just really… hormonal… or something."

He shrugs, and when you squint, you can see his reassuring smile. "Hey, you had a rough morning. You can cry all you want."

"I don't want to cry, though," you laugh sadly as you slide into bed on Cece's other side, and it feels so good when your head hits the pillow. "Are you gonna nap, too?"

"Yeah. I was just waiting up."

"Thanks," you sniffle, offering a small appreciative smile in the direction of his somewhat blurred form (while hoping that neither of your children has inherited your eyesight). "I love you."

"Love you, too."

…

You close your eyes, but after a few minutes, it becomes apparent that actually resting is going to be almost impossible when your mind keeps replaying everything from this morning in a random sequence of sound-bites and flashbacks. Now that things are finally settled down, your brain seems to think that it's time to process things, even though the rest of your body is in desperate need of sleep.

… Because, I mean, you guys like, just had a kid

… At least you're married this time.

Throwing up. Feeling hot, cold, sweaty, and gross. Everyone was watching you.

… Spawning Tuna!

… Nice.

So embarrassing. They already make enough jokes about your sex life.

… You are one potent bastard.

… AGAIN? Oh my god, Jim. Do you ever leave poor Pammy alone?

Meredith. Michael. Ugh.

You might as well get used to it because in the coming months, your husband is going to get a nice congratulatory pat on the back from all of male civilization for this one— as if this was all his doing and you just passively laid there as he got you pregnant for the second time in barely over a year.

Whatever.

… Birth control, man.

… Was this one a mistake, too?

Hold on... a mistake?

Ryan called Cece a mistake.

It didn't register at the time, but now that you aren't hunched over a trash can, you are furious.

Of all the stupid and insensitive things that he has ever said over the years, this crosses a line. How dare he call your precious little girl a mistake? And the new baby. He called the new baby a mistake, too, and you are somewhat surprised to find that you are really not okay with that either. Your kids may have been unplanned, but they are not mistakes. You can't imagine Cece not being here. You can't imagine not seeing her little face every morning, not kissing her cheeks after a long day at work, or not holding her as she falls asleep at night. You can't imagine not being her mom. She is meant to be here and to be yours, and even though you are still getting used to the idea of her sibling, you just can't think of him or her as a mistake either. In fact, as of this very moment, you've never felt more strongly for your youngest child.

"I'm gonna kill Ryan," you mumble, breaking the silence with your eyes still closed.

"Huh?"

"Ryan called our kids mistakes."

He exhales loudly in annoyance, and you can just imagine the way he is shaking his head.

"God, he's lucky you needed me right that second, because when I heard that come out of his mouth—"

"He had no right to say it. They're not mistakes. Our babies are not mistakes," you insist fervently, trying to keep your voice down for Cece. "I mean, Jim, we're married, we love each other, and so what if we're having another baby, right? It shouldn't be anyone's business but ours."

You have stable jobs and a home, and you are already good parents to Cecelia. You support each other, your relationship grows stronger every day, and no, your "potent bastard" of a husband doesn't leave you alone, but that goes both ways and beyond just sex (which, by the way, is fantastic). You have everything— so much that your coworkers don't and your parents apparently didn't—and you are so, so lucky to be where you are.

You sit up and reach for your glasses, and when his face comes into focus, he is looking up at you with a smile that turns into a half-smirk.

And that's when you know that all of this is going to be okay. And that he knows that you know that it's going to be okay.

You are going to have your moments, and having a one year-old and a newborn is probably going to be nothing short of a sleepless nightmare on some days, but you'll make it. You always do. The two of you might not be on the same page 100 percent of the time, but when it comes down to it, you get each other.

You look at Cece who is sleeping with her arms stretched over her head, you look at Jim who is going on practically no sleep but is still so visibly happy, and then you think of the new little person who will be here before you know it and kicking up a storm inside of you even sooner than that.

Nothing is a mistake.

It's funny how something that is so awful in the moment can completely change your perspective for the better. You certainly wouldn't have chosen being humiliated in front of your coworkers to be the turning point in coming to terms with your second surprise pregnancy, but… you'll take it.

xx

A/N: I wasn't sure that I would ever actually finish this, but after a suggestion from Deedldee I was finally able to come up with something. Seriously, I'm not sure if I ever would have gotten past the first chapter, much less finished it, without her :)

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Epilogue

Within twenty-four hours of the "outing" of your pregnancy at work, you and Jim are able to catch a glimpse of your little one via ultrasound. Initially, you are a little afraid that despite your change of heart, seeing this baby for the first time might not evoke the same feelings as did your first look at Cece, but all apprehension quickly dissipates when the form of your new son or daughter appears on screen. All it takes is one quick look at that tiny little person with the adorably stubby limbs and disproportionately large head for that familiar almost-breathless, practically-floating sensation to come back. It's that same exhilarating rush of pure love, amazement, and elation that you felt a year ago with Cece, and before you know it, you are simultaneously laughing and crying, finally feeling the way you have wanted to feel all along. You can't believe you were ever afraid of any of this, and God, isn't that baby just perfect?

You turn to see Jim's reaction and find that the expression on his face mirrors yours: tears in his eyes and a silly grin on his face. He is going to be a dad again, and it's clear just how much that means to him. You never want to forget how he looks in this moment, and when he shifts his attention to meet your eyes, there is such reverence in his gaze that your breath catches in your throat. You feel so loved, so special. He kisses your temple, and you just melt.

When he sits up straight again, you giggle, and that silly grin returns to both of your faces.

"So this is pretty awesome, huh?" He asks, nearly bouncing in his chair with excitement—almost like a little boy. And wouldn't it be so fun to have a little boy? He wants a girl, but he would be so cute with a baby boy… though, he is pretty darn cute with Cece.

You can't decide what you want—your head is spinning. You can't even come up with a verbal response to Jim's remark, so you just smile your biggest smile and nod eagerly in agreement. 'Pretty awesome' is an understatement, and all those negative feelings from days past are so far from your mind right now that it's as if you never felt them at all.

You turn back to the monitor when your doctor starts to take measurements and ask questions. She narrates what she is looking for and what you are looking at, and after a few minutes, she concludes that the baby looks good and is measuring somewhere around seven to eight weeks along.

Jim smirks after she says this, and you barely have time to think back that far before he mouths, "Jamaica."

Immediately, you blush because you know he's right. The two of you took a four-day vacation within that time frame, and when thunderstorms kept you off the beach for three of those days, you had to find something to occupy your time.

"Our little souvenir," he jokes on the way back out to the car.

xx

Charlotte Ann Halpert enters the world during the early morning hours of April 4th, about a week overdue and exactly thirteen months after her big sister. You cry when she is placed on your chest immediately after her birth and laugh when you and Jim both greet her with, "Hi, sweetie!" at the exact same time. She is beautiful—tiny, healthy, perfect, and just beautiful—and you are so, so happy to finally meet her. Jim hugs and kisses you and then kisses her, and when your mother brings Cece in later, you feel like your heart could just burst with the amount of love and pride you feel over seeing your daughters together for the first time. Neither of the girls has any idea what is going on or who the other is, but their first meeting is something that you and Jim will vividly and fondly remember forever.

Once you bring Charlotte home, though, it's no walk in the park. When one girl cries, the other often cries, too, be it out of some sense of sisterly empathy or to let you know that she also wants your attention, which is particularly problematic early on because everything that soothed Cece as a newborn, Charlotte seems to hate. Figuring out what makes her happy is a whole new game of noisy trial-and-error, and on top of that, Cece has a new habit of screaming in public places just for fun and is now at an age where she is in to everything. Charlotte also fusses when she is out of someone's arms for too long and needs to be held seemingly constantly, so you (and Jim) have your hands full, both literally and figuratively. There are even times that you are so exhausted from feeding, changing, lifting, carrying, comforting, and entertaining your daughters that you just want to (and occasionally do) cry, but then Cece toddles over with her arms out for a hug, Charlotte sighs and smiles in her sleep, or your husband says something to make you laugh, and you feel slightly sane again.

It's a lot of work. You and Jim are always tired and sometimes snap at each other over stupid things, but at the end of every day, when you are each holding a peacefully almost-sleeping little girl, you are reminded of how lucky you are, how great your life is. Despite everything you worried about, your marriage is solid, you love both of your babies infinitely and equally, and you are so grateful that things turned out the way they did.

xx

.

.

Three years later, life has settled down, and you are now the proud mother of two spirited preschoolers with adorable little giggles, wavy honey-blonde hair, and their daddy's eyes.

Cecelia is four, going on twenty-four. She loves to laugh and make jokes, but she is also very independent and deliberate in everything she does and gets upset when anyone doesn't take her seriously. She is wise beyond her four short years, and even though all parents talk about how bright their kids are, you and Jim just know that your Cecelia is something special. Her insight and intelligence continually surprise you, and nearly every morning, she seems to wake up with a new question about the world. You love her to pieces, and she is the best firstborn you could have asked for—a loving, thoughtful daughter and a kind, protective big sister.

Charlotte is three and the best second-born you could have asked for—funny, sweet, and willing to do anything her big sister does (even if it means she has to eat broccoli). Like Cece, she also surprises you with how smart she is, but it's usually in a more mischievous way; Charlotte may be your tiny look-alike and a girly-girl, but when it comes to getting into and out of trouble, she is a budding prankster and clearly her father's daughter. And (most of the time) you love that about her. You also love that she is a big-time cuddle-bug.

One of your absolute favorite things about your girls, though, is the fact that they are the best of friends. Early on, Cece developed a hesitant curiosity towards her baby sister, and gradually, that curiosity turned into affection. Soon after that, Charlotte was big enough to return hugs and kisses, and then it was only a matter of time before the two of them became inseparable. Like any pair of siblings, they have the occasional bouts of jealousy and do their fair share of fighting, but for the most part, they play together very nicely, love each other very much, and if one is hurt or sad, the other is right by her side. Jim calls them his two sweet peas in a pod, and it is quite fitting. That you once worried that Charlotte's birth would cause irreparable damage to Cece's emotional health now seems completely ridiculous. Seeing them bond and watching their relationship develop has been such a fun part of your experience as a parent, and you are so thankful that they have each other.

However, your two sweet peas in a pod have the tendency to be partners in crime, and right now is one of those occasions. You and Jim decided to quickly wash the car while the two of them napped, but when you come back inside to take a shower, there are two wide-awake little girls sitting on your bathroom counter in front of the mirror, surrounded by and covered in makeup.

You stop dead in your tracks in the doorway, not quite sure how you are going to handle this one. They have colored streaks on their clothes, different shades of eye shadow all around their eyes, dark pink cheeks, lipstick smeared thickly over and past their lips, and messily painted finger and toe nails of various hues. Cece's glasses are on the floor, along with a dulled black eyeliner pencil that Charlotte seems to have used to draw on her left arm, and there is powder everywhere.

"Oh, girls," you murmur quietly in disbelief, just as Jim walks up behind you and utters his own reaction.

"Whoa."

How could they possibly make this much of a mess in such a short period of time?

The two of them catch sight of you both in the mirror, and their eyes widen as they realize that they have been caught. Startled, Cece cracks your twisted-all-the-way-up lipstick out of its tube, and Charlotte kicks an open bottle of red nail polish onto the tile floor.

"Uh-oh!" Your youngest exclaims.

Yes, 'uh-oh' is about right, but when you take a deep breath and a step back (as you have learned to do over the years), the situation seems more funny than disastrous. They will get a talking to and have to help clean up the mess, but one day, when they are older, you are going to tell them about this and laugh.

xx

"Any luck?" You ask as he joins you in the laundry room where you are rinsing out Charlotte's t-shirt after several failed attempts of removing nail polish splatter.

"I got it all, but I think our bathroom is going to smell like nail polish remover until the end of time," he groans, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his forehead on your shoulder. "God, I think I'm going to pass out."

"Me too," you say, wringing out the water-soaked garment in your hands. "I tried to use it to get the stain out of Charlotte's shirt, but it didn't work."

He takes the shirt from your hands and hangs it over the edge of the sink before turning you around in his arms.

"Where are they now?" He asks into your hair.

"Watching a movie," you respond with your eyes closed, exhausted from the last few hours of washing the car, cleaning the bathroom, bathing the girls, and trying to remove an impossible stain. "I told them they weren't allowed off the couch until I got back."

He laughs. "Let's hope that worked. I don't think I can't take another mess right now, especially in a room with carpet."

"Ugh. I don't even want to think about that."

He hugs you and sways back and forth with you for a few seconds, taking a calm, quiet moment before you have to check on the two little tornadoes in the living room.

You sigh.

You are so lucky to have him.

He had a high blood pressure scare a few years back. It's under control now, but at the time, you made yourself sick with worry over what you would do if something were to happen to him. You love him (and your daughters) more than life, and even just the mere thought of living without him made you cry. That whole ordeal put a lot of things into perspective and made you appreciate him even more, and you try not to ever take him for granted because he makes you feel safe and beautiful and can still make you laugh until it hurts. He is also the most wonderful father to your girls and would do absolutely anything for the three of you.

Watching him as a dad has been another one of your favorite parts of parenthood. Unlike your own father who left most of the parenting to your mother, Jim has had an equal hand in everything over the years; from the early days of cleaning up after epic diaper blowouts and toddlers with the flu to more recent things like packing lunches and combing through tangled hair, he has been at your side. Yes, there are times when he has trouble telling his little girls 'no,' and sometimes it feels like you are always the bad guy when it comes to discipline, but he is still such a great dad. He kisses boo-boos, paints little fingernails, reads stories in funny voices, and is teaching them to be fans of his favorite sports teams. From personal experience, you know that not all fathers are like this with their daughters, so it makes it easier to forget your minor disagreements over parenting and just appreciate that he is giving Cece and Charlotte so much just by being who he is. They will never doubt his love for them.

And he loves you, too— both as his wife and as the mother of his children. You have been through a lot in just over five years of marriage, but the two of you are still a team, stronger than ever, and still crazy about each other. So crazy, in fact, that you have even been talking about adding one more to your family.

xx

As you approach the living room with Jim, you can see that both girls are right where you left them on opposite sides of the couch. Cecelia is lying down, asleep with her glasses still on, and Charlotte is sitting up still watching the movie while wiggling from side to side.

Her head pops up when she sees you. "Can I move now? I really gotta go potty."

"Yes, go right ahead," you say, and she immediately jumps off the couch. Oh, your little girl is so funny. "Thank you for doing what I asked."

She gives you both a big smile, and Jim ruffles her hair as she skips towards the downstairs bathroom.

"I hope you don't have any makeup in that bathroom," Jim teases.

You playfully stick your tongue out and pull him to sit with you on the couch next to Cece, who appears to be completely out like a light.

"She's not going to be able to sleep tonight," you remark quietly, as you carefully remove her glasses.

"Oh well. She can watch the Sixers game with me," he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and kissing your temple.

He always knows what to say.

You smile and try to gently push Cece's hair out of her face without waking her, but just as you are tucking it behind her ear, she stirs and blinks up at you.

"Mommy, can you sit by me?" She mumbles sleepily.

It's a simple request, but it still makes your heart flutter because she doesn't ask questions like that as often as she once did.

"Of course, sweetie," you reply, and she turns herself to lay her head in your lap as Jim watches over your shoulder, just like he did when she was first born.

She might be your oldest child, but she is still your baby, and in moments like these, you can sometimes catch little glimpses of the baby she once was. She still curls up the same way she did as an infant, still sleeps with her mouth slightly open, and still loves a gentle backrub. You can't hold her as easily, and allowing her to sleep in your arms for too long would cause your limbs to fall asleep, but just sitting with her like this as she uses your thigh as a pillow is nice, too. She could be twenty-five years old one day, and you would still let her do this if she asked.

The three of you sit quietly for a few minutes until Charlotte comes running back to announce that she successfully used the bathroom and washed her hands. You both commend her on the latter, and Jim lifts her onto his lap.

You aren't sure what you did to deserve this family of yours, but when you are all settled and still and together in moments like this, you feel so fulfilled, so at peace, and so, so grateful.

xx