"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.