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