I just started reading this newish anthology about having babies called Maybe, Baby, written by people who write for Salon.com.

I'm enjoying it so far. I've read one and a half essays, and not from the beginning, either. I've skipped past all the first sections of articles about indecision right to the heart of the matter: to the people who went ahead and did it. They were feeling maybe-ish, but then they took the leap to the state of babyhood.

I am jealous. I am jealous of them and I'm jealous of Erin, our transracial blogger, who is in the process of adopting her 10th(!) child, a little girl from Ethiopia. I am also jealous of friends of mine who've decided that their one, two, three children are enough for them. I am feeling dowright chartreuse with envy these days.

I am, like the title of my book of essays, very much in the "maybe, baby" state of mind. I am leaning towards another (even though we can't afford it, have too much going on already, are just getting a handle on Little J's issues, are finally getting good sleep at night) and my husband is leaning directly away (because we can't afford it, have too much going on already, are just getting a handle on Little J's issues, are finally getting good sleep at night).

Last night I had the pleasure of going out with my good girlfriends to celebrate a friend's birthday and I said this: I want another baby. But I have no good reason to get one except that I want one. Aren't we always trying to teach our children that just because you want something it's no reason to get something? Need should be the driving factor.

But maybe that's it for me. I need another. My family isn't complete.

Oh well. I'm young yet (as my friends reminded me). Things can happen. Babies fall out of the sky, or come on airplanes from far-away countries. I have a couple more years to strike it rich, convince my husband, find 10-15 more hours in a day.