We’ve recently had our anatomy scan for #2, and apparently there’s this thing people do after anatomy scans that often involves a filled cupcake as the centerpiece of a big reveal. So, here we go, with much fanfare and drumroll and yada yada yada.

Dun da da dunnnnnnnnnn:

That’s right, that’s a filled cupcake with all the filling on the inside where it’s supposed to be.

That’s what this cupcake thing is about, right? No? Hmmm….

Due to our history, we also had genetic screening at 12 weeks and an ultrasound at 14 weeks to check on abdominal development, all of which looked great, so we went into the 20-week scan feeling pretty good and hoping the keep the streak going.

Of course, we couldn’t make things too easy on ourselves, so our results did come with an “Everything looks great! Except –,” at which point I think I died about 12 times in the span of half a second.

The “except” is that while most umbilical cords have two arteries and one vein, #2’s cord has only one artery and one vein. This is relatively common and happens in about 1% of pregnancies (so naturally it would occur in mine), and it occasionally correlates with some scarier chromosomal or cardiac or renal abnormalities — but thanks to the genetic testing we opted for, we’ve got a green light in the chromosome department, and all other organs checked out at the anatomy scan, so odds are high that this is one of those random things that just happen sometimes, and is unlikely to affect anything else.

It’s like my body is saying, “Heyyyyy, I know last time I effed up and made the umbilical opening too big — that’s my bad. I’mma go ahead and make this one a little extra small to make up for it, m’kay? That makes us even?”

No, body, not exactly. But keep the rest of your shit together this time and I might let it slide.

There is a chance that this two-vessel cord could impair growth as the pregnancy progresses, so we’ll be doing monthly ultrasounds from here on out to check #2’s growth and development. If all goes well, we’ll proceed as usual with the added bonus of a few extra chances to wave hello to our little. If anything worrisome appears on those scans, we may end up inducing a little early – but at the very least we should have a little more than two hours warning this time around!

I’m not going to pretend that I took this completely in stride – I’ve already spent plenty of time imagining all the sinister things that could be lurking beneath this seemingly-simple semi-complication, particularly given the fact that we received a completely clean report after L’s anatomy scan and look where that got us.

But I’ve also had the opportunity recently to spend a lot of time at work thinking and talking about the importance of being in the present; and I think this may be a reminder to me to embrace the present and save my worry for a time when it’s useful. Nothing is ever guaranteed; we were given some breathing room after that early round of testing, but here is a gentle reminder that we will never be completely in the clear because that’s not how life works – I imagine we know that better than most. But things are looking incredibly good for us right now; we know we can handle far more than we used to think we could, if things should take a turn for the worse; and it serves us best to focus on the fact that right now, I am pregnant and my baby is healthy, and to take each month as it comes.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, the filling is brown. Delicious, glorious fudge. But #2 is a girl.

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I’ve heard a lot of special needs parents say, “I’d do it all again.”

I had a hard time believing them in some of our early months. I knew with every fiber of my being that I would go to the ends of the earth for my son, and I have never once questioned whether L is worth everything we’ve gone through for him, but if I had a choice — would I choose to do it again?

That question certainly complicates the fact that I’ve never imagined myself as the mother of an only child. For the longest time, we had our hands so full keeping our first child alive that we couldn’t even contemplate the added responsibility of a second child. As things gradually grew easier, as we learned to better navigate this medical life, a brother or sister for L began to seem more attainable – but that choice was clouded with what-ifs. In theory, we have no increased risk with a second pregnancy because gastroschisis is spontaneous and randomly occurring; but our eyes have been opened to medical realities we had never imagined before L was born, both our own and those of others, and some far more intense and all-consuming than what our family has experienced. And we know better than to expect we will never have any more bumps in the road with L.

And so, contemplating number two, we found ourselves faced with the real-life version of what has been only a hypothetical before. We knew exactly how difficult it could be if an unexpected complication arose, and we perfectly understood the potential threat to the current balance in our lives — and this time we weighed all those overwhelming negatives with the very real possibility of opting out before we ever got started.

It was never a matter of whether or not we could handle it; we have learned all too sharply over the years that you handle what you are given, because what other choice do you have? No, the real question was: Did we want to?

After much soul-searching, lengthy debate, and repeated decisions to delay just a little longer, and a little longer, and a little longer still, we ultimately decided that we did not want to let our decisions be guided by fear.

Number Two is due Nov. 3.