WE ALREADY HAD 3 BOYS AND GAVE UP ON OUR DREAM OF A DAUGHTER; THEN MY HUSBAND CALLED ME TO THE HOSPITAL HOLDING A NEWBORN GIRL — WHEN HE WHISPERED HIS CONFESSION, I BROKE DOWN IN THE HALLWAY.
My phone rang on a Tuesday afternoon. It was my husband, calling from a hospital.
“There’s a baby here,” Owen said. “I need you to come.” “Whose baby, Owen?”
“Please. Just come.” I drove over still in my cleaning shirt, hands smelling like bleach the whole way.
We already had three boys at home. Nine, seven, and four years old. After the third one, my doctor told us plainly that a fourth pregnancy would probably kill me.
