Coincidentally, not two days before I hit the lowest point since becoming a mom of two, I decided I could probably swing a third.

I’d just driven 10 hours with both my kids, alone, to my mom’s house for a visit. “I can do this! I can totally see myself with another one,” I thought.

I was even picking out names. Henry if it’s a boy? Maybe. Margot for a girl? Names sure to get bumped from my list by the time any pregnancy pants rolled around. Still, I didn’t mention this fleeting impulse to have another baby to anyone – let alone my husband. Do I appear crazy? No, he didn’t need to know yet.

I was ignoring all the parts about pregnancy: Spandex-waisted pants, heartburn, sleepless nights, labor pains. It was like a “Baby Story” marathon running in my head. Little lambs and cutesy owls were probably visible on my forehead. Sickening now that I think about it.

See? Now I’m actually thinking about it, thanks to Tuesday night-slash-Wednesday morning.

Ugh. Yeah, you get it: I gave birth to the baby who survives on next to zero hours of sleep. Even I am bored talking about it.

But you guys: An ear infection or acid reflux or maybe just a general displeasure with life had Lucy screaming – and I don’t mean that as in “whimpering” or “softly crying”; I mean making a high-pitched noise not unlike rabid bats. OK, I don’t actually know what rabid bats would sound like, but I imagine it’s equally horrible.

I was weeping, doing the woe-is-me thing in my head: “All I wanted was a baby and I can’t even be happy with this one, just because she can’t sleep. Why can’t she sleep? What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I do anything to comfort her? Why won’t she stop? I am SO TIRED, I haven’t slept well for two straight nights in over six months.” Wha, wha, whaaa.

Highlights of motherhood, right? It gets better. Oh yes, I thought I’d throw in a little marital row, too.

Dave came in Lucy’s room to take her and I shrugged him off: “No, I got it. You can have her at 3 a.m.,” I said, angry that he hadn’t heard her cry from downstairs on the computer, and that I had heard from bed. “Just forget it, I’m up now.”

Typed out, that sounds a lot less worth fighting over. It’s fatigue. What can I say? Well. Dave would say I could say that third child’s looking a lot less likely.

At this second, I’d agree. Sadly, all it’d take is one good week of sleeping all night to convince me otherwise – the rest of this parenting thing is that amazing right now: the baby food, the sitting up, the walks in the Swift, watching Abby play with Lucy. It’s amazing … til nighttime, anyhow.