Me and the girls, we finally took a vacation. We went to Sicily.
We took a plane to a ferry to a small island called Salina, where we set up our tent on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. Salina is basically a mountain in the middle of the ocean with thin strips of beach around the edges. We hadn't camped out in years, and when we saw how dusty and dirty we were going to get in the next two weeks, Anette freaked out. Anette being who she is, "freaking out" meant that she didn't say anything strong or upbeat for an hour or so, and then she got over it.
We went to a little cafe down the road, had a pizza and cold Peroni beer, and played Uno.
I woke up the next day feeling awful--hung over, nauseous and tilted to the left. I'm sure it was delayed sea sickness, making me wobbly twelve hours after the ferry ride we'd taken the day before. And Adinah bounced out of the tent at six-thirty, ready to play! I made it for half an hour or so, until Anette woke up and took over, then I passed out.
A few hours later, I woke up once more. Anette and Adinah dragged me to a (better) cafe they had discovered, and fed me a croissant and an espresso or two. The world started to look a little better.
Within a few hours, life seemed pretty goddamn great. I was in a very beautiful place with my best girls, but the things we had left behind seemed fine too, and I didn't at all dread the idea of returning to old Vienna and my job and our place.
I realized I am a man with a lot of good things in my life, and I thought to myself it might be possible for us to have it all: a wonderful family, work and enough money to get by, and an occasional week in the sun.
That's when I thought...Okay. Yes. Let's have another kid.