Maya was thirty-two when she found out she was pregnant for the third time.
Sofia was eleven, Isabella was nine, and they'd finally reached a stage where life felt manageable. The girls were in school full-time. Maya had been promoted at work. Ethan's business was thriving. They'd even started talking about taking a real vacation, just the two of them, for their anniversary.
And then, two pink lines.
"You've got to be kidding me," Maya said, staring at the test.
But unlike the first two times, this pregnancy felt different. They were older now, more established, more financially secure. They had a house with an extra bedroom. They knew what they were doing.
Still, the thought of starting over with a newborn after nine years was daunting.
The girls were thrilled when they told them. Sofia, ever the responsible older sister, immediately started planning how she'd help with the baby. Isabella wanted to know if she could teach the baby to climb trees.
"Let's get through the baby learning to walk first," Ethan laughed.
This pregnancy was harder on Maya's body. She was older now, and everything ached more. But it was also easier in some ways—she wasn't trying to finish school or working multiple jobs. She could rest when she needed to.
Their son, Lucas James, was born on a warm June evening. He came into the world screaming, with a full head of dark hair and his father's green eyes.
Sofia and Isabella met their baby brother at the hospital, both of them instantly smitten. Sofia held him carefully, tears in her eyes. "He's so perfect, Mom."
Isabella was more practical. "He's really small. When will he be big enough to play with?"
"Give him a few years," Ethan said, ruffling her hair.
Bringing a baby into a house with two older kids was a completely different experience. Sofia and Isabella would fight over who got to hold Lucas, who got to help with diaper changes, who got to pick out his outfit for the day. They'd sing to him when he cried, make him laugh with silly faces, rush home from school to see him.
"I think we created monsters," Maya said one day, watching Sofia and Isabella argue over whose turn it was to feed Lucas his bottle.
"The best kind of monsters," Ethan agreed.
Lucas was an easy baby, as if he knew his parents were older and more tired this time around. He slept well, ate well, and seemed content to be passed around between his adoring sisters.
Maya took a longer maternity leave this time, savoring the baby stage in a way she hadn't been able to with Sofia and Isabella. She knew this was their last baby, and she wanted to soak in every moment—the newborn smell, the tiny fingers and toes, the way he'd fall asleep on her chest.
Ethan was a more confident father now too. He'd change diapers one-handed while helping Isabella with homework. He'd wear Lucas in a carrier while making dinner. He'd gotten up for night feedings without complaint, telling Maya to rest.
"You've gotten good at this," Maya observed one evening, watching him expertly burp Lucas while simultaneously helping Sofia study for a math test.
"Third time's the charm," he grinned.