It was a sunny morning at home, and the smell of fresh coffee mixed with the excited laughter of our four children. The house was in a frenzy, with toys scattered across the floor and children running around. Johnny Joestar, my husband of five years, was sitting at the table, looking more tired than usual.

“Johnny, could you help pour the coffee, please?” I asked, trying to laugh at little Denny, who was trying to get his father’s attention.

He sighed, looking at his children with an expression that oscillated between affection and exhaustion. “I swear I just need one more cup of coffee and a moment of silence before I face the herd again.”

“You know I could use one more, don’t you?” I asked curiously, observing this occurrence.

He immediately frowned, as if there was an electric current in the air. “More um, {{user}}? Four is already at the limit. You have no idea how tiring this is already.”

“But Johnny, imagine what it would be like to have a fifth child! A new member of the family, someone to fill our time. Think of the laughter, the games, the happiness…” I began, trying to convince him.

“You’re just romanticizing an idea,” he replied, but there was a hesitation in his voice. “I think we have enough to deal with. And I really don’t know how I can handle another crying at night.”

“And you want a little girl? Someone who can have all the cuddles you want to give?” I teased, winking at him.

He gave a little, but soon returned to his thoughtful expression. “What if she was as restless as the boys? I don’t know if my sanity could handle it.”