I keep debating whether or not to skip our family vacation this year.

My sons will be 2 and 4 this summer. Last year we took them camping on the lake for the first time. It was perfection.

My 2-year-old is swimming now. I can’t wait to see him fish.

My 4-year-old is finally brave enough to jump into the water. Last year he wouldn’t even consider it, but this year? Watch him go. Every time I watch him at the Y, I think about how proud his grandparents will be seeing him jump off the dock this year. I imagine watching them watch him. I’m hoping my parents will come, too — two sets of grandparents for my kids to snuggle by the campfire.

When we’re there, my husband and I hold hands more often. I sit on his lap by the fire. We feel young, flirting in the water, splashing each other. I make him perfect s’mores and he threatens to throw frogs at me. We reminisce about skinny dipping as teenagers.

I’ve been looking forward to it since the day our vacation ended last year.

But.

But I’m already taking a few days off from work earlier in the summer so we can camp with friends. My company’s time off policies are not terribly restrictive.

But.

But I’m hoping to get pregnant this year.

So maternity leave looms. Bills loom. Finding a way to afford staying home for 12 weeks without pay looms. I can’t take less than that. I won’t take less than that. Twelve weeks is already wildly insufficient; less is simply not an option for me. Newborns need that time. Mothers need that time. And, to be frank, no employer really wants me back sooner than that. I’m a great employee, but one, two, even three months postpartum is no joke.

My company does what is required and bits more. FMLA, short-term disability, vacation that can roll into extended sick leave, flexible time off. It’s more than others.

It’s not enough.

Enough would be not feeling like I have to choose between camping with my family and affording to stay home with a baby. Enough would be paid maternity leave.

So, as I hope and plan for a pregnancy this year, every hour becomes a precious commodity. I lie awake at night running the numbers. Math problems dance in my head — 33 hours sick leave + 62.4 hours vacation… but I’m taking those days in July so subtract 24 hours… 

Every decision about taking time off is weighed against the specter of three months without pay. Take off two hours to take the kid to the doctor? Forget it, he’s probably fine. Take a day off and finally kick this cold? Not worth it. A long weekend to visit friends? Laughable.

I worked a half day while having a miscarriage. Gotta save up those hours.

And so I consider whether to forgo my vacation. To miss out on those memories. To send my kids off with my husband and his parents and what? Stay home alone? Reorganize the closets after work? Sort baby clothes? Feel lucky that at least I have time off to save? Screw that.

Probably I’ll go. Probably we will find a way to scrimp and save, and trust that it’s worth it. Trust that the time we spend together as a family relaxing, playing, decompressing, and making our way back to each other will fortify us. Will help us survive any havoc the added financial strain might add to our marriage.

We’ll hope we’re making the right choice.