So my husband and I have been discussing expanding our little family. It actually makes my heart race a little to write this. As if putting the words out there might jinx something. We are not officially "trying" yet but we aren't officially trying not to. The pressure is on.
My track record with pregnancy so far is not exactly stellar. Not terrible, but not stellar. I had one pregnancy that made it to 6 weeks and one that made it to just under 33 weeks. I would prefer one that makes it to at least 35. After 35 weeks they are just freeloading right? Just kidding.
I try to make light of pregnancy and all that it entails but honestly deep down, I am scared to death. Scared of the pregnancy. Scared of miscarriage. Scared of preterm labor. Scared of labor, period. Each step of the way is fraught with peril.
But I do desperately want to have another baby. In all honesty I would like to have more than one more. I am so jealous of those women who can teach aerobics classes up to the end of their pregnancy and have a relatively easy natural delivery. Yes, I do have a friend like this.
I am not complaining by any means. I know I am extremely lucky that I can get pregnant and that I have a healthy baby. But it would be so nice to have a pregnancy free of worries beyond names, crib decorations, and back pain. Worries that keep me up at night sitting on the floor next to Bear's bed watching him sleep. Stroking his fluffy blond hair through the crib slats. Thanking God for every breath he takes. Praying that I will get to do this all again, and maybe again.