I'm not pregnant. All you long-distant relatives and friends who frequent my blog - get that thought out of your head. But I think you all know that we are accepting whatever comes our way. We weren't expecting the twins and although they died I can't imagine our lives without them, for that short bit of time. I think things are meant to be, so we are just accepting whatever happens.
But this is the first month that I have a chance of being pregnant. (I will spare you the details, just trust me on this one.) And quite frankly it scares me. The thought of being pregnant has not been happy. I keep thinking about 9 months from now. Nine months from now I could be rid of the crib, we could be rid of bottles, we could have all three kids in school and I could even get a job. In about a year we could travel without a highchair, playpen and sippy cup, we may even be done with diapers. The amount of things we could start doing greatly expands; trips to National Parks, hikes, sand combing, sitting and listening for more than 5 minutes at a time.
But then I think about never holding a newborn again, never being pregnant, and never nursing again. I think about those tiny little diapers that smell like baby-powder and my heart melts. I don't know if I want another baby, but I certainly need another baby. And I can guarantee you that once our little bundle arrives he/she will change our lives forever and for the better - no longer how many more years we are in diapers.