I feel myself caught between worlds.
On the one hand, Adam and I have been officially "trying" for 2½ years now. Two pregnancies have both ended in miscarriage. Grief, loss, pain, hope; it's all in there.
Conversely, I have a wonderful little girl who is turning four next month. I have experienced pregnancy, birth, nursing, teething, the terrible twos, and more.
Though we've not been successful in bringing another baby into the world, we've chosen not to pursue additional medical treatments which might increase the odds of a little sister or brother for our daughter.
Still, we have an only child, yet our plan was never to have just one.
This all hit home to me yesterday while I was spending quality time with my daughter in the bathroom (I was there on business, she was just visiting). She gave me a big hug and poked me in the tummy, asking, "Do you have a baby in your belly?"
I just wanted to cry.
Instead, I hugged her back, choked back my tears, and we had a delightful conversation about babies not coming out from their mamies' belly buttons.