I am a fortunate person. I have a gorgeous daughter and a wonderful husband. Our journey to having our first daughter has been written about here. It wasn’t easy, but the little turd has been worth it. She is a handful. Most days, she is enough.
On Christmas, however, it felt like someone was missing.
I want another child. I want to feel the life growing inside me. I want to be that happy pregnant person. I want my daughter to experience the chance of being an older sister.
I feel like I don’t fit anywhere: I have a child, so I’m not completely infertile, but I’m not one bed-wrestling session away from having another child. It’s complete chance and circumstance if I end up pregnant.
I know this isn’t very coherent, and I thank you if you have continued to read beyond the first sentence. I just needed to vent.
My husband is completely content with our life. And I am, too, for the most part. Lil’ Monster is a spitfire, always into EVERYTHING. She would not take too kindly to someone else being in her mommy’s lap/arms/snuggle area.
I don’t know. C’est la vie, I suppose.
Good night, The Band.