I loved being pregnant. I can't remember one bad day, save for a Tuesday at the beginning when I felt car sick even though I was sitting still as a stone on my bed, and then that last day when I went into labor hell. But for the time in between I felt more beautiful then I have ever felt, even though my thighs were large and bumpy, and I had energy, and joy, I have not felt since.
My sister mentioned "contentment" in my voice when I write about being at home. I am not so sure if it's contentment or just a change of perspective.
I want to have another baby and getting pregnant again has not happened as quickly as we thought it would. Ethan was a "surprise" so we thought we would have no problem getting pregnant again. Now yesterday my mom mentions scar tissue from Ethan's labor, and my heart sinks. This is what I am thinking about when I am playing with Ethan all day, this could be it.
Joey talked to me about getting on some sort of a schedule. In fact, right when I quit my job, I was all for it, I mean, how was I going to survive being at home without a bazillion things to get done and go to each day? But things are different now; being at home has it's own rhythm, and it's appointments are much more flexible then the world outside. Hours are longer, and I have time to read, write, clean, cook, and nap almost everyday. And Ethan is right there, playing or singing or pretending to read on his little pot. The thought that this "schedule" does not have an end point is a luxury beyond words. I still have not really grasped it.
But all this time to play with Ethan and take care of my home makes me want to fill it with children. And it's just not happening. We haven't been trying to too too long, but when you think you're miss fertile myrtle and turns out you aren't, the months seem like years. Another pregnancy test--which by the way I am not buying any more. Shoot, I've spent well over a hundred dollars on those stupid things and they just make me depressed--another thirty days. Seems like all you do is wait, with a heavy heart that sinks lower and lower into your chest as each month goes by.