A week ago I was sure of one thing.
I was sure I didn’t know if I wanted another child right away.
Now I’m sure that I do want another child, and I want it to happen now. And I am sad that it isn’t.
In my rational mind I know that I will get pregnant eventually. Odds are it will be sooner rather than later, but in my heart I don’t believe it.
During my entire pregnancy I was convinced that something would go wrong and that I wouldn’t be bringing home a baby. These thoughts were totally unfounded. I had an uneventful pregnancy. I am a young woman in great health. I ate well. The whole thing was textbook. Yet I was sure something would go wrong. That feeling didn’t go away until I heard C cry for the first time.
That’s how I feel now.
With luck this feeling will abate when my period comes to an end and my hormones stop raging. While I wait for my body to cooperate and my pregnancy dreams to be fulfilled I’m going to focus on something different.
Next month I am joining the thousands of hopefuls participating in the National Novel Writing Month. I don’t know what will come of it. Maybe I’ll give birth to a literary baby, or maybe I won’t make it past the first 1000 words. Either way it doesn’t matter, at least I’ll be working on something I can control.