Humans are funny in that they can never appreciate what the
have — we always want more.
Case in point, I have a husband who finally took a job that
keep him home, a job I can’t help but love and a 20-month-old who has me
wrapped around his finger.
And yet I want more.
We have been trying to have another baby, but the ease we
were blessed with the first time around has not graced us again. In fact, it’s
getting pretty frustrating.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “You’ve only been trying
for a few months, these things take time, you’re still young, yada, yada,
yada.”
We’ve been trying for six months and the minutes that are
ticking down to my impending 36th birthday are like war drums. I
keep thinking that any minute, God will bless us again, but it looks like
that’s not the plan for the immediate.
The doctor says I need to be patient, but that, “given my
age,” we’ll take things to the next step if we’re not pregnant by the end of
the year. But every month feels like an eternity.
So now, I am hoping and praying I have a little luck left.
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