But not a one in my belly.
It seems like everyone I know is pregnant.
There is a group of girls I know from various parts of my life and we all had babies within six months of each other. I call them my "graduating class", and I swear every last stinking one of them is knocked up. It's like a code: as soon as your baby turns two it's time to have another one!
Y'all I want another baby. Like really want one. Right now. Everyone is pregnant; everyone is popping them out, and while I am mostly happy for them, I feel a little bit sad and a little bit jealous that it's not me, that it's not my time yet. We have a plan (you know as much as one can plan these things), and while I won't go into the detail or the reasons, it's a good plan. It's a solid plan backed by sound logic.
I know the time will come, and I'll be cursing the pregnancy gods for the horendous morning sickness, wondering what the hell I was thinking when I said, "Let's have a baby!" and struggling to keep my eyes open at seven o clock at night. Until then all I can think about is the way Evie smelled when she was fresh from the oven, and how she was tiny and beautiful and God I want a sleeping baby on my chest.
It's hard this patience thing. It feels like being in a big white waiting room, feeling so anxious and excited for what is on the other side of the door even though you know it will rock your world down to the marrow of your bones, even though you know that it will be scary because you might have to fight the big fight again. Still you're hopping on the balls of your feet and watching the second hand on the clock because while it might be scary and the great unknown it's also all kinds of wonderful.