Pregnant folks, that is.
Yeah, I'm observant, huh?
I thought I was past the part where it gave me pause.
But, apparently not.
I'm imperfect and flawed that way.
My brain has NO interest in being pregnant again, and I'm pretty sure my ovaries and ute of doom and destruction would agree.
My heart . . . that's a different story.
There are several preggos at school.
More are trying, and talking about it, and will be there soon.
It leaves me wishing, wanting and hoping.
Andrew's birthmom is remarried, and expecting in November.
That hurts. On so many levels.
My perfect little Andrew fills my heart completely, and will always be more than enough.
He's so wonderful that I want another one just like him.
Or different would be good too.
A little brother, or a little sister, to make our lives complete.
I feel selfish and greedy for wanting more, when others are still hoping, wishing, and praying for one.
Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. But I'll still be hoping, wishing, and praying for one more. Somehow. Someway.