Eleven weeks until the due date.
Eleven weeks until we are parents again.
Or until we experience the kind of heartbreak that I don't like to think about but can't help but think about constantly.
I play the scenario over and over in my mind...hearing the words, blinking back tears, waiting until I am alone to crumple into a mess of sobbing and unutterable prayers. And yet, what would I be crying about? This baby is not mine.
If that happens to me, promise me one thing. Promise me you won't say, "I was afraid this would happen." Because I am afraid of it too.
With Jocelyn's adoption we had seventeen days of this. This time around, I have TWENTY-ONE WEEKS of this. If I am gray by June 19, you'll know why.
I don't want you to think I live my life in fear every day (well, only a little bit). I have hope. If I didn't have hope, I could never do this.
I wouldn't be stripping wallpaper.
I wouldn't be buying adorable baby clothes that melt my heart.
I worry what this concoction of fear and hope is doing to my heart. I worry that it will cause me the biggest heartache of my life, or prevent me from enjoying one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I can't say. I take it day by day. I have hope and I'm happy.