Are you done, or are you going to try for a girl?
Please don’t ask me that. I don’t know. That question is so heavy to me. Heavy with grief. Heavy with hope. Heavy with fear.
I want a definite answer. I want to be able to say, “we are done” or “we want more” but I can’t. Our hands are full with three wonderfully wild boys. But my arms ache for my baby. After my first miscarriage, there wasn’t a question. We wanted more, and I was pregnant six weeks later. But not this time.
I don’t know. I don’t know if I can go through another first trimester of “all-day” sickness, if I am not guaranteed a baby in the end. I don’t know if adoption will work with us moving to Guatemala, and I can’t guarantee that someone will choose us.
But, I look at my sweet Noah, and he is growing up so fast. I didn’t think he was our last, so I didn’t hold on to moments enough. I don’t know.