So lately, with the sheet number of new moms and moms-to-be that I know, babies are on the brain. I've lost track of who is pregnant, who just had a baby, and who will probably be pregnant with #2 before not too much longer. And I'm okay with that. Really, I am. But six months from now, maybe I won't be as okay with it. Maybe not even three months from now.
I worry it will or will not happen. I worry that people will think there is something wrong with me. I worry I will be letting the grandparents down, or that I'm a poseur or hiding. I worry I am getting too old, or I will be too old before long. And I worry that I really can't have one.
Holding little Blake, I could almost close my eyes and think that maybe one day, that will be my baby in my arms. So soft and small and so doted upon. Even if you're tired. Even if you are poor. Even if you just want to give up one day but know you can't.
I worry that pregnancy will even be passe, that all of the now moms will not care about infants at that stage. And I worry that I worry about being current and trendy.
You worry about children far before they are even here, don't you?
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