As much as it bothered me when Mr. W and I weren't on the same page, it's killing me now that we are.
Even leading up to the birth of the lowercase, I was always the one responsible for doing all of the research involved. Or rather, he wasn't going to do any research, so if I wanted information, I had to be the one to go after it. What can I say, that arrangement generally works for us. I'm the type who needs to be doing something, so looking for useful information (anecdotal or scientific) is right up my alley. And since Mr. W is the type who won't make a decision without being briefed on all the pertinent information (such a manager, that one!), we make a good team.
But now...well...now it's actually kind of painful for me. I didn't think it would be like this. Granted it's nothing compared to the pain of 2004 and early 2005. Still, I didn't expect this since we have the lowercase.
I guess what makes it worse is that I do feel like by wanting another child, I'm saying that the lowercase isn't enough. That he is in some way lacking. That couldn't be further from the truth of how I feel about him, yet somehow it does feel ungrateful to want more.
I dunno. Maybe the reason I'm so down today is that I took an Acadia out for a test drive and Mr. W and I were looking at it in terms of fitting in more car seats and strollers should we need them some time in the next five years. Maybe it's because a fellow preemie mom said to me that she would gladly carry for us if her first baby hadn't come early for reasons nobody can quite figure out. Maybe it's because later in the afternoon, my epileptic friend said that if her in utero exposure to her medication wasn't the likely culprit of her son's autism that she would carry for us. And maybe it's because all of it today just makes me so damned mad at my body. My body that just can't do this one thing that is all I've ever really wanted -- to be a mom with a large family. A house overflowing with children and love.