Why is it that most of the time I can be completely ok with where we are in our family but not always? Why can I be ok with hearing about other people's pregnancies only to feel that quick stab of pain when I see a picture of a college friend holding her first child (much younger than mine) with a big pregnant belly?
And why have I spent a large part of yesterday and today wondering what the little girl I miscarried in November 2004 would look like and who she would be now?
And why do I still feel a bit disloyal to the lowercase for even admitting that I wish that my body had held on to my daughter longer than the 8 weeks it did? Why do I feel bad for him at the thought that there will one day be another? And why do I sometimes feel like maybe I should just stop the journey into surrogacy and go on as we are so that things don't change for him?