I have a super happy, healthy, adorable 2 year old. He has taught me love that I had always heard described but I didn't understand until he came along. Every day is filled with laughter, hugs, cries (I mean, he IS two), and love. We have such a great little family. But then every month right around my woman time, I secretly mourn for the baby that I don't have yet. I'm pretty sure the hubs would decide that I'm crazy if I ever told him this so I keep it to myself. Each month a day or two before my cycle is due I start fantasizing about how great it would be to finally fall pregnant again. I stop eating sushi and taking medicine, I prepare myself for the big fat positive pregnancy test. I over analyze every twinge in my stomach thinking it's morning sickness. Then I feel sadness, utter sadness because it's another month where I'm not pregnant. As I stare down my 36th birthday I'm starting to wonder if I'll get to see another positive pregnancy test of my own. My whole life the idea of having multiple children was a given, of COURSE I'll have at least 3. I had never really thought what life would be with one.