Dangerous

As promised, here is a quick glimpse of how I start my day. Isn't it romantic?

The rest of the day, I don't think so much about the process surprisingly. If I did, I might want to quit--I know what high estrogen does to me, I know how badly the progesterone shots hurt and literally cripple me, I know how long the two weeks until the pregnancy test feels, etc.

I think more about how the process' success will change us, our rhythm and routine. I guess that's the optimistic side of me, seeing as the papers we signed last week stated very clearly there are no guarantees. We both are guilty of hope--both kinds of hope I know of. One kind of hope: I hope for sunshine tomorrow. (In other words, "I want . . ."). Another kind of hope: I hope for heaven, a hope that will not disappoint.

If I'm totally honest, we say with our lips, "There are no guarantees." But, I don't think we truly believe that. At all. Our hope is of the not-disappointing strand. The dangerous strand.

All throughout my day, as I go through normal routines, I think about what the presence of another baby will mean for the routine: going to the gym, hitting the grocery store, loading up car seats, cooking, relaxing, etc. It will all take on a different form. We talk about how the house will be rearranged, what baby equipment we need to replace, etc. It's dangerous, I know.