Monthly torture.

I was flipping through some of these old blog posts and realized I haven't written a word about something that weighs heavily on my mind three weeks out of the month, every month.

B-A-B-Y.

When I see the kids and babies in our preschool center I feel like I start dropping eggs all over the place. I just want this. I'm ready. When will it be my turn? Will it ever be my turn? I have such dark thoughts surrounding this. I'm terrified my body is abnormal, malfunctional, and can't do what 99% of the rest of the female population can do. And then if I do get pregnant by the grace of God, what if I'm so happy I have a child I smother and spoil the poor kid, and he winds up being...well...an asshole? What if I get pregnant and never finish college? What if I have a kid and the financial stress puts Dean and I at each other's throats? What if I get pregnant and I never drop the baby weight?

But worst of all...what if I can't?

I can take a PT here in about a week...just like I've been doing for the past five months. A part of me has started to give up hope. Another part of me wonder's if fate is just hanging onto my phantom baby till I'm finished with school. But mostly, when I see only one line on that test every month, I get really, really sad. It hurts every time.

Anyways...all you moms out there...I don't even know what to say. You know what a blessing you have, a gift from God, and any other trite cliche you can think of to describe your precious little miracle. And guess what? I'm jealous. Yup. Color me green ladies. You win.