Four years ago I wanted a baby, in a bad way. Ryan was only 8 and she knew to pull me out of the baby section of Walmart by my arm when I started saying, "Ohhh, I want one." Now, 2 babies later, I have a whole new, yet similar, fever.
I want to be pregnant. Maybe it's knowing that I probably never will be again, but I feel really really sad when I see maternity clothes that I would have loved to have had before, or a pregnant woman absent-mindedly rubbing her belly, or even just remember some little detail from pregnancy. Like my discovery of deep fried pickles when I was pregnant with Tommy, or Applebees hot wings when I was pregnant with Danny. I miss feeling kicks, and resting my hands on the top of my belly, and I miss being okay with my figure. I know it's odd, but I only really like how I look when I'm in my last trimester. It's the only time when I feel like I have an excuse not to have a flat belly, when I look the way I want to look at that point. I love tight maternity clothes. Not skimpy ones, just tight ones. And it's the only time I'll wear a bikini. And now I face a life of not being happy with my figure. Even if I managed to lose enough weight and tighten up my abs, I have a very soft and squishy crepe-paper belly that doesn't look right unless it's filled out with an extra person. This isn't why I want to be pregnant, but it is a contributing factor. I'm not even sure I want another baby, at least not that I want one as bad as I just want to make one. If it weren't for my traitorous pancreas, I'd be a surrogate.