Fear and Hope

We decided to have a baby.  After four years of marriage.  After he learned to love my kids.  After he watched me carry five babies for three other families.  After vowing that he would never want a child of his own.  After all that we have been through, he said he wanted his own.  What could I say?  I said, "of course."
We decided to wait for summer.  Because I want to have the most time off.  Because I needed time to prepare.  To get off the meds.  To know that I was well again.
And here we are.  We tried in June.  Fail.  We are trying again in July.  I don't think we have done it.
We will try again in August.
I have learned more about fertility, ovulation, cervical mucus, and basal body temperature than I thought I would ever need to know.
I grew eight babies.  Sometimes I feel selfish for wanting one more.  Sometimes I feel scared to carry one more (like, something will surely go wrong this time).  Sometimes I feel too old to do this all over again.  But sometimes, I feel this crazy bit of hope- excitement- joy at the thought of growing one last tiny human.  And the idea of giving birth and having that tiny little person laid on my chest, against my heart, and being able to hold her forever... my heart overfills with the possibility of one more little love.
And now I wait and pray there is a little egg that hasn't shriveled up yet.