I was really good at being pregnant. I adored that belly and I loved my babies.
And I loved my plan.
And my plan was working. Three. Done by thirty. Concise. Succinct. Beautiful. But what if my plan wasn't the "divine plan" and heaven thought I should add to my horde?
I have spent the last three weeks in a cloudy fear that I have become a statistic -- one of the 1% -- betrayed by bodies we thought were controlled by modern medicine.
(Please don't let me be pregnant...please don't let me be pregnant...oh, dear God, please don't let me be pregnant...)
Well if God thinks you should have more... then why are you opposed to God?
Here's what it boils down to:
But I love my three and I don't want to love more than that.
