We are drowning in a sea of boxes and unable to find our silverware. Because I am busy sifting through approximately 500 pounds of shipping paper, I thought I’d share a post I wrote a couple of weeks ago but waffled back and forth whether to publish it or not. So here goes nothing…
Now that little guy is fast approaching his third birthday, the ever-popular question of when we’re going to have another child is popping up more and more. The most prevalent form of this question is framed around when the little guy is going to have a little brother or little sister. Those who know us personally are familiar with our story. But those who we casually encounter in the store, at the library, or formally meet for the first time do not know that we saw Weston’s little brother or sister on the ultrasound machine earlier this summer. And when the heart of the little boy or girl had stopped beating, we learned that our would-be-four family would remain a trio. At least for awhile longer.
Pregnant with Weston – September 2009
The innocent questions do not bother me because I do not expect strangers to know our history. But I’d be lying if I said that the wound the words slice through isn’t still raw. Of my three pregnancies, only the second resulted in a child. And he happens to be the most amazing son who has shown us time and again that we’re meant to be his parents. What I don’t really care for is the implication that we’re somehow doing our son a disservice by not producing a sibling for him in a timely manner. I usually have to remind myself that most who make such (seemingly innocent) comments are unaware of the impact of their vocal observations. It still stings though. It still very much stings.