5 years in, 5 years out. Halfway through, standing at the center line.
The little pink line tells me that soon 2 will be 3.
3 months in, I am very sick.
Vomiting 20-30 times a day, my body aches, I sleep for hours, wake for an hour or two, sleep again.
I realize that I have to choose- keep my job, financial independence, and be able to leave... and abort.
Or shelter that life, become a stay at home mom, keep a high-risk pregnancy and sign at least another 5 year enlistment with him.
I look down both roads, heartbroken. I really wanted a baby.
A baby is falling like a feather from heaven, in front of a curtain. The curtain pulls back, revealing a counsel of five people who my soul recognizes as my guides or guardian angels. They ask me when would I like him to be conceived? They give me three dates. I choose the only one before my birthday, and tell them I always want him to come before me. I name him in the dream. He is my baby, my son, and meant to come...
I wake up blessed, and terrified.
He was born in the spring, 6 weeks premature and very iron deficient.
The doctors think leukemia.
I feel guilty for not being able to give him enough.