"I Thought My Vegan Baby Sofia Was Coming to the Party"

I'm mad at the world today. Rather, I'm wallowing in self-pity. I shouldn't. I have plenty of wonderful things to be happy about - a kick-ass mad mex dinner last night with awesome company, a shared lunch at work with 2 of the 4 most important people in world, a three day weekend beginning in just an hour, it's payday and still, I'm feeling grumpy. I don't want to work another minute and I want my baby back.

I continually mourn. Not only Sofia but also the unknown. Or rather, the known. I'm coming to the realization that Eva is IT. That it would be contradictory to my goals to try to "start over" again. That neither Michael or I entered into our relationship with an intention or desire to have more children. Part of my brain glamourizes the idea of having a baby with Michael. He's the most incredible person ever. But, for the most part, logic dictates that it's probably not what I "really" want. And it's confusing and it's frustrating and it's a final and it's huge to me. Most people would probably tell me to just "chill" - that I don't need to make any rash decisions and that stressing about this isn't productive. I have to acknowledge that as all my girls get older, it becomes more an more of a lifestyle disruption and that it's very much "the end" of babies. But FUCK, it shouldn't be the end of babies for me - I should still fucking have my little baby (2 year old) and it makes me - for lack of a better word - sad. Really really really...sad.