So previous to a few evenings ago I have been happily moving through life with the belief that my husband did not want more children so therefore we would have no more children. I could comfortably blame it all on him. That is until eating a extremely yummy pasta dinner across from a family with a small infant. The infant happened to be a boy and held the same strawberry blonde hair as my husband. I didn't take much notice as that is my usual reaction to cute infants I don't know. I ignore their presence completely as if their cuteness can not penetrate my infertility shield. So there I was happily munching a mushroom drenched in some sort of creamy heaven when Peter looks at me and asks, as if it is a normal question in my family and not one avoided like the plaugue, if I ever think about trying again. My response was,
every.... single.... day.
To which he responded just as noncholantly that we could if I wanted. And there you have it that ball is now in my court when previous to this it has comfortably resided in his.
So now that I have the ball whatever do I do with it?
Therapy is what I need.
