There was nothing there.

I just woke up and my skin felt clammy, a unique phenomenon for someone who is perpetually cold.

My heart was beating quickly.

My brain seemed foggy and it took me a few extra seconds to shake the sleep from my head.

My hand was on my bare stomach.

There was nothing there.


Last week, I was out to lunch with a friend and it was great. Delicious food, ping-pong-like-conversation, and 27 stories started and not finished as we ate and talked and ate and laughed and talked and interrupted each other and ourselves. And then a song came on the radio.

It was Michael Buble’s “I Just Haven’t Met You Yet”.

I started out by playing it all cool.

“I have to admit something. This song is totally one of my guilty pleasure songs.”

And my coolness evaporated by the second as tears filled my eyes.

Thanks, Michael Buble.

And I know that we can be so amazing.
And baby, your love is gonna change me.
And now I can see every possibility.


And somehow, I know that it’ll all turn out.
And you’ll make me work so we can work to work it out.
And I promise you, kid, I’ll give so much more than I get.
I just haven’t met you yet.”

And cue the waterworks. And I tried to explain and continue to eat my Greek chicken.

“This song always makes me feel very emotional,” I started. “See, there is this video from 2012 and when I saw it for the first time I just sobbed because it was so magical and, you know, do you remember that feeling and…”

I couldn’t control it. I was crying, at lunch, next to my friend and a Diet Coke bottle that said “Soulmate”.

(If you have a heart and want to cry too, check out the video to which I linked from MODG Blog. And if you must, skip to 1 minute and 20 seconds in.)


This morning, I woke up, flustered, confused, and with my hand on my belly, searching for something that was not there.

There was nothing there. Except for some stretch marks and a scar, of course.

And then, my dream came flooding back to me.

It was pregnancy-palooza. All of my childhood friends, whom I haven’t seen in years, were pregnant and there was a line of women with bellies of all sizes snaking around the hallway of our elementary school. The way that the system worked was that you would stand in line and a school administrator would tell you if you were having a girl or boy.

Everyone I knew was having a boy.

For some reason, I did not know.

And I am pretty sure about the following storyline:

I was very pregnant. During this dream people were very nice to me because I was a very pregnant woman. One trucker even backed out of his parking space so that I could have it.

And then I was very pregnant. Like, going to the hospital, calmly, to deliver. And I still did not know if I was having a boy or a girl and I had not picked out any baby names. I remember that my mom was suggesting some ideas for me.

All I could think about was the tiny, precious bundle that would soon be placed in my arms.

I imagined an impossibly small face, making birdlike chirps, and falling in love like I had twice before.

And as I made my way to the hospital, I kept my hand on my giant belly, enjoying the last magical moments of feeling my baby move from the inside. I felt little kicks and could identify body parts. That was always my favorite part. I loved feeling my babies move.

And then, as it tends to happen, I woke up.

I heard the sound of tiny feet scampering into my bedroom (my son) and my daughter came over to my side of the bed to greet me with a kiss. By the way, we are just going to ignore the first half of that sentence for now, as you may have noticed that my son got out of his crib (I suspect with some assistance, but still).

And my son climbed up onto the bed and snuggled in and my daughter curled up next to me and my hand was on my stomach.

I tried to tell my husband about my dream.

I wanted him to know what I had just experienced, but he was in and out of sleep.

And so I am going to tell you the truth:

I loved the feeling of two little bodies next to me under my puffy, white duvet. I kissed their faces and held little hands. I felt grateful.

But I also felt sad.

And I won’t go into the long explanation that I have written a million times on this site, I will instead make it brief:

I know that I am incredibly blessed to have two healthy children. I love them with all of my might and I cherish them deeply.

But I am still sad. Not every day. But it is a wound that is raw enough to cause me pain when it is touched.

Obviously I have full, lovely plate. I have this.

 And if a normal child is a handful, my son is two. Three, sometimes.

I am in a fun new stage and watching my kids together is a joy.


I am not one to use an ellipsis lightly. I would even admit to being somewhat of an ellipsis snob.

But those three dots say it all.

Two for all I have, one for one that I never will.

I have so much in my life. I have my family, my incredible friends, my tribe, #teamMEA, music and too many other blessings to name.

But, when I wake up in the morning, and in the haze of sleep touch my stomach, waiting to feel movement,

there is nothing there.

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