When I moved to the DC area a little over a year ago, I got really lucky. I discovered through Facebook—bless you, Mark Zuckerburg, you greedy, dishonest little man—that an old friend lived literally five minutes from me and had a son three weeks older than Adelaide.

That friend gave me what was probably the single greatest gift I’ve ever received (other than my daughter): she brought me into the fold of her moms group.

A lifeline if ever there were one.

Dear Moms Group:


Now that our kids are all around two, the second wave has begun: siblings. At least three of my friends are pregnant and one or two others are headed in that direction.

And although it pains me to do it, I have to admit … I’m just a little bit jealous.

I loved being pregnant. Loved.

Probably could’ve done without the hormone spikes and the swollen ankles, but pregnancy was an experience I wouldn’t trade for the world.

To be honest—and to those of you who think this is gross, I say Get Over It—I felt incredibly sexy. Giant boobs? Silky hair? Glowing skin? Yeah. Come on. That’s sexy.

And the connection. Feeling your child’s hand run across the inside of your body? There’s nothing else like it. 

I’d really like to do it again some day. Be pregnant. Give Adelaide a sibling or two to love and confide in the way I’ve done with my sisters. And if I’m being honest, experience what it’s like to share that with someone who’s excited about having a family.

One of my big boo-hoos when Adelaide’s father left was realizing the possibility that I might not get to have any more children. I’m 33. There’s time … but not a lot of it. The incredible unfairness of this was a hard pill to swallow. I still struggle with it sometimes, the idea that I could lose this dream.

I went to a baby shower this morning for one of these mom group friends. For the last few weeks, I’ve been wondering how I’d feel during/after.






I laughed. I ate. I oohed over gifts. And—no buts or asterisks—I was happy and excited for my friend.


In fact, I didn’t even think about it until someone who knows I struggle with this fear asked me how I did.

And the answer was great.

Better than great.

Fear conquered?


I don’t know.

Probably not.

But I think it’s been knocked out of my top five. (Way behind “buried alive,” “have a spider crawl across my face,” and “trapped in a room full of clowns.”)

Ugh, clowns.

The yellow teeth and the five o’clock shadow growing through cracked makeup?


No, thank you.

I’m in a place now where I think it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it were just Adelaide and me.

Would I like more children?


Of course.

But I like my little duo.

My little duo is a lot of happiness all by itself.