Last night as I looked at my 7 month old daughter laughing, smiling, playing with my 3 year old son, it hit me. And it hit me pretty hard in what felt like a normal evening routine of eating a salad for dinner across from my husband.
Just like that in the middle of my normal, it occurred to me that this might be the last baby we play with in that high chair.
It may be the last baby I carry for 9 months and bring into this world.
It may be our last baby.
As much as I feel like our family is complete and whole and perfect just the way it is right now, I struggle with the idea that I may not ever be in that period of time where sleep happens for 30 minute intervals (if you're lucky) and you run on coffee and fumes and everything is blissful chaos.
I have a feeling I'm going to miss it.