So I'm starting off the year with a pretty hefty worry, and it's one I've had before.

There is nothing like creating life or being solely responsible for the life of another human being.

Yep, nothing like make an already anxious person turn into a paranoid mess of crazy.
So here's the deal, I know you're suppose to wait 3 months in case anything goes wrong, or to protect your privacy, or to have enough time to plan a quick get away and pack everything up before running far, far away from any and all relatives, etc.  
But I peed on a stick this week and there were two 'lil pink lines and within two hours my life had already turned upside down yet again.
Is everything okay?  How quick can I find a good doctor?  How am I going to deal with the inevitable panic attack the moment I walk into another dr's office?  Can I handle more anxiety?  What if I've already been blessed enough?  Is there such a thing as being too lucky in life?  Is happiness a ticking time bomb?  What if the pregnancy doesn't last?  What if my baby isn't healthy?  What if Conor feels left out and unloved?  What if C can't handle my emotional roller coaster times 10?  What if I can't survive off 2 cups of coffee a day?  What if I gain 75 pounds like the last time around?  What if I can't sleep in any position but my stomach?
Oh. My. God.  The crazy is tangible I'm sure.  Here's the worst one.
What if I'm yet again so beat down with worry that I miss out on being happy?  
Postpartum anxiety made the first few months of Conor's life so much more exhausting than it already is to have a colicky newborn.  I will always feel like I missed out on something really great by making myself sick about whether or not he would wake up tomorrow or whether or not his dr's visits would result in something bad being found out.  I did miss out.  I don't want to miss out again.
Can we start over?  Let's start over.
I'm incubating baby numero dos.

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