That's how many negative pregnancy tests I had before what appeared to be persistent pregnancy symptoms eventually made me call and schedule an appointment with my doctor.
I've mentioned this before, I know.
Four is also the number of beautiful and healthy babies I've been lucky enough to birth and love and who have turned my life into something that is nothing like what I had planned before that first unplanned pregnancy happened almost 9 years ago, but which I wouldn't trade for all the world...
So it doesn't make sense to me that having the doctor tell me this afternoon that I'm not pregnant took me by surprise and I find myself grieving over a baby I wasn't even going to have. And yet, here I sit, tapping away at my keyboard while the screen blurs in front of my streaming eyes while my husband washes the dishes and the kids have their bath.
I know, rationally, that I'm being super unreasonable. I know that I have so very much to be happy about. I know that I'm supposed to not have wanted another baby. Apparently none of that matters, because I simply cannot stop myself from feeling a deep sense of loss and longing. For what was never more than an imagined baby. What's up with that?