The rain slides down the cold window. It's March 4, 2011--a gray day. I can hear the first birds of spring as I sit in bed feeling the growing baby tossing and turning inside of me. It is truly something to feel life inside. I am eighteen weeks pregnant with our third child, a little boy.

The other night as I lay in bed with my hand against my abdomen, I was certain I felt his tiny fingers uncurl, and it reminded me of how small his little hands and fingers will be when he arrives; how tiny his feet will be, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand.

For the first time since the start of this pregnancy, it felt real--that we are really going to have another baby despite the many losses, the many struggles before now.

I could almost feel his soft head against my chest, his little round rump in my hand as he sleeps against my shoulder. I could almost smell him, his milky baby breath mingled with baby wash. I could feel the warmth. And it made me feel excited, scared, happy, peaceful, hopeful.