As I find myself getting really excited about being pregnant again, buying new maternity clothes and looking at bassinets, I have to keep reminding myself to show some caution. I'm reminded of when I found out I was pregnant with Big Brother. I was 18, only five weeks married, only five weeks out of high school, and living with my grandma in a spare bedroom. Nothing could scream "not ready" more than that for me, but I wanted him. I wanted him so badly it hurt. I would cry so hard whenever I thought too much about the possibility of miscarriage. What made things worse was that we had no idea what to do. We had no medical insurance and no focus in life. I didn't make it to the doctor's until we were 16 weeks into the pregnancy. They looked at me so cross-eyed. I couldn't even begin to explain to them how brutal those 16 weeks had been for me, sick with worry, unsure if this little being inside of me were truly living. It's easier this time to not get quite so worried. I want this one just as badly, but my faith in the Lord has grown stronger in this past year and a half or so. I know He will give us this baby if we are meant to have it. I just have to hold onto that.