We’ve done this before.
We jumped up and down and squealed with delight when a second line finally appeared. And then we did it again. And again. And again.
We’ve talked names before. We’ve curled up on the couch four times now, usually while he rubs my feet, and shared all the girl names we loved while the other brought up valid arguments against them. (Boy names come easy and we always agree).
We’ve plastered goofy grins on our faces after ultrasounds before. We’ve listened in adoration to the heartbeat filling up the sterile room before. We’ve pointed out other newborns before, gleefully exclaimed “We’re going to have a new baby in eight months!” “Seven months!” “Six months!” three times before.
But you know what?
It’s still magical.
We still shouted “Did you see that?! She just took three steps!” when the third baby started to walk.
We still shouted, “She said HAT! Did you hear it?! She said ‘hat’ before she put it on her head!”
Holding a newborn on my chest has been magical all three times. The first smile has melted my heart all three times. Packing away the newborn clothes has broken my heart three times.