I know how lucky I am.

I realize how special it is that I have my precious Jonathan and other woman can not have children at all.

I’m holding him after work one night and he’s drifting off to sleep.

On Discovery Health are shows featuring woman who can’t have children and turned to surrogates.

I’m trying to imagine how a woman can carry a child and then give that child up. I’m amazed at their inner strength. Then I am amazed at how lucky and blessed I am to have my Jonathan.

I wasn’t one of those little girls who imagined herself married with children one day. I never thought I would have children. I wasn’t sure I could. There wasn’t any medical reason that would have precluded me from having children, but I may have mentioned before that I am a hypochondriac. I imagined there was probably something medically wrong with me that would keep me from having kids.

In addition, I simply could not picture myself as a mother. I’m an emotional wreck most of the time. Me, with a child? God help us.

I never thought of myself as the nurturing type. I didn’t babysit as a teenager — at least on a regular basis. The couple of times I did I felt like a complete idiot — thanks to a precocious three-year old. That’s another post for another day.

Even after meeting Hubby I couldn’t picture myself having children. After marrying him and having discussions on the possibility of having children? — nope. Still couldn’t picture it.

One day I was at a Karate class, doing an article for something — I don’t even remember now. There was a woman with a newborn in her arms sitting in the audience, watching the children who were taking the class. I watched the woman look down at the child, stroke the child’s tiny, soft head, and smile. To her, no one else but the two of them were in the room.

Something inside me clicked, like a biological clock turned to the “on” position.

I fought the feeling for another four years. During that time babies were all I could think of and all I ever seemed to see.

There was a quick conversation with Hubby about stopping birth control that went something like this: “I haven’t taken my pills in a while because I forgot. What do you think if I stay off them and we see what happens?”

Him: “Huh? Wha’ Oh. OK. I guess.”

Me: “Cool. Good.”

Flash forward four months. I have a funny pain in my side. . . Did I mention the hypochondria? Yeah, soooo . . .

I thought I had a tubal pregnancy. Then I started to bleed and it is dark blood. I’m convinced I’m hemoraging. My mother, who is the one who usually has to talk me down off my ledge of craziness, assures me that she does not believe this is the case.

The bleeding stops after a couple of days.

A month later the pain returns, but not as bad. I decide it must be my period. Hubby prepares as he normally does, by taking shelter in the basement.

I’ve been off the birth control, but Hubby and I have decided we’re not sure we’re ready for a baby and decide I should start it again.

I take a pregnancy test first to be sure there is no chance I’m pregnant.

Turns out — I’m pregnant.

Crap.

I take two more pregnancy tests, line them up and they all announce the same thing.

I call Hubby at work.

“Can you stop by the store and get me one of those two pack pregnancy tests? But get Clear Blue.”

I decided I needed a different brand, just in case the one was faulty.

Hubby is baffled, but does as he is told.

I close the bathroom door and pee on two more sticks. All positive, though slightly faint.

Panic ensues. I am sure this is not real and I have an ectopic pregnancy. Hubby is not allowed to celebrate the pregnancy, but instead is pulled into the vortex of craziness that is his wife.

We collapse at 1 a.m., minds made up that we will go to the doctors in the morning. I am certain I have a tubal and will have to have surgery.

I assume this because I am crazy — C.R.A.Z.Y.

A-way-too-personal-exam and an ultrasound later and I’m told it appears this pregnancy is viable and . . . that I may indeed be insane. I am sent home with little blue pills and advice to relax.

I’m kidding. I had the little blue pills before. But I am told to relax.

What follows is nine-months of a fairly normal pregnancy, with the exception of a horrible pain in my sciatica and the fact I looked like a walking hot air balloon due to my small stature and Jonathan’s tendency to need more room than my mid-section could provide.

And now here I am. With a sleeping child curled up on my lap, breathing softly, and stealing my heart as he has since the day he was born.

I am lucky. I am blessed. I don’t know why. I don’t feel I deserve to be.

But I won’t take it for granted.

I kiss the long eyelashes of my son, lean my cheek against his and breathe in the smell of baby shampoo still lingering from the bath I gave him earlier.

This is heaven on earth. This is a tangible blessing.

This is bliss.

And I’m lucky to have this bliss and this blessing.

——

There wasn’t all that much laughter in this one, but click on Humor Blogs if you would anyhow, just to give me a boost on my fun ride up and down the rankings. That is if you got this far.