Tonight after M. had fallen asleep I crept into his room and lay down next to him in his bed. He had kicked the covers off as usual and lay there haphazzardly sprawled across the three blankets. After I crawled in next to him in his little blue car bed, I drew the covers up to our chins and turned to stare at his little face.

As happy as I am about being pregnant, there is a small corner of my heart that mourns what M. and I share. There have been times in my life when it's been just the two of us against the world. A time when it was only ever going to be the two of us. My life for so long - it seems - has been lived to make my son proud. One day when he looks back at our life, will he say, "yeah, that was my mom, she did a good job."

Even now, with Major Man in our lives, there's something that M. and I share that is special. I have a feeling that all mothers have this special connection with their sons. There's a committment - one woman, one future man. One leading, one following. One guiding, one seeking.

This relationship has remained singular and pure since my son's birth. He has been the one to keep me on the straight and narrow. "would my son be proud of me if I did this?"

Now, I'm adding another element to 'us'. Another child. I have no doubts that I will love this little one as much as M. but I am congnizant of the change that is coming. No longer will it be just the two of us.

As I lay there curled around my son, I wondered if I should say I'm sorry.

Instead I lay there quietly. Just the three of us. And cherished the time that we have left. Just the two of us.