I Should Be Pregnant, Not on a Rollercoaster

We went to Walt Disney World this weekend. It was really nice. Hot, but the crowds were relatively thin and we were able to get onto many rides without hardly a wait.

I thought I was going to ride Space Mountain a few weeks ago when we went, but Bob wasn't feeling all that well and we didn't go on any roller coasters at all that day. I thought that it would be then that I got all sad because I was *able* to ride roller coasters again.

This weekend I didn't even remember that I was anxious to get that first roller coaster ride over with, but it hit me in the middle of Rockin' Roller Coaster at Hollywood Studios. The two older kids and I went on together. We hadn't even been on a minute before I was in complete gut wrenching tears. I was horror struck that I was on a roller coaster when I should be pregnant. Twenty two weeks pregnant to be exact. My belly and I should have been out eating ice cream with the almost two year old-- neither one of us allowed on a roller coaster spending our time eating instead of being sad that we can't ride rides.

That's how it *should* have been. I now wonder how many more of these *should have beens* there are left to get through because if I can cry on a roller coaster, there's really just no tellin'.