The Baby who Was Named...

My best friend has struggled with infertility. She is my dearest, closest friend - the girl that lived around the corner since I was 5 who I wadded in the creek with hunting for minnows, the girl who later I convinced to "borrow" my mother's Cadillac to cruise around town, the girl who I knew would marry her high school sweetheart as I stand beside her in her wedding, the girl who I would grow old with watching our kids go through life as we did. I pray every day that she will have luck (although, I hate to call it that). She's seen my preschooler go from a newborn in Baby Gap overalls she bought for him, to a talkative, lovable little boy that treasures going to her house to play with her dogs. And when I we were trying to get pregnant with Number 2, I could call her frustrated, and she would give me hints. Finally, after an exceptionally helpful tip, we were pregnant right away. When I called her I knew she was happy for me, but torn by the pain of her struggles. I hate it, it makes me so sad. I relish the baby I have who is growing into such a great little girl, she reminds me so much of my closest friend, the friend who I pray for everyday, the friend I know will have a baby someday. I just wish I could tell her when...