The more things change, the more they stay the same

I'm supposed to be setting up a new blog. I've looked into other blog services, designers, etc. But I feel so emotionally attached to this blog that I'm having a hard time getting enthusiastic about switching.
I do that, get emotionally attached to things. I still have Gabriel's cord clamp, the first hat the midwives put on him, the pregnancy tests that let us know we were in for another rollercoaster ride, and many, many other thing that I can't throw away. I keep small momentos of the places I've gone and people I've known.
I hang on to lots of things that I should probably just let go of.
The feeling I get when I hear of other people's pregnancies is one of those things. Its a sinking feeling in my stomach, an ache in the back of my throat. A good friend called the other day and told me she had happy news. Instantly, my stomach knotted up and as she continued to talk and her news was NOT that she was pregnant, I felt such relief. I WANT this friend to be pregnant. Why, even when I'm holding my own sweet boy in my arms, do I dread pregnancy announcements?
I have a good friend who is about 28 weeks pregnant. I can talk pregnancy talk with her all day long. I am a bit jealous, but only because I remember the wonder and joy of being pregnant with your first baby. I don't think there is ever another time in your life that is filled with so much magic. I know the subseqeunt pregnancies are wonderful too, but there is just something about having your first baby and being right on the cusp of life's biggest journey.
Gabriel is getting so big now.
He's sitting up and is about to cut his first tooth. He's not a tiny baby anymore. I cried when I folded the smallest of his clothes for the last time, to pack away in hopes of a younger sibling someday wearing them. I've gone through his closet many times since then, pulling out too small clothing. I don't usually cry anymore, but I'm always very wistful.
I put his clothing in giant plastic containers and store them in the garage. I usually have one thats about half full sitting on the cedar chest at the end of my bed. For a few months, the tag of one never-worn outfit was pressed against the translucent side of the containter. It was a round, blue tag that said "Just One Year." The rocking chair faces the cedar chest, so during those months whenever I rocked Gabriel I was reminded, Just One Year, Just One Year, Just One Year.
Its not long enough, one year.
Thinking of Gabriel nearing the end of his babyhood has got me thinking about another baby. I'm reluctant to start trying to conceive, because it is just. so. damn. hard. I want to enjoy every second with G, in case he is the only baby we ever have. I don't want any time with him to be tainted with the emotional drain of IF. But we want him to have siblings, and it took us 4 years to have him. I don't feel ready to try again, but I'm afraid to waste any time. I think I've decided that when he's a year old, we'll start trying again, ready or not.