I think this is the moment when blind panic sets in.

I've been staring at my bedroom ceiling for at least an hour, trying to fall asleep, but my mind won't stop spinning.

I should be overjoyed right now, and for the most part, I am. I mean, I'm pregnant.

At least, I'm pretty sure I am. I'm mostly sure I am. Six pregnancy tests said so, and they're usually almost completely accurate when it comes to confirming pregnancy, and even if you get a false positive, it's extraordinarily unlikely to get six of them.

It's just so hard to believe right now. Now that the complete euphoria of the moment has settled some, fears I didn't know I would have start racing through my mind.

The first one being, can my body handle this?

I guess, more accurately, can my uterus handle this?

What does an inhospitable environment mean once the baby is conceived and has been marinating for a couple of months? Is there any danger? Is the baby at risk? Am I at risk? Will I be put on bed rest?

I sigh and look over at Chandler, who is sleeping peacefully for the moment, a smile on his face, his hand on my stomach. I trace my fingers gently over his, my heart fluttering a little.

Yes, I'm terrified, but still so ridiculously excited.

I'll be more excited in the morning, after we've seen the doctor and he's confirmed that there's actually a baby. Right now…aside from being terrified, it's still really scary to hope, to believe.

It just doesn't feel completely real yet. I don't know what will make it feel real, though.

I do know that I'm already completely in love. If this turns out to be some kind of fluke, I don't know if either of us will be able to recover.

But if it's true…if we're pregnant…I can't even begin to fathom it. So much is going to change, but I think in the best way possible.

But oh, my God, that means we're going to have three little bitty kids. Jack and Erica will still be in diapers when this one is born. It's hard enough keeping up with two of them; how am I going to handle three?

I'll just have to be supermom. Somehow. And it's not as if I'm doing this alone. Chandler's a great father. He's wonderful and attentive and sweet and just amazing, and our kids are so lucky to have him as a father. Plus, he wanted four kids, at least back when we were engaged he did. Obviously we won't have a boy, twin girls, and another boy, but we somehow managed to wind up with twins anyway. Since he brought it up, though, I've always had that picture in my head of us and our four kids. I've always wanted to give that to him. Three kids is a pretty good compromise.

I look at the clock and sigh again, frustrated. If we have to get to the doctor by seven, we'll have to be up no later than five, and it's almost midnight.

I'm sure all of this worrying can't possibly be good for the baby. Or the lack of sleep, which I should be getting as much of as possible while it's still comfortable for me to sleep.

As soon as these thoughts filter through my mind, they're immediately chased out by paranoia; am I worrying about this sort of thing needlessly? I mean, there is still the possibility that I'm not pregnant.

I need to try to let that go, though. Six pregnancy tests can't be wrong. Not combined with all the other signs, right?

I look over at Chandler again; he's still smiling. I love that he's so happy about this. This guy, who just a few years ago balked at the thought of marriage and children, wants this to happen as much as I do; he went through the long, painful process of adoption just so we could be parents.

I study his face, wondering if our baby will look like him or me. I'd be okay with a little mini-Chandler. My husband is pretty much the best looking guy around, and in the grand tradition of men, he just seems to be getting hotter as he gets older. Those tiny little lines that are starting to appear at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth honestly do make him look distinguished. Of course, I don't know if he'd be a pretty girl, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Erica looks a lot like Chandler sometimes. I don't know how it's possible, but she makes these faces sometimes and I swear she looks just like him, like he's her biological father. I wonder if that's because of that whole nature versus nurture thing, or if it's just something I want to believe.

My heart leaps into my throat as a horrible thought hits me—will I love this baby more than I love Jack and Erica?

My heart starts to race with that sickening thought. That couldn't possibly happen. Those two are everything to me. Just thinking about them makes me happy. I love them so much that it's almost like I'm numb to it because if I think about how much I love them, I'll break down into tears. Just because I didn't give birth to them doesn't mean they're not mine.

I feel myself start to panic for a few moments before I'm overwhelmed with the need to see my babies. I lean over and kiss Chandler softly on the lips—something we started doing years ago, probably when we first started dating, when one of us would slip out of bed, sort of to reassure the other one that we'd be back—and he responds sleepily before immediately drifting off again, and I slide out of bed.

As quietly as possible, I walk into the nursery and go first to Erica's crib. Instantly, I feel myself relax. I don't know what it is about seeing my kids that makes me feel so at ease, but I'll take it.

Somehow, she's managed to turn completely around in her sleep, her head now at the foot of her bed, and I have to laugh to myself a little. Once she's old enough to sleep in a real bed, who knows where we'll find her every morning.

I shudder to myself with that thought—big kid beds. I'm nowhere near ready for that. Fortunately, at seven and a half months, neither are they. But considering how fast they're growing up, it feels like all I have to do is blink and they'll be graduating from college.

Tears fill my eyes; I'm not completely sure if it's idea of them as grownups or from the influx of hormones in my system, but if thinking about them in real beds is hard, thinking about them growing up and leaving me is impossible.

I reach out and gently stroke Erica's soft blonde hair; she snuffles a little in her sleep, smacking her lips for a moment before her mouth drops open, her little snores filling the room. My little bitty buzz saw.

I walk over to Jack and shake my head when I see him; sleeping on his knees, little butt in the air, the side of his face smooshed into the mattress. These kids sleep weird.

Gently, I put my hand on the back of his head and slide my other hand underneath him, carefully turning in him onto his back. I realize it's probably futile; he'll flip over again as soon as I leave the room, mostly likely.

His eyes pop open suddenly and my breath catches in my throat as he stares at me. He can be such a serious little baby at times; it always feels like he's about to open his mouth and have a full conversation. Then he usually smiles his goofy little toothless grin and he's back to being a baby.

He kicks his feet as I smile down at him, his little mouth stretching into a yawn as he blinks sleepily. I stroke his cheek with one finger and his eyes flutter shut, asleep in moments.

There' s no possible way I could love another child more than I love these two—as much as, definitely, but not more than.

But what if I'm wrong?

Will I feel more connected to this baby than the twins? Will I do something stupid like push this baby away because I'm scared I'll prefer it to my adopted children?

I pull the nursery door halfway shut behind me and go downstairs to the living room, curling up on the couch in front of the picture window. The neighborhood is completely still this time of night; Chandler and I have finally started to get used to the peace of it all.

A thin layer of snow covers our lawn, and I smile wistfully, thinking about how next year we'll really be able to play out there with the twins, building snowmen and making snow angels.

The moonlight shines brightly on the snow, and I desperately wish I had a poetic bone in my body because this feels like the moment for deep thoughts. Instead, I'm just having the messed up jumble of fears and joys that won't leave me alone.

I suppose I could wake Chandler, talk to him about this, but he looked so peaceful, so serene, that I just can't do that to him. Besides, he's had to deal with enough of my emotions for one night. He's been a complete rock through the rollercoaster ride I took him on tonight, and if anyone deserves a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, it's that guy.

I'm sure I'll still be freaked out in the morning; he can start crazy-lady duty then.

I look toward the kitchen, considering warm milk, when I feel my stomach turn, and I suddenly feel like a complete idiot. That sort of thing has been happening a lot lately and I can't believe I never made the connection. It hasn't been happening with all foods, but I'll see something I'd ordinarily eat—like steak—and feel incredibly nauseated. Have I really been dumb enough to think it was all just some bug I'd caught, or did I tell myself that because it was easier to believe I was sick than to believe I was pregnant?

Given the circumstances, I'd probably have to go with "just that dumb." I really had no reason to suspect that I'd be pregnant.

In hindsight, though…it's pretty glaringly obvious. Maybe I really was just too close to see it.

"I'm pregnant," I whisper, trying to get the hang of the way it feels.

I laugh softly; I really like the way it sounds. I've been waiting my whole life to say it.

I lean back against the arm of the couch, my hand gently resting on my stomach. "I guess you're really in there," I whisper. "I promise I'll do my best to keep you safe over the next seven months, but you have to promise that you'll do your best to stay in there. I know I'm asking a lot of you—you're just a teeny, tiny fetus, what can you do? I'll do most of the work, I swear. Just hang on for as long as you can; I know it's not all welcoming in there like it should be, but your life will be so great out here. Your daddy and I love you so much, and your big brother and sister will love you, too…even if they torture you mercilessly sometimes. You have a whole army of aunts and uncles and even cousins that are prepared to love you more than you can handle. Your family is a little crazy, but that's what makes them fun, and they're going to be so excited to meet you. Mommy's a little crazy, too, sometimes, but your daddy makes sure she doesn't go off the deep end. He's good for that. Daddy will make you laugh; he'll make you laugh until your sides hurt, and he will love you with every bone in his body." I sigh, pausing my monologue. "And I promise I won't always bog you down with all this heavy stuff, especially when you're trying to sleep. It's just that you're kind of a captive audience."

I caress my stomach for a few more moments before I finally pull myself to a standing position. "Let's go to bed, little one. We have a long day ahead of us."

I make my way upstairs and crawl into bed next to my husband, who immediately turns in his sleep to face me, his hand coming to rest on my stomach once more. It's completely fascinating to me that his aim is this good, that his subconscious is already reminding him about the baby. I rest my hand on his and cuddle close to him.

"I love you," I whisper, including my husband, twins, and unborn child in the sentiment.

Chandler mumbles something that sounds close to, "Love you," and my eyes finally close.