Guardedly excited

I keep thinking about May. I keep thinking about Bri. I keep thinking about our son. I keep thinking about being a parent. I keep thinking about being a mom.

I've often heard people use the expression that they need to be pinched to convince them that something is real. I always thought people who said that were being a bit dramatic. But lately, I, too, feel the need to be pinched, and I know it isn't because I am being dramatic. I know that this child is real. I know that Bri plans to allow us to raise this child. But can it be real? How can it be real.

In the beginning, when we were first asked to parent this child and after we first said yes, I described our state of emotion as "guardedly excited." Someone asked me if they could have a shower for me and I told them, "after the baby comes home." I really meant that. When the baby came home, we would celebrate. Until then, I would continue on as if everything were exactly the same. I would continue on as if I didn't have my hopes up. I kept picturing the phone ringing and the nurse on the other end telling me that my test was negative -- again. I couldn't bear the thought of another call like that. So I pretended that while a baby in May was a "possibility," it wasn't something very tangible. Not tangible until I could hold that child in my arms. Not tangible until I signed the papers that made him mine.

A few weeks ago, JB and I discussed that sentiment. He enlightened me to the fact that while waiting until the baby comes home is a good idea in theory, it is not very practical. There has to be a certain amount of preparation that goes into welcoming a child into your home. All right. I'll buy one bottle and one pack of diapers. How's that? He smiled but one of those smiles that says, "Give me a break!" Like when he calls me "sweetheart" when we are fighting. He doesn't mean it. Not at that moment anyway.

When we first started trying to have children, I had everything picked out. I had names picked out and nursery themes picked out. I knew the way we would tell our parents, and the way I would tell JB. Each month that went by and each treatment that failed, I seemed to let one of those dreams go. After our fifth IUI, I told John that I didn't want to discuss names anymore. After our second failed IVF, I had stopped thinking about anything related to being pregnant or having a child. It was somewhere in that period that I stopped entering baby sections of stores. I stopped attending baby showers. I ordered my gifts online and had them shipped direct to the recipient. Thank goodness for the Internet!

I listen to people who are in the pre-trying-era of their marriage talk about "when we have kids," and I literally, cringe. I cringe because I did that. I talked like that. I dreamed like that. I want to tell them to be guarded. I want to tell them not to assume that it will happen the way they have it pictured.

But then I think back to the early years of our marriage -- when struggling with infertility wasn't something we talked about on a daily basis. I long for those days, and I would never take those days from another couple. They may never experience the quietness of a home. And even if they may be one of the 1 in 6 couples who live with infertility, they don't need to feel that way any earlier than necessary.

Today, the topic of showers came up again. A shower means I have to register. I have to go into a baby store and pick out things for a nursery. I have to have a theme. A few weeks ago, I finally opened myself up to talking about names, but the idea of going into a baby department is still completely intimidating. I called JB. Can't I have the shower after the baby is born? He said something about me being "not practical" again. We need some things. We currently have the five gifts that people have given us on a shelf in a closet. I hardly doubt that number of items is adequate in welcoming home a child.

When is the right time to think that this may really happen? I know that even people who bear a child on their own go through some trepidation until the child is finally in their crib in their own nursery in their own home. But surely this amount of trepidation is not normal.

This trepidation has nothing to do with worry about Bri changing her mind. People have asked me if I worry about that. I only need to tell you that you need to meet Bri and talk to her on the phone one time to know that this is not someone who will change her mind. I also know that the Lord will put this child where he should be, and as hard as that might be, I feel I can let Him do that. I know this is what she wants to do, and she knows this is what we want to do. So I'm not sure what the fear is. But it's there. It's a fear that at some point, I will wake up, and this will all be a dream.

If it is a dream, it's a dream I'd like to have again.