The number "2"

There's a "2" in front of the wait-time for little XY's arrival! A T-W-O!

There's also a "2" in front of the number of days left until due-date. T-W-E-N-T-Y days. Twenty!

I can say that we finally think we are ready. But as I sit in the glider each morning reading my Bible, reminding Scrubs that the squishy elephant book does not belong to him, it is still an unimaginable thought that this room will include a tiny little helpless being in just a few weeks that we will be entrusted to raise. JB will often wander into the room while I am reading and just stand there -- each of us feeling so many things but unable to put into words what those feelings actually are. We'll mumble words throughout the day like, wow, holy cow, are you kidding, is this for real, can you believe this. That is truly the extent of our conversations. How can you put into words something like this? How can you explain it? At our baby showers in Ft. Lauderdale so many people asked me how I was feeling. I had no idea! Or if I did know, I had no idea how to explain it.

Each time I tell the story of Bri's decision and our acceptance and try to paint a picture of the relationship that we share with Roy, and Joan, and Bri, and Brant, I find words escaping me. I was in Target the other day buying some more of the only things I have yet to purchase for XY: hangers! I put the 10 packs of 10 hangers up on the conveyor belt. "Redecorating?" the cashier asked me. Sort of, I mumbled. And then I tried to explain to her what was happening. People have been blessing us with so many clothes and gifts for this little baby. We've been waiting ten years for him to get here. I know I am not pregnant, but he will be here in a few weeks. He's growing in the belly of our junior bridesmaid from our wedding. She's giving him to us to raise. The response is always the same: goosebumps or tears followed by, "That is such an amazing story!"

For me, the story has become very "usual." But when I retell it, I realize how amazing and God-filled this story is. I believe God knows everything. That means that God knew. He has always known.

I have a memory of one particular moment that I put Bri to sleep when she was just five months old. It was in their house in Palm Aire. I have no idea why this particular moment sticks out, but it does. I had just fed her and was burping her on my shoulder. She was falling asleep and just breathing so softy and tenderly and comfortably in my arms. God knew then! He knew right then that seventeen years later she would be placing a child into our arms.

Driving up to the Fort Lauderdale Airport, I had a flashback to when she was two or three, and I was picking her and Joan up from a trip to California. Bri saw me across the sidewalk and came bounding toward me yelling "Na-ne" which is what she called me until "Wendi" became manageable. Has He been preparing this for me all along? If one of our many attempts at parenthood had worked, would Bri have asked us to parent this little boy? Goodness knows that I know that the moment I hold XY, I'll know that ten years of being "just JB and me" (and one year of JB, Wendi, and Scrubs :) will be worth it for that moment and that opportunity.

The nursery is ready. Diapers are bought. Bottles are washed. The swing? Ready to wind. (Okay, so this swing doesn't wind, but didn't it provide better imagery?) After tens years of marriage and five years of praying, begging, and yearning to have a child, we are preparing to bring a child into our home all because two teenagers in Fort Lauderdale have deemed us worthy of the responsibility. How can this be? It truly seems unbelievable, unimaginable, completely and totally surreal. How can I ever explain to Chris and Bri what they are giving us? How can I ever explain to anyone how this truly feels. Unless you have sat in an empty home month after month, year after year, and known there was something missing and not had a way to make that missing part go away . . . unless you have spent tens of thousands of dollars for something that they told you would happen only to have found yourself no closer to the "vocation" you have always dreamed of . . . unless you have watched everyone you know pass you, lap you, and leave you behind . . . I truly can't explain the state of my heart right now.

JB was in Home Depot the other day and a conversation ensued which resulted in the cashier asking him if he had children. "Not yet," he said. And then he said, "In a few weeks." There was no explanation of how a child was coming and no huge bulging belly was (not) present to force him to explain that the child was growing in another woman. We were going to be parents!

I have experienced that myself through my jobs telecommuting. Occasionally I will have an email conversation with someone about the fact that I am preparing to take a few weeks off for maternity leave. "CONGRATULATIONS!" they shout (as people do through email -- in capital letters.) It doesn't matter to them how the baby is coming to us. It's coming. That's all there is.

Those years of infertility are still something I live with everyday. They have not gone away. I am still unable to watch any of those "baby" television shows. Once the children have been born and are being raised, I can watch. But peering in at another woman, pregnant, and getting ready to birth a baby is still something that pricks my heart. I'm sure Bri is yelling right now, "Wendi -- you don't want to feel this way." And I understand what she means. But there is still something in me that wants more than anything to experience "moments."

It is those "moments" that I am grieving, have grieved, and will continue to grieve. It is not the fact that XY will not be my biological child that I will grieve. I believe I am as excited (if not more excited) about XY's arrival than I would be about a biological child. But the "moments" associated with having a biological child are moments that I have had to give to the Lord and accept, for now, as something I must be okay without having. Moments like finding out you are pregnant, telling your husband, telling your family, and successfully birthing and nursing a child. No matter how much Bri includes me, I can't have those moments. Those moments are grieved and are being grieved everyday.

There are no "signs" that a baby is coming. There's no big bellies, discomfort, or sleepless nights here in northern Florida. Those are occurring ten hours away in a different home, to a different person. All we have are the calls and emails from Joan and Bri. All we have are the updates on Bri's appointments and the signs that this is going to happen and within a 48 period, we will be leaving the hospital with a little boy in our car that two individuals have chosen to give to us. Two individuals have decided that we are mature enough, good enough, trustworthy enough, and ready enough to be parents.

All of this is coming. "2" weeks and six days. "Twenty days" total. Hang on Bri! We are almost there!