Mom & Pop Home School

I don’t usually let it get to me. Most of the time my fertility issues and other people’s new additions to their families are entirely separate issues. Most of the time I can just be thrilled for other people and play with their sweet little chubby cheeked cherubs and thoroughly enjoy them without so much as a twinge of envy or even longing. I can just be joyous along with them, and it’s not even related in any way to that sad little empty place in my heart. Usually I don’t even think about it much, let alone let it bother me. But today I’m feeling it. It seems like lately there are babies everywhere. It’s raining babies! But no babies for me.  

There were dozens of them at church today, many of which are still so brand new that they still have that peach fuzz fresh newborn look with the lost little eyes and the proud papas carting around the little baby seats with the fresh little pink or blue blankets that haven’t even been spit up on yet, they’re so new.

One darling girl in my class at church was talking today with shining eyes about when she went to the temple with her family not long ago to be sealed to her adoptive parents, and how wonderful it was to kneel with them at the altar in the Lord’s house and be officially joined as a family just as if she was born to them, and know that they would be her family forever.

Another woman shared with me about how she’d been to the temple yesterday to witness the sealing of her friend’s new adopted baby to their family.

In sacrament meeting we sat across the aisle from a cute couple and their adopted toddler and I was thinking about how even though they’ve been together a good while now, the mama still looks so delighted and the daddy looks so proud of his little family, and the little girl looks so much more content than when she first came to live with them, with her cheeks filled out and her spotless little dress, and her hair all braided so carefully and beautifully by her mother.

And it seems like the women at church who aren’t carrying around newborns are all pregnant (I know this is completely untrue–I just had my infertility goggles on today). One of my good friends is pregnant as well. I’m not sure why it is, but I seem to see less of her when she’s pregnant. Does she avoid me? Do I subconsciously avoid her? Is she just more tired, or busier with family things when a new one is on the way? Who knows. I saw her today at church too, though we didn’t have a chance to chat. I miss her.

This past week I got to spend quite a bit of time with my youngest brother and his lovely wife. They’re expecting their first little one this fall, and they’re so fun to watch as they experience the wonder of it all. It’s amazing to be around them. And I’ve found out that another brother and his wife just recently found out they’re expecting their third. I love to watch the family grow and branch out, it just puts me in awe.

I often feel that somewhere out there is at least one more child already in the world who is meant to be in our family. And I feel that we’re a step closer to finding her, or him, or them–except the dratted bedroom is not the right size and the person who can do something about THAT is not in the office. It’s funny how much this feels like being pregnant, but without a due date–and without the funky pinched nerves…lol. But I wish things could move along a little more quickly. In some ways it feels like month number nine, but the delivery date could be any time from a few weeks to years from now. But I’m anxious to get them here. I love the child(ren) already, even though I don’t even know what they look like.

And then also I sometimes wonder if the fact that two miracles have happened for us might mean God might be willing to allow just one more for me and let me have one more before I’m too old. And maybe that’s the real problem today. My birthday is less than two weeks away. I’ll be thirty-seven. Already two years beyond the point where you’re automatically considered high risk because of your age. And I took a pregnancy test this morning. I didn’t really think it might come out positive, but I have to check now and then because it’s not impossible, just unlikely, and for medical reasons I need to know as early as possible. The things never do come out positive (except for twice), but every time I need to do one there’s that slight little sliver of hope that wiggles around somewhere under my solar plexus, and then dies in a little internal fireworks catastrophe before I take a deep breath and get on with life. Again. Maybe this morning’s breath was just not deep enough.

On Friday morning I took a deep breath and clambered into our not-so-gracefully-aging ‘85 Chevy pickup truck. This in itself was more of an adventure than it sounds, since the door handles don’t quite work properly, even if you can manage to figure out which of three keys fits the lock and actually manhandle the locking mechanism to turn properly. The seatbelt is a replacement, and looks like an escapee from an airplane factory. It’s hard to adjust, especially after you’ve moved the seat (another feat) far enough forward for someone as short as I am to reach the gas pedal. However, Pop took pity on me and helped me with the mechanics of it all, and then he and the two children stood in the kitchen doorway waving a teary farewell as I roared out of the driveway. Okay, actually, it was the truck that roared, not me, for those of us who take language literally. And it roared extra LOUDLY because a) when it says it’s in D it’s actually in N, and b) it has a very touchy accelerator, and if you push it the tiniest smidgeon too much, it ROARS—especially when it’s in N. But I did manage to get it in drive (halfway between D and 2), and put the proper amount of pressure on the touchy gas pedal, and off I went for a non-airconditioned jaunt to the airport. [I really can drive the thing, I just prefer not to. We only have one vehicle with sufficient seatbelts for an adult and two children, though, and really Pop needed it more than I did at that point, so I got the truck.]

Several hours later, just when I thought I’d have to purchase me a bona fide overpriced airport security-approved strait jacket if I had to stand in one more line, I climbed into a brand-new air-conditioned, sun-roofed, smooth-riding silver Camry rental car in Albuquerque, New Mexico and went in search of my hotel. My weekend was quite a trip—I mean…journey.

I have to admit I was a little nervous about this little excursion. The last time I boarded a plane alone for a ride into that-which-is-completely-unknown I had just turned eighteen and was flying to Savannah Georgia, into the teeth of Hurricane Hugo, headed for a new life at college. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been on plane trips many times since then. Four plus years of back and forth between college and “home”, and then between “home” and my parents house in the years between college and life as a married woman. And I’ve hied me off to other places with my darling Pop escorting me, giving me that extra boost of confidence that comes with knowing that at least if I got lost I’d be in good company. But those times I was with someone I trusted, or meeting someone I trusted, or going somewhere familiar. This time I was all by myself again. And although I am no longer the painfully shy, inexperienced little thing I was at just-turned-eighteen, in many ways this flight was a trip back to that part of my life, and I found myself disproportionately nervous about the whole thing.

I was in Albuquerque at the invitation of an old friend from college with whom I have been in sporadic contact over the years. (more…)