The Baby Thing

We haven’t told very many people close to us that we’ve
reached a point where we’re serious about the “baby thing.”  My mom and dad know—mostly because my mom is
beside herself wanting a grandchild.  I
also told her because we’re close that way—we talk about these things.  I value her insight, and I feel like of all
of the people in my life (aside from Catch) that I should be able to talk to
about having a baby, my mom should be number one.

Catch’s parents aren’t going to agree with us about our
timing, I don’t think.  They want us to
buy a house as desperately as my mom wants us to give her a grandchild.  I don’t see the conversation going
particularly well, although I do believe that they’ll get over it.  This is OUR life after all, and I don’t agree
that there’s only one way to do this right.

Everything about this is so foreign.  (Other F words that also apply: frightening
& fantastic.)  No one close to us has
gone through this process the way we’re going to have to.  It’s a maze of options and timing.

As I was writing this entry, I was told that someone I
consider a friend has been diagnosed with lung cancer.  She just beat breast cancer a few years ago,
and now the cancer is back and in her lungs. 
She is about my mom’s age.

Life is short.  I want
our kid(s) to know their grandparents as we know them—that’s so important to
me.  Our parents are so important to
us.  There is something about this age
we’ve reached—this stage of our lives that we’re in—and suddenly, we are
surrounded by ticking clocks.


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