The Great Transition

One thing I worry about bringing home a baby (when it someday happens), is how the dogs will react. Because right now, the dogs are our babies. When a real baby comes home, suddenly the dogs won't be our babies anymore. We'll definitely still love them, but we obviously won't be able to give them as much attention as we do now.

I think Cooper will be a good brother. He'll be protective -- probably overly so. He'll be curious about the little babe.

Otis. He'll have a hard time. He was our first puppy. We spoiled him. We gave him lots and lots of attention. We let him cuddle with us whenever he wanted (meaning: all the time). He's the captain of our house. He still wants (and usually receives) the most attention and cuddling time with us. I don't know how he'll react when he can't get what he wants all the time.

Case in point: Last weekend, Andee and Bryan and their precious little baby, Lucas, came over to our house to watch the Super Bowl. Otis liked Lucas. He was really curious. He wanted to smell the little guy. But what did he do when I held Lucas?

Sat next to me and started giving his super high-pitched Don't-you-dare-give-others-more-attention-than you-give-me-bark.

So I sat there with one arm holding Lucas and the other hand petting Otis. I really didn't want Otis to keep barking like that when we had company -- he gets just a little annoying. Dave would distract him by playing ball, but the Otis would come back to me and start barking again.

Otis survived the transition of getting a second dog in our house. I know he'd survive a transition with a baby too. But it might be rough. It will most likely be known in our house as The Great Transition.

J.B.

Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear

A friend of mine on Facebook announced that she is expecting a baby this summer. A little boy. She's one of those friends from high school -- that I haven't really spoke to since graduation. We became "friends" on Facebook, but we don't interact with each other very often. She was a girl I always liked. Spmeone I always kinda wished I took more time to get to know better. She was nice to everyone. She was friends with a lot of the boys. She was pretty, but not stuck up like some of the other girls at the all-girls private high school I attended.

Anyway, her status caught my attention. A baby boy. In June. I wrote my typical "That's really exciting! Congrats!" message. But that may or may not have been exactly what I was feeling inside. I hadn't checked out her profile and wondering if this was the first time she mentioned her pregnancy. Curiosity caught me. Especially when I noticed that she had a blog that was something about a baby.

So I decided to check it out.

I kinda felt like I was snooping. Reading up on this old friend. But hey, she put the link to her blog out there, right?

But I learned something about her. She and her husband didn't get pregnant right away. It tooks six months. And through her words, I could feel her worries and fears. Many the same of my own.

It just reminded me that just because someone posts that they're pregnant doesn't mean that it was an easy journey for them to get there. With anouncements on Facebook about expectant families coming onto my news feed almost everyday, it's easy to forget.

After this miscarriage, it seemed like I walked around going through the motion of life. Outwardly, I appeared normal, but people couldn't really see the pain I felt within. It made me realize that you never know what difficulties people are facing or what they're really dealing with at home or what thoughts are running through their mind.

Life is more complicated than what appears on the surface.

Not just for me. For everyone.

While I get caught up with my own hopes and worries about pregnancy, and while I let myself get a tiny-bit jealous a little too easily, I've forgotten to remember what I learned after the miscarriage. I don't know others' complete stories. I just have a fraction of it. And, most likely, that story is just a little more complicated than it appears on the surface.


J.B.

Blah.

Warning: This mood of this post is a little lot depressing.

I don't remember exactly when I knew I wanted to be a mom, it's just a desire that was always with me. I loved playing house with my friends. I would pretend I was pregnant and stuff my Cabbage Patch doll up my shirt. I've always love babies and kids. Watching my niece be born pretty much confirmed that I really wanted to have kids some day.

One reason I knew Dave was the one was because we were on the same wavelength as far as kids were concerned. Not too long after I met him, he said he had two big goals in life. To be a husband and to be a father. I felt the same way that those were things I knew I wanted (be a wife and a mother), whereas I really didn't know exactly what I wanted to do for a professional career.

We've been trying for 14 months now. Even though I wrote the other day that I didn't want to focus on having a child this year, I can't ignore that it's still something I really want. You think I'd get used to when that time of month rolls around making it apparent that this isn't "the month," but it just seems to get harder and more frustrating.

It probably has something to with the fact that we're in the dead of winter right now and winter generally has a depressing effect on me. It probably has a lot to do with trying for so long with no success. To be honest, it probably has something to do with the fact that two girls I grew up with are now pregnant with their second children. And probably has something to do with the fact that I got my period yesterday.

But the cumulutive effect is that right now, for the first time, a hopeless feeling is sticking with me. I'm not feeling positive about our chances of having a child. I feel like each month we're the couple that tries to get the winning lottery tickets and even though we try and try, it's something that will never happen. I don't like feeling this way. I don't like making Dave feel bad because I feel this way. But I can't seem to shake these negative feelings right now.

I remember at Christmas my mom said to me, "Maybe next year there will be a new baby here for Christmas. Or maybe you'll be expecting one."

I said, "Maybe," but I was thinking to myself, "yeah right."

We've tried pretty much everything. We've tried to try. We'v tried not to try. We've given it up to God. I've charted my temperature. I've tried ovulation predictor kits. Since we did get pregnant once, the doctor says everything works so just keep trying. I don't get it. We've always been healthy people. Our parents were fertile. Our siblings were fertile. We're 27 years old -- supposedly in the peak of our fertility. What is the problem?

I used to want three children. But right now, I'd just like one. One baby that Dave and I can call our own.

I wish I could travel in time to the future and get a glimpse that everything is going to end up okay. Because apparently, I've lost my ability to reassure myself today. Thank God tomorrow is a new day.

J.B.