I’ve lost track of the time since we “started trying” to have a baby the old-fashioned way. I think Leah remembers it exactly, but to me the process has been so intertwined with the rest of our lives, marked by talks, prayers, research, doctors appointments, tears, yoga, acupuncture, vitamins, and more tears, it seems like time has dropped away as a specific measure. What I can say for me is that once I decided I would love to be a parent with Leah, it seemed like I was realizing something that had been true my whole life. The only think I can compare it to is when we decided to get married. We had been together for a long time, but as soon as we made to the transition to “engaged,” I could feel the truth of our marriage as if it had already happened. This is how I felt some years ago when we decided to become parents.
However, it turns out that something that is simple for many, inconvenient for some, possibly accidental for still others, would prove to be so-far impossible for us. We just kept trying for awhile, and we thought, well, everyone says we’ll be good parents, many people ask us when we’ll finally take the plunge—friends, family, co-workers, checkers at the grocery store, strangers who see us at the park, holding just one hand apiece. Everyone seemed to agree. We should have kids. Relationship is good. Health is good. Finances are good enough. Personally, both of us are feeling as happy and satisfied as we ever have. Hundreds of books read about compassion, communication, mentoring, nutrition, religion, psychology, check. It’s a go. How could it not work?
It’s a fine question, and one that I’ve been asking for a few years now. I have moved between curiosity, patience, humility, anger, deep sadness, frustration, wonder, and searching groundlessness. Why not us, young, healthy, well-read, well-dressed, world-travelled kid lovers? Why not us be parents? As the years have passed, as more babies have been born in our extended family, as more and more checkers ask me, “so, when are you guys going to have kids? You know, you’re not getting any younger,” and as each new co-worker susses out my age and asks The Question, as old friends at work sidle up to me and whisper, “are you guys pregnant?” my guts churn, my head feels light, and the earth drops out from under me for a moment. I smile while the light-headedness fades, and I wish, wish this didn’t have to be a public thing. And I won’t lie and say I don’t want kids or something. I try to keep my voice buoyant when I say, “nope, it’s just us.” “Maybe someday.” God, it hurts like hell sometimes.
I’m a pretty private person. Most of you don’t know a lot about my fears, my faith, our relationship, our money situation, our health. Most of these things wouldn’t make interesting reading probably—you’re not missing much—but I tend to be pretty private with the inner stuff. The absence of a child is not something that lends itself to privacy, especially when you don’t believe in lying. We haven’t found a convincing marionette or stunt-baby to bring to the park, the mall, the office Christmas party. So, it is just us two, answering questions and crying later, supporting each other in a thing that most people can’t understand.
The thing is, we are already luckier than most. Few people can say that their relationship grows more amazing by the day, that they find their jobs interesting, that there bodies are mostly a source of joy, that they have a support network that stretches across the globe. We have been so blessed that sometimes we are shy about telling the truth about it for fear of seeming to gloat. Many of the things we have, we have contributed to often and intensely, but we recognize the luck, the blessing, the dizzying mystery of our opulence. Perhaps the most striking example of this is all of you. One can’t possibly justify having so many wonderful, loving people in our life. We could never, ever fall far with the love you give us, so it’s not much to brag about that we can leap and leap and leap.
Now to the kid thing. Something switches in some parents. Some describe it happening for them—once the child is born, something changes and they become wonderful parents. Even people who were unsure and unprepared. It seems that happened to us in a way. Once we decided we wanted to open our lives to another soul, we were ready. I want to give parenting. I want to be a father. I want to parent with Leah. I want our kid to meet all of you. I want to be in the heartbreak and brilliance of raising a child.
But is hasn’t happened. We have changed our diets, adjusted our rhythms and calendars, taken vitamins, and had doctor’s appointments. We’ve tried the spiritual, the allopathic, and the holistic realms for answers. There is no one thing that precludes us from having a baby. Nothing says it can’t happen. Both of our bodies are a go. Yet, the answer is, after these years, “no, it’s just us two.”
So, we have begun talking about adoption. It is something we’ve always thought of, separately and as a couple, to do one day. I think we both pictured doing it along with the more traditional method. Recently, we decided to shake that up a bit. And since this process is public, since the lack of a child is so glaringly obvious on the outside, and so glaringly obvious in our inner thoughts, we thought we’d invite you into the process. Opening up the process may make it hurt less, and it helps to be honest about something that has had so much effect on us.
The invitation comes with no strings. Come if you want, read if you want, comment if you want, but please just see the invite as an acknowledgement of your crucial and beloved place in our lives.
However, it turns out that something that is simple for many, inconvenient for some, possibly accidental for still others, would prove to be so-far impossible for us. We just kept trying for awhile, and we thought, well, everyone says we’ll be good parents, many people ask us when we’ll finally take the plunge—friends, family, co-workers, checkers at the grocery store, strangers who see us at the park, holding just one hand apiece. Everyone seemed to agree. We should have kids. Relationship is good. Health is good. Finances are good enough. Personally, both of us are feeling as happy and satisfied as we ever have. Hundreds of books read about compassion, communication, mentoring, nutrition, religion, psychology, check. It’s a go. How could it not work?
It’s a fine question, and one that I’ve been asking for a few years now. I have moved between curiosity, patience, humility, anger, deep sadness, frustration, wonder, and searching groundlessness. Why not us, young, healthy, well-read, well-dressed, world-travelled kid lovers? Why not us be parents? As the years have passed, as more babies have been born in our extended family, as more and more checkers ask me, “so, when are you guys going to have kids? You know, you’re not getting any younger,” and as each new co-worker susses out my age and asks The Question, as old friends at work sidle up to me and whisper, “are you guys pregnant?” my guts churn, my head feels light, and the earth drops out from under me for a moment. I smile while the light-headedness fades, and I wish, wish this didn’t have to be a public thing. And I won’t lie and say I don’t want kids or something. I try to keep my voice buoyant when I say, “nope, it’s just us.” “Maybe someday.” God, it hurts like hell sometimes.
I’m a pretty private person. Most of you don’t know a lot about my fears, my faith, our relationship, our money situation, our health. Most of these things wouldn’t make interesting reading probably—you’re not missing much—but I tend to be pretty private with the inner stuff. The absence of a child is not something that lends itself to privacy, especially when you don’t believe in lying. We haven’t found a convincing marionette or stunt-baby to bring to the park, the mall, the office Christmas party. So, it is just us two, answering questions and crying later, supporting each other in a thing that most people can’t understand.
The thing is, we are already luckier than most. Few people can say that their relationship grows more amazing by the day, that they find their jobs interesting, that there bodies are mostly a source of joy, that they have a support network that stretches across the globe. We have been so blessed that sometimes we are shy about telling the truth about it for fear of seeming to gloat. Many of the things we have, we have contributed to often and intensely, but we recognize the luck, the blessing, the dizzying mystery of our opulence. Perhaps the most striking example of this is all of you. One can’t possibly justify having so many wonderful, loving people in our life. We could never, ever fall far with the love you give us, so it’s not much to brag about that we can leap and leap and leap.
Now to the kid thing. Something switches in some parents. Some describe it happening for them—once the child is born, something changes and they become wonderful parents. Even people who were unsure and unprepared. It seems that happened to us in a way. Once we decided we wanted to open our lives to another soul, we were ready. I want to give parenting. I want to be a father. I want to parent with Leah. I want our kid to meet all of you. I want to be in the heartbreak and brilliance of raising a child.
But is hasn’t happened. We have changed our diets, adjusted our rhythms and calendars, taken vitamins, and had doctor’s appointments. We’ve tried the spiritual, the allopathic, and the holistic realms for answers. There is no one thing that precludes us from having a baby. Nothing says it can’t happen. Both of our bodies are a go. Yet, the answer is, after these years, “no, it’s just us two.”
So, we have begun talking about adoption. It is something we’ve always thought of, separately and as a couple, to do one day. I think we both pictured doing it along with the more traditional method. Recently, we decided to shake that up a bit. And since this process is public, since the lack of a child is so glaringly obvious on the outside, and so glaringly obvious in our inner thoughts, we thought we’d invite you into the process. Opening up the process may make it hurt less, and it helps to be honest about something that has had so much effect on us.
The invitation comes with no strings. Come if you want, read if you want, comment if you want, but please just see the invite as an acknowledgement of your crucial and beloved place in our lives.
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