Backstory, Part 2

(Part 1 is here)

We still wanted to have a child, so we turned to an adoption agency. We went through a battery of screenings, home visits and interviews, had friends and family vouch for us, and after almost eight months we were in the pool of prospective parents. Now we could get matched with a pregnant woman and get to know her and be ready, or we could get a call at 4 a.m. from a hospital saying someone had delivered and immediately put their baby up for adoption and did we want the child? It was exciting and terrifying. Most importantly, we were extremely OK with what was going on. I couldn't think of a more noble endeavor than giving care and love to a child who desperately needs it, who’s been dealt a tough hand before he or she is even drawing unassisted breath.

Then, The Wife went on a business trip to Portland, Oregon. She felt funny--a familiar funny--so she went to the drugstore and got a pregnancy test. When she called me, I was flopped on the couch watching television and wondering if a third glass of wine would be worth the extra fuzziness the next morning. I was stunned, to say the least. Now that we'd given up, moved on, accepted all that and were happy about it, we were pregnant again? Questions and doubts flooded my mind, but I pushed them aside for the rest of the evening. That third glass was the sweetest wine I've ever tasted.

We walked on eggshells for weeks, flat-out refusing to get our hopes too high. Or, in my case at least, refusing to publicly acknowledge that hopes were high. The miscarriage the year before was devastating, and the notion that we were headed toward more heartache like that was frightening. This felt different, though. Felt good. I felt like we were going to be OK, for no other reason than I just felt it. Maybe the storybook ending appealed to the writer in me. The cynic in me was exhausted, that's for sure. We embarked on what would end up being a perfect pregnancy (perfect in the everything-went-fine sense--The Wife surely didn't think two solid months of 24/7 morning sickness was 'perfect') that led to the birth of the beautiful NJ last August.

An impossibly soft teddy bear sits perched over NJ's crib. It was in The Wife's hotel room in Portland, overpriced and superfluous but Right There on the bed. Kids probably scream and cry until their parents agree to buy these stuffed animals, as the hotel manager rubs his hands together deviously downstairs in the lobby. The Wife slept with the bear after finding out she was pregnant, and brought it home for the child. The bear doesn't have a name. NJ will name him (her?) one day when she learns the story of How She Came to Be.

That, in brief, is our story. To me it's the most important story in the world. I know I run the risk of boring people to death with tales of how Damn Special my child is, but I can't help it because I know--I lived--the backstory. I know that everyone has a backstory. And it's amazing to me that even though each one is different, it's just as important and dear to those storytellers as mine is to me, as ours is to us. A bazillion histories, all the same but all wonderfully unique. That's just about the most beautiful thing I can imagine.

Well, except for this:

Backstory, Part 1

The Wife and I tried for years to get pregnant. At first there was no urgency. We had sort of taken it for granted that we'd have a kid or two, because ... well, everyone did, right? One day we realized that it wasn't happening. Maybe it's a little dumb to stumble upon a cold, hard fact like that out of the blue, but we 1) honestly didn't think there would be any problems getting pregnant, and 2) were petrified at the thought that there might be problems getting pregnant. So acknowledging that was a big, big deal. The clock was running out. We decided to enter the world of fertility treatment.

Fertility treatment was cold and sterile, but it seemed to work. After two treatments through her OB/GYN, we scored a goal. Nancy called me one day when I was away for a writing weekend at a friend's cabin in central Washington. She felt odd and took a pregnancy test, and it came up positive. I sat in my car on the side of the road in lovely downtown Twisp, where I'd driven to get cell phone reception, and marveled at our luck. Was it really that easy? (Answer below.) I went home the next day and we hugged and cried and smiled goofily at each other for an entire evening. A list of names was begun, plans to renovate the basement and convert our office/bedroom into a nursery were plotted. The Wife's first doctor's visit did not go well, though: The fetus's heartbeat was very slow. We scheduled another appointment one week later, and by then the heartbeat had slowed further. It was a sickening trend: The fetus was not going to survive. Almost two months after we got the news, we lost it.

We continued with the fertility treatments, even kicked it up a notch and went to a fertility clinic. We did not care for that experience at all--they were salesmen--but felt it was our only option. The Wife felt we were being sold a bill of goods. When we went in we were told that the chances of our conceiving were slim, so slim that they wouldn't waste everyone's time with in-vitro, but "Hey, come back next week and we'll get you pregnant then." One day, after several months of this, The Wife decided she'd had enough of that. We'd waited too long. We'd been careless. That was that, for her. I’d been edging in that direction, too, but she zipped past me. The issue consumed us; even though it looked like the right thing to do, it was hard to let go. One day at work I had what felt like heart trouble and left, but it turned out to be nothing, except a likely panic attack. Once I figured things out a little better, on my own, I caught up to The Wife. That was that, for me too.

(Tomorrow, Part 2.)

The Beginning Is Nigh

The circumstances that find me a stay-at-home Dad (you won’t catch me calling myself a SAHD because sad is the last thing I am—more on this later) are simple. My employment situation is very flexible, and my wife’s isn’t. Long before NJ was born, in August 2009, we’d decided to do it this way. I would stay home for the first year of her precious life, and by the time she turns 1 we’ll have a good daycare situation lined up. Once I’ve been at home with her for a while and get the ins, outs and nuances figured out I’ll scrape up some freelance work.

Or, at least, once I’m close to getting the ins, outs and nuances figured out. That happens, right? Parents learn as time goes on and more and more different events occur? Seems like it ought to be that way. That's how I improved playing different sports: time, practice, repetition. Doing it over and over until I got it right.

D-Day is Thursday. The Wife goes returns to work, reluctantly. She has been off for a very long time, thanks to maternity leave and lots and lots of vacation time. It's been easy to take care of NJ for a while and then hand her off, for feeding or play time or whatever. That's going to be over pretty soon, though. In just a few days.

This is the child that, hopefully, I won’t be screwing up. Isn't she adorable? Wish her luck.

And me. Wish me luck, too.