I have been struggling in semi silence for months.  And that is not like me, not at all.  I usually broadcast my temperature to the world.  I usually wear it all on my face.  I was working my little side job this afternoon and my boss lady (aka really great friend) busted up laughing when I described the old, adorable sewing table I am going to turn into a bar cart for the living room.

Her:  Bar Cart?  For like, martinis?  
Me: No.  For my whiskey.  And fancy glasses.  Stop laughing.
Her: You are so not having kids are you.  I'm giving up on you.
ME: HEY!  

Here's the thing.  I really thought I might want kids.  I did.  I even started dreaming nurseries and names and numbers (two sounds about perfect).  I ambushed Nate with The Conversation on our long training runs.  Poor boy.  So I can't be pregnant during summer, I can't.  And there are already a lot of April birthdays in my family.  What do you think about twins?

He promptly sped up after telling me I was crazy.  And I was.  I was seriously treating the whole thing like a girl scout cookie order.  I'll take two of those please by this delivery date, thank you.

Then I got a little more sophisticated with it.  I started lists.  I studied the calendar.  I reasoned my way into mamahood.  My best friend is pregnant.  Most of our friends are already working on their third.  We have really great parents, so we'll be great parents too.  I started to feel a little panicky like maybe I was on the edge of missing out on the best timing and pretty soon my stomach was tied in knots over it all.  I don't want to be the old parents.  I want time left at the end of it and I want my body to have a fair chance at recovery.

The first time I took a test I lost my shit.  I'm sorry for that word, but I don't know how else to say it.  My whole body shook.  I read the test directions twenty-seven times.  And then I read them again.  I made him stand outside the door with cookies and I could not hold my heart still while we waited.  Those two minutes were the longest minutes of my life.  I don't have a word to describe the mixture of relief (PRAISE him) and acute disappointment I felt when we saw the result.

Let's talk about the relief first.  You have no idea (or maybe you do because people have done this to you, too) how many times people have said to us, Enjoy it now because it all changes.  Or, Your life will never be the same (and, just in case you were wondering, this is never said in a happy-excited tone, it's said in an end-of-the-world zombie apocalypse tone).  So there are those words bouncing around in my body, smashing any maternal feelings that may spring up.  Also, there is the Pregnancy Horror Chronicle that I have been growing for years, compliments of the bizarre urge women have to overshare birthing details.  There's the raw terror that accompanies that chronicle and my sense of self preservation because why in the world would I hurry along towards my body's demise (oh, the birthing drama).

And there's what we already have.  Nate and I make a great team.  We actually like each other (crazy, I know).  If I had to pick someone to be stuck on an island with, it would be him.  And let's be honest.  When you're childless, every night is date night.  I like date night.  I like having my husband to myself.  I like sleep and quiet and isolation.  I like travel and spontaneous day trips and I really like riding my bike.  Enjoy it now because it all changes.  Your life will never be the same.

You see what those words are doing to me?

The disappointment though.  That was in the bathroom too: disappointment showed up.  Because there is a part of me that is already a mother.  Even if I never have children, I am a mother.  There is a part of me that has been raising and loving children for years and that part of me is not going anywhere.  That same part of me is curious: what might we make together?  What if we have one of our own and we grow this tiny soul as it grows us-- what good thing would He create then?

I thought I wanted children.  I thought I was ready.  I even drew up a plan in my mind.  And when I did that, I lost hold of trust.  And my eyes lost hold of Him as my great journey.  I used to think that marriage meant the end of adventure and I quickly learned how wrong I was.  Marriage adds to it all, escalates the depths and heights of my faith.  I'm slowly realizing that this sacred unit He designed: family, is simply another vehicle for faith growing and kingdom booming.   A new kind of adventure.

That's huge.

That's bigger than bike rides and date nights and a small growing being feeding on me from the inside (I still can't think about that for too long).  And what I'm realizing is that I could be pregnant in the summer and the world would not end.  I could be a mother and he could be a father and we could still be crazy about each other.  Our lives could change forever as they should.  Or, God might say no.  My body might say no.  And if so, I will need to hug the children in my life so tightly.

There is going to be more disappointment and more relief.  But there will also be adventure because we are on this journey together and we are headed towards the greatest Being, the highest and loftiest and kindest Creator of good things.  So the next time someone says those Live it up while you can words to me in that you're-about-to-be-run-over-by-life voice maybe I will simply say Okay.  Or hand them some cookies.  Because clearly, they need them more than I do.