I have to just spit this out. Not that it’s any big secret. James and I have been talking about having babies since before we got married. Lately, we’ve both expressed our growing urges to each other. Of course, we have no space, not nearly enough money, and no time. So our lives continue as they are, as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of a new job, a new tax bracket, a new home, an MFA degree, etc.
I know that one is never completely ready for the trials and tribulations of parenthood, but we are at least trying to be as prepared as humanly possible. That means obliterating our credit card debt, upgrading somehow from a one bedroom apartment, and learning to function productively outside the academic environment. For me. For James, it means setting foot on the road that leads us to foreign lands, begins him on a track that will land him in the CIA, FBI, DIA, ONI, NSA, UFO or whatever agency he prefers, or which will prefer him.
In the meantime, we both struggle to keep our urges in. We talk and dream. We budget and plan. We work hard in school or at the video store or wherever. We wait. And really, this is the best way. I’m glad I get him all to myself for a little while, and I’m sure he’s glad not to have to share me. We are still so amazed to be married to each other. But neither of us wants to wait too much longer to take that next step.
The hardest place for me to know these urges lately has been my one-day-a-week retail gig at Borders. Saturdays are when the babies bring their parents out shopping. They laugh and cry, and these days, even the crying makes my heart reach out to my own unborn—who hover around me, whisper motivation, urge patience, give me something to look forward to. But it’s not always comforting. I want to meet my children face to face. I want this more each day, it seems. And sometimes, I feel like I just can’t wait.
But I will. We both will. It will make that moment in our lives all the sweeter for the waiting. I know this. We both do.