Just Let Me Be Their Mom
There is an empty room in our house. We could make it an office. A guest room. A place for all the random things that still haven’t found a home since we moved. But we won’t. Because that’s the nursery. There isn’t a crib in it. There aren’t clothes hanging in the closet or diapers stacked in a drawer. There isn’t a baby. Not yet. But that’s still what we call it. The nursery. Maybe that sounds silly. Maybe it’s a little painful. But I think, more than anything, it’s our way of leaving room for hope. Because even after all the negative tests, all the disappointment, all the months of wondering when it will finally be our turn, we haven’t figured out how to stop believing someone belongs in that room. We just haven’t met them yet. Before infertility, I thought about all the details. How I would tell Jacob. Whether we’d have a boy or a girl. Names. Nursery ideas. Who they’d look like. All the things you dream about when having a baby still fe...
