I always assumed I’d be a parent.
Have a kid or two. Maybe three. But, god please, no more than that. Sure, I grew up as one of four kids, but I never have had a desire to repeat history on that kind of scale.
Never did I think I wouldn’t be a parent.
And yet, despite the reassurances and well wishes from well-meaning family and friends and medical professionals, there’s a distinct possibility Nicole and I will not be parents.
At the same time, there’s a chance we will be parents. That the fertility odds will work out in our favor.
But we must be prepared for whichever possibility becomes our reality.
And let me tell you:
Living in that strange limbo is not easy.
It is downright difficult, gut-wrenching stuff.
It’s tiring, too. Tiring in a way that goes beyond physical fatigue. It’s deeper, more emotional.
It’s a spiritual restlessness that gnaws at you: What will the answer be? On which side will the coin drop? Which side do you want?
The answer to that last question is the hardest. Because, to be completely honest — I don’t know.
I can see a life with both possibilities:
One where we welcome a baby into the world and our life becomes even more joyful and awesome.
Another where we don’t welcome a baby into the world but our life becomes even more joyful and awesome.
Either way, life will do what it always does.
To be honest, at this point, I just want an answer. One way or the other.
Whatever the outcome, it is likely I will feel both relief and disappointment when it finally comes.
Relief at finally having our answer.
And disappointment at never getting to know what might have been.