Chatting with Emma last night, I shared some of my new philosophies on TTC. Anyone who knows me at all, knows that I am a big ol’ fatalist, and Everything Happens For a Reason. So, here are the reasons.

First, I’m excited to have a vacation before parenthood. Interestingly, that was our first plan: Be married, buy a house, and take one great vacation as a couple, THEN have kids. We had sort of sacrficed the vacation notion at first, but now we get to, and that is so. cool. I mean, it’s not an African safari, but to be on the beach in April, hopefully preparing to transition to parenthood soon, that will be fabulous.

Also, on the crying. I mentioned last month that I had a big, big crying jag and it was very unusual for me. (“Yeah, but you’re a CANCER.”–emma) Since then, I’ve found myself welled up more than usual. I had a kid break down in class, and I took him to the hall where he REALLY broke down, and I almost started crying but remembered I had to be the strong one. When I retold the story, every time, my eyes got wet. I have just been more weepy in general, and it’s weird. But I wonder now if it isn’t part and parcel of the process. I need to be a little less hard-hearted if I’m going to foray into that world of motherhood, I need to be able to cry. Right?

And Dave. Not that I forced him into the conception thing, at all, but it’s definitely been more on my mind than his as we led up to this point. But now, after a few months of trying, he’s invested in the process. I had to explain to him that I couldn’t just randomly get pregnant, that timing was involved, and fluids, and all that other TCOYF stuff, which he had no idea. I mean, I think that in 8th grade sex ed, boys get to see boobie diagrams and hear that wet dreams are normal, and also you could get a woman pregnant without EVEN HAVING SEX, that if semen got to her UNDERWEAR, it could travel up inside and RUIN YOUR LIFE, FOREVER. (Remember those Dear Abbys?) Doing the quick run through, Dave was all “Oh. So when is a good time, then?” and we made our plans. Heh.

In general, though, whereas I dove in head first in the deep end, Dave has been taking the stairs one at a time. (He does this at the lake, too. I run and dive in, he wusses his way in inch. by. slow. inch. I’m used to the cold; he is not yet.) Now, we’re both in the middle, bobbing around, waiting for something to happen. I’m glad it’s like that; I’m glad he’s had the time (and is having) to get not only USED to the idea, but even excited about it. (“Does it mean I’m ready for kids when I think that putting “The Girl Next Door” DVD in the checkout lane is kind of a bad idea?” — Dave, at Hannaford)

I’m also easing into it being acceptable for me to want/have a baby. There’s an embarrassment factor to it for me, like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be doing. Like I’m just pretending, and only grown-ups should be seen in the Pregnancy/Childcare section of the bookstore. I have an excuse ready (“One of my good friends just found out she’s pregnant, and I’m looking for a gift!” heh) but more and more I’m thinking, fuck the excuse. I used to skirt the P/C shelves at Borders; they are under the stairs and known as a prime chair location (or were, before the new GM took over and removed all the comfy chairs) so being there and being (possibly) seen by former coworkers wouldn’t be so weird. “Hey, Gretchen scored the best seat in the house!”, etc. Now, though, I browse. No “Oh, I was just walking by and something caught my eye and IT WOULD BE A GREAT GIFT for my NEWLY PREGNANT FRIEND who YOU DON’T KNOW SHE LIVES IN CALIFORNIA/NEW YORK/AUSTRALIA. HA! HAHA! REALLY!” (One of my favorite Onion headlines: “Canadian Girlfriend Unsubstantiated” — maybe it’s from growing up on the border and knowing people who had unsubstantiated lovers from the depths of New Brunswick, or maybe even NOVA SCOTIA) Now though, instead of shopping sneakily for my Unsubstantiated Pregnant Friend, I go in, head held high, and pull out the books and look at the backs. ANd know what? Not yet, at least, no one has once laughed at me, or said “Umm, gretchen, those are for the SELLOUTS of our generation” or “Why are you looking THERE?” I guess the whole “I have a husband, house, degree and Real Job” thing makes it okay for me to browse. If I were still a slacker single girl getting drunk before staff meetings in the cafe, then, well, maybe there would be some raised eyebrows. But no. I’m all grown up and stuff. I have no reason to be embarrassed or feeling fraud-like. I bought “It Could Happen to You: A diary of pregnancy and beyond” and didn’t even ask for a BAG. I’m out of the closet, it would seem. (Unless you’re my mother, coteacher, or an in-law, in that case I am deeeeeeep in the closet. Or trying to be.)

On that note, any conception this month would give me a July 4th due date. Nice, eh?

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I saved this as a draft, because my sister called. And when I got off the phone with her, Dave and I took a shower. And while I was drying off, I thought I heard a knock at the door, but I wasn’t sure, so I peeked out the window. In front of the house was my SIL and BIL, the ones who have NEVER bothered to see our place. Of course, I’m in a towel, and Dave’s still in the shower, and our house is just not fit for first viewing. Not a total sty, but ferfucksake. Also, should I mention? That this is the SIL that is ALWAYS raving about people needing to call before stopping by? And that half the time, we call and they are “napping” (okay, we don’t call often, it’s almost always after a holiday and it’s to return/retrieve a pie plate or something) but still. For the biggest raving “NO DROP-INS!” person I know, please don’t f’ing DROP IN. They waited out front for about 5 minutes, and I told Dave, and he called their house as soon as they left and said “Sorry, I was in the shower when you DROPPED IN (emphasis mine) and only saw you as you were leaving.” Whatever. Inlaws.