The Girl I Love

This is our little girl—a whirl of frilly pink giggles and mismatched shoes.

 

Please don't ever grow up.

 

Thank you, Uncle Chris

Dear Uncle Chris,

I know you thought I was destined for geekery and dateless weekends when you heard I wanted a Made-for-TV Fushigi Ball for Christmas.

I suspect you thought it'd be funny to aid in your young nephew's seemingly certain social demise, just one step away from teenage medieval combat reenactments with styrofoam-wrapped swords on the Upper Quad of the nerdy college campus where my parents work.

What you failed to consider, however, is that I am an adorable five-year-old who will soon master a 12-years-and-up toy (once my hands double in size). And that—is cool.

So who's laughing now?

Thanks for being cooler than my boring parents, Uncle Chris!

Love,

Porter

P.S. My mom and dad have asked me to tell you to watch out: Taylor is one misstep away from action figure geekery in his Transformers fascination. How would you feel about a life-sized Bumblebee wall decal for his birthday?

Is this an answer?

Nineteen months.

I have been waiting for a baby (and for a while, two) for 19 long months, spent counting the days and weeks. Planning and waiting. And waiting.

And I wonder how this ends, as I've spent the better portion of my last two years in a holding pattern. I want to run a marathon. I want a new pair of jeans. I want to surprise Andy with the anniversary get-away I have been scheming for the past three years, and I want to make holiday travel plans. I even want to go to work conferences and overhaul our backyard landscaping. I want to volunteer to help with long-range projects instead of stopping myself half-way in as I wonder if I'll have to duck out early for maternity leave. And I want to stop delaying family pictures with "we may as well wait until..."

Even as I type this, I look over that list and chuckle at how small such complaints sound when held up against a new life. Of course a baby wins out over jeans and vacations and committees.

But...

Does a dream really trump the living, breathing life that surrounds me? This may not make sense to everyone who reads this, but the truth is: I want a baby. Or I dont. (But really, I do.) I am just so, so tired of waiting.

I just want to get back to my life and look ahead without second-guessing the timing. Now, if I could just figure out what that life is supposed to look like.