Dear Future Baby

Good evening, baby.

It’s a gorgeous Friday night, and rare in that both your father and I have the day off. We’ve been married almost three years now, baby, and I am still in awe how much I enjoy spending time with him. We had a lovely day in which nothing big happened and yet our lives intertwined into errands and daily habits feels like an unending gift. Even now, in 2021, after more than a year in which he was more therapist, best friend, husband, confidant, and co-worker, I still am not sick of him. Let’s hope this continues for 30 more years, at least.

Now, he is inside, listening to a podcast and calming the dog, who has been alerted to a non-owner human somewhere within a 100 feet, while I sit on our quasi-deck with jazz music and pinot grigio.

Today, your dad had to renew his driver’s license. We had gone to the far west edge of the city so that I could return my internship computer, and he found a DMV not nearby. He discovered that his driver’s license had expired when we went into for our first round of IUI. It’s funny because many have used it to verify his identity, including the fertility clinic, but it was only at this point, 10 months after it expired, that someone noted it. When we pulled up to the DMV, which was situated in strip mall, our eyes widened at the three-block long line. This task had to be done, and as long as your father has his phone, he can occupy himself for hours, so he went to the back of the line and began waiting. I had brought a book a long but decided to explore the area. The strip mall with the DMV faced another strip ball and both were legs to a large Walmart that stood opposite of the entrance. Having spent most of my life with meager means, I am an excellent window shopper, so I decided to browse a few of the stores in this shopping park, leaving my wallet behind.

It’s fun to think about what your life would be like if you had endless amounts of money. I would most certainly but that three-foot marbled blue planter and put some kind of exotic green inside it. Or, I would gather up a ton of these wicker baskets for shoes, toes, and another knick knacks one wants to be able to hide from company in a minute’s notice. And, $200 doesn’t seem like too steep of a price for a robot vacuum that would could daily clean up after my sweet, but always-shedding, hound mix. I wandered through home decor, lawn care, and sports, thinking about a life in which I might need all of these things.

Then, I came to the baby section, and no longer was it about wishful thinking rather homework. A onesie with lemons called to me. So did another with a mountain print. Some women experiencing infertility will do what they call a faith purchase, or #faithpurchase. These items are things women with infertility issues buy as a nod to life beyond the struggle. They are often clothing or a book or a decorative item for a nursery. I nearly bought one during our first round of IUI, and I think about one item in particular that would be part of the celebration of a pregnancy. But, I always refrain, kind of like in the way I wouldn’t allow myself to buy wedding magazines or look at dresses until your father proposed, even though marriage was inevitable for us. They call it a faith purchase because you have to have faith that the outcome you want will come your way, but I guess I’ve always been too much of a realist. After I entertained the idea of grabbing one of those onesies, in hopes that this next round of IUI will take, I resigned not to do so and moved on to the big ticket items.

First, strollers. I casually gazed at them but knew that I had other thoughts in mind. I want, nay, need, a running stroller. When you come to this world, I will need to be able to fasten your into your seat and push you along as I toddle behind. I have a few makes and models in mind, and I’ve already put your grandmother, an expert-level bargain hunter, on the case. There was a couple of cribs, but again, I would like to find something specific, maybe vintage, when I know you are for sure on your way.

The car seats intrigued me the most because they are the most complicated. How heavy are they? How will I learn to properly strap them in? How can you tell which of these eight is the best? Even though I want you so much, it was a slight relief that these weren’t questions I needed today.

I also looked at carriers, bottles, bibs, and teething rings, mostly wondering what it would feel like to actually need these items rather than want to need them. What it would be like to be a mother, running in quickly for diapers, so I can get home and put my sweet child to bed.

Part of me felt like a cliché, a woman who has troubles getting pregnant (oooh typing that made something real that wasn’t before) wandering the baby aisle. And, yet, it also didn’t feel too foreign, like give it some time, and I will belong in this aisle.

For as long as I can remember, for whatever reason, shopping often reminded me of how single I was. I would shop for clothes and wonder what does a married woman buy. I would walk by the men’s section, trying to imagine what it would be like to pick out a shirt or a pair of shorts for my husband, you know, because his others were ratty and he needed some new ones. I wanted to be able to shop for a partner as much as I wanted that partner.

A couple of weeks ago, I was with your grandmothers shopping. It was the first time I had seen either in months, and the first time we had been shopping. They both wanted to spoil me, and they did with all kinds of nice pieces of clothing. They also picked up items for your cousins, and before we left, I mentioned that your father needed red shirts. They were on it. We went to the men’s section, and their eyes darted to everything red. Your father has a particular style, so we video chatted him to make sure he approved. As your grandmothers continued to hunt, I went off to find him some socks.

It hit me, in the men’s sock aisle of a department store, that this is what I always wanted—a loving husband at home to shop for. Someone who I could show off my new clothes to but would insist I was beautiful regardless. Someone I could pick out an item and know that he would like it because I know him. This little fantasy had finally come true.

And, that’s why I know the one of me picking up a new bottle or a small pair of pants will come true, too. Maybe you’ll be at home with your dad, or in the car with me, but this small moment of motherhood is coming my way. I just know it is.