There are so many things I want to write about. Last week as I sat down to write I had a specific topic I was addressing, I knew where I wanted to take the reader, and I knew how I would end. My mind felt sharp, which is a bonus. However, as I typed and typed all the wrong words seemed to appear on the monitor so I didn't post at all. It reminded me of high school ballroom class. I knew the name and theory behind the steps, but my little feet could not do what I so desperately wanted them to. This week I have no specific topic to write about and NO mental clarity. I just know I need to write something.
I guess the trouble is trying to avoid the topic of babies. It is the greatest desire for most female newlyweds. Once allowed to use procreative abilities couples have to decide the who, what, when, where, and how of family planning. And while many couples agree to a "waiting period" wives still long for the time when a little life stirs in their womb. Working with several newlywed women at my job I have noticed the most frequently visited topic is children. And why not? We are only surrounded by expecting mothers buying ginger tea for morning sickness, prenatal vitamins, and plenty of folic acid. Just delivered mothers venture out with their newborn strapped in a car seat to buy lactation-support tea, stretch mark cream, and colic-soothing formulas. Little toddlers squeal with delight as they recklessly push the miniature black shopping carts we provide. As young married girls we watch and smile and secretly desire to be in their shoes.
But in these moments, I remind myself that Paul and I are waiting and to be patient. I hate waiting. I understand I am ultimately the master of my thoughts so I'm trying to choose not to think about it. I'm trying to enjoy life as just the two of us, which is hard when everything brings me back to babies. For instance, two weeks ago I was at the store buying hand soap for my bathroom. I buy a different scent every time. I guess it's my way of branching out from the scents familiar in my parent's home while I try to establish some for my own. This last trip I stumbled across a lavender and chamomile flavor. The initial smell reminded me of my sister's possessed vehicle, which made me smile. I felt that smiling every time I washed my hands was a good thing. What I overlooked was when combined with the hot hand-washing water the soap mostly smells like a naked baby pulled from the tub, wrapped in a towel for prime snuggling.
I now cry every time I wash my hands.
Okay, maybe I don't physically cry, but I have to try hard to control my rogue baby thoughts and keep my focus on the decision Paul and I have made. I know I will go completely insane if I don't. Hopefully, the more I practice the easier it will get. Or I could give up and have a baby. Only time will really tell.