M and her dh went Christmas shopping this past weekend to a large shopping area near their home. They stopped at an outlet mall that I'm assuming she'd never been to before and she sent me a text sharing her excitement about the selection of baby and maternity stores and that she and I will have to go there next summer. Next summer. I'm sitting in my office as I type this watching the first snow flurries hit the cold Michigan ground. The next time I sit outside on a hot summer night, the next time we unpack the patio furniture, the next time we swim in the neighbor's pool, the next time we light fireworks, the next summer will be the summer we've been waiting for.
Our basement remodel has transitioned from a mess of electrical wiring, insulation, and drywall dust to a space that is about to become livable, comforting, and warm. The paint is going on the walls today and the 'man's bar' is in full construction mode. The bathroom has been tiled and carpet installation is scheduled for December 23rd. It's bizarre the connection that I'm able to make between this project and our baby. My dh has done most of this work himself but we are contracting out some of the specific projects, one of those is the man bar. I'm literally in awe how these men are able to transform the piles of wood into such a beautiful structure. I went downstairs yesterday to check on their project and was struck at the talent that was evident in my basement. I was so thankful for their excellent work and felt compelled to tell them that they weren't just building any bar, but the bar that is in the space that we will rock our baby to sleep, change his diaper, and perhaps even the space where he will learn to walk. This isn't just any bar! I resisted my urge to share those thoughts with them, but continued thinking them still.
Dh has made a single decision thus far in our surrogacy journey and that is: He doesn't want to know the gender of the baby. Yep. I'm not sure if he's forgotten he married a type A, can't remember that I plan everything about 3 years in advance, or simply enjoys the idea of torturing me...but whatever the reason, he's certain he doesn't want to know. I'm actually quickly warming up to the idea of the surprise.
The Stirrup Queen's Completely Anal List of Blogs That Proves That She Really Missed Her Calling as a Personal Organizer
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