I'm doing better. The topic of having kids colors most of my conversations lately: with M, with my friend L, with my sister T. . .
It's strangely cathartic. And it gives me hope.
I once dreamed of a tightly wrapped burrito baby being held over my husband's shoulder while he was standing in our living room. (It's a little fuzzy whether or not there was a twin burrito baby lying across my lap as I sat on the couch.)
On Father's Day 2007, M had a dream about me having just had a fair skinned, dark haired baby girl who was very quiet and thoughtful.
On Mother's Day 2008, I had a dream of having had a baby in the middle of the desert and trying to keep her warm.
I've dreamed of a sleepy toddler, head lying on my chest, body wrapped around my front, both of us rocking in a white, wooden rocking chair.
I've dreamed of feeding rice cereal to an unseen baby. I've even dreamed of having a baby that looked just like my own baby self.
This past week, while praying, I had a vision of an 18 month old toddler with dark brown, curly hair and big, pretty eyes. I asked Heavenly Father if I could have her.
Tonight, when visiting with M's parents, I told them they have to stick around a while because they haven't had a chance to meet our kids yet. Mom says "yes, we're looking forward to that." And M says "we're trying" and he puts his arm around me. And, standing silent, I think "we're just waiting for our dreams to become reality."
And they will. I know they will.