This is what we did this afternoon...
Clara's first time eating baby food was a success!
A year ago, on St. Gianna's feast day, we were praying she would come into our lives, not even knowing who 'she' was. And this year I was feeding her pears. God is so good.
Clara and GIMH's baby E got a chance to hang out last night and, of course, hilarity and cuteness ensued. What is it about babies interacting? I just can't get enough of it!
While E has been very aware for a while now (he's about five weeks older than she is), it was really the first time Clara had seen him since she has been aware of her surroundings. I couldn't wait to see if she noticed him or was at all interested. Well, she definitely noticed him, and I'm not sure she knew what to make of him!
Here's a video of Clara laying on E's lap (sitting next to each other never works well). Listen for him talking to her and wait until you see him making his move! He's just the cutest! Oh, and feel free to make up your own dialogue...
Have no fear for what tomorrow may bring. The same loving God who cares for you today will take care of you tomorrow and every day. God will either shield you from suffering or give you unfailing strength to bear it. Be at peace, then, and put aside all anxious thoughts and imaginations. -St. Francis de Sales
As soon as I read this on a prayer card today, I knew that many of us could benefit from it. God will either shield you from suffering or give you unfailing strength to bear it. This is what it all boils down to when you're scared and suffering. This is what trusting in Jesus is all about.
I also thought of all of you at Mass yesterday when we sang a song I love, The Summons. I first heard it when I was part of an adult education program in the diocese where we used to live. It was always sung when we gathered for Mass since it was so obviously about answering a call to follow Christ, as the people in my program were doing. But on Sunday, it struck me that that's exactly what Catholic infertile couples are doing as well (not that non-Catholics aren't, but I'm focusing on Catholics here, since so many Catholics don't follow the Church teachings on assisted reproductive technologies).
This is how I see it: God called all of us at one point in our life; for many, it was soon after we were married and first realized there was a problem. He asked us to follow Him, and we may or may not have realized at that point exactly what that meant. What it meant, we'd soon learn, was that He was asking us to put our love for Him above our desire for children. That often meant, for many of us, that we'd feel like outsiders in a world of beautiful families and babies. We'd feel that, ironically, we weren't allowed to be part of God's own creation - the miracle of bringing new life into the world. We might not even be able to talk openly about our beliefs for fear that others would think we were judgmental. We feared they would think we were a little crazy, extreme, or that we "must not want children that much." We'd have to pursue alternative treatments, but that wouldn't be easy either; we'd have to pay more, travel far, undergo painful surgeries and treatments. We'd feel unloved, cast aside, forgotten, even among Christians. Even in our own Church. We'd suffer terrible heartache and at times wonder if we were abandoned by the very God who called us in the first place.
Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you (falsely) because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven. Thus they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
I know infertile couples aren't being physically attacked, as many who stand in faith are, but I still think this beatitude still applies in a way. I'm not sure I can explain why. Maybe it's because infertile couples who follow the Church's teachings are persecuted by the devil, or by society. Maybe it's just the silence that feels like persecution.
I just feel strongly that we need to focus more on how God has called so many of us to be witnesses for Him. When we, understandably, get caught up in the day-to-day suffering of the journey, it's easy to lose sight of the beauty of His teachings and the weight of what it means to follow them.
It's hard to post about this without sounding prideful. I don't want to come off like I think I'm good for following the Church's teachings; of course, it's only by the grace of God that I have been able to. I am weak and nothing without God, and how grateful am I that I somehow was taught about these teachings and was able to see their beauty. I thank God for that grace! It's just that I believe it's helpful to remember that infertile couples who respect the Church's teachings are actively doing the Lord's work each and every day. This isn't random. This isn't all in vain. This is a calling, a summons. He picked you specifically for this difficult task and you have said 'yes.' The Lord must be very pleased. It's not easy to pick up your cross and follow Him. Even though it's born out of love, the journey isn't pretty. As we all know, it can be downright ugly most of the time. Yet you have remained faithful (and I don't care how much you complain! You still embrace the Church's teachings).
Here are the lyrics that remind me of you all. You constantly amaze me. Your strength and faith is inspiring, and even though the world may not recognize the beauty of it, I sure do.
1. Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?
Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?
Will you let my love be shown? Will you let my name be known,
will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?
2. Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?
Will you let me answer prayer in you and you in me?
3. Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen,
and admit to what I mean in you and you in me?
4. Will you love the "you" you hide if I but call your name?
Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?
Will you use the faith you've found to reshape the world around,
through my sight and touch and sound in you and you in me?
5. Lord your summons echoes true when you but call my name.
Let me turn and follow you and never be the same.
In Your company I'll go where Your love and footsteps show.
Thus I'll move and live and grow in you and you in me.
I hope this was coherent enough. I'm tired and preparing for a long road trip home with Clara tomorrow. I'll have a lot of time on my hands, so I'll be praying for all of you!
I am such a bad prayer buddy. And bad blogger in general, since I haven't posted in quite a while. I at least have an excuse for last week - we were on vacation, with my family, at the beach.
We had a wonderful time and Clara loved spending time with her grandparents. Or, I should say, her grandparents loved spending time with her. Because, let's be honest, she would go to strangers right now. I am sure one day she will love us all wholeheartedly, but right now she is so happy she doesn't care who is feeding her or changing her diaper.
I'm just kidding. She reacts to both my mom and dad and I can tell she loves being around them both. She especially has a thing for my dad; she giggles and laughs whenever she is in his presence. It's really adorable.
Anyways, before I do the big reveal, here are some Easter pics, including the obligatory "balcony shots":
I'm not normally a big fan of baby head-bands, but I put it on her that day just for fun, although I don't think I'll be doing it again anytime soon. It left such deep indentation in her poor little scalp that my mother dubbed it her "crown of thorns"!
Okay, back to my prayer buddy. First, I'd like to apologize to her for taking a week to reveal this. I could possibly be the only blogger left, so she might have already figured it out by process of elimination. So without further ado..... it's Brit from Picking Up Our Cross!
I hadn't come across her blog before becoming her prayer buddy, so I was blessed to find it and get to catch up on her old posts. She is such a kind, sweet - and humorous - woman of faith. I prayed for her daily, offering up a nightly Rosary for her (always for her AND Clara, so she was in good company), praying throughout the day whenever I remembered, and at the consecration during Mass.
I have to admit, though, that I was lazy the first part of Lent and felt bad for Brit, that she got a slacker prayer buddy. And then, on the very day that I was feeling particularly guilty about my prayer efforts, I logged on her to blog and read her post from that day, in which she actually wrote "Speaking of lent, my prayer buddy, whoever she may be, is doing a fabulous job." Ha! God sure works in mysterious ways. I felt like it was God's way of showing me He is bigger than my inadequacies. It truly energized me to pray with new vigor for the remainder of Lent (and, on a side note, that particular post of hers was all about, of all things, adoption and how she and her husband had a new perspective and were going to trust in God throughout the process. It was so wonderful to read and I was so happy for them!).
So Brit, I will now be adding you to my side bar and commenting more on your blog, since before I was afraid it would let the cat out of the bag. And, of course, you will continue to be in my prayers.
By the way, has anyone else noticed that a lot of graces and blessings seem to come out of our little prayer buddy circle? I really think this thing is powerful! We definitely need to think about having prayer buddies of Ordinary Time...
We pulled up to a small, one-story home and parked our van in the driveway. Ryan took our video camera bag from the car, gave our personal cameraman (Barbie's husband) a quick tutorial, and then took an uncomfortable amount of time white balancing (fixing the color so whites are true whites). The nanny had opened the door at this point, Wendy was walking in and I was growing fearful that our meeting was not going to go as planned. Oh this is our daughter? Sorry. My husband is the one outside adjusting our camera settings.
I begged him to stop. He passed the camera off and we entered. I immediately embraced the nanny, who had a sweet face with kind eyes, and then Ryan did the same. We made small talk for a few seconds before she asked if we wanted to meet our baby. She was smiling, but I could tell this was hard for her, that she wanted to get it over with. We followed her into her bedroom, where a bassinet was set up next to her four-poster bed.
She leaned down, picked up a teeny tiny baby, who seemed to be all pants, and handed her off to me. A stranger handed me a baby. Flashes were going off. My brain was telling me I should be overjoyed, crying even, that this was my daughter, but the entire situation seemed completely absurd. I momentarily wondered, where was I, who were these people? How had I gotten here? Not exactly the reaction I imagined having, but I quickly learned that absolutely nothing can prepare you for that experience.
We had woken her. She stretched with her fists clenched and her face turned tomato red. She had lots of relatively long hair on the sides of her head and practically none on the top. Her eyes seemed swollen shut. Someone asked if she was as small as I had expected and I answered yes, she was.
Picture taking commenced and one was texted to our family and friends within the first five minutes. We couldn't let them wait any longer.
I sat in a recliner and held Clara awkwardly. I felt awkward, embarrassed I didn't know how to hold my own baby. My own baby. Ryan squatted next to us, starring speechless at his daughter.
Wendy asked if we wanted to get going and I was thrust back into reality - we could leave with her. I followed the nanny into her kitchen and fought to pay attention as she gave me instructions on bottles, iron supplements and her stuffy nose. She then held Clara and said a tearful goodbye. She'd wake up at the same times Clara usually woke up during the night for about a week, she told us. She did after all the babies.
We thanked her profusely. She had taken loving care of our daughter and played an important role in her young life. We strapped her into her car seat and stood back and we all laughed at how it seemed to swallow up all five pounds of her.
And then we were gone. We were driving away, me in the back seat behind Ryan with a baby to my right. We had escaped with her and no one was coming for us.
As the nanny's little home faded into the distance, Ryan made a tearful call to his mother and I secretly wondered if something was wrong with me because I still hadn't cried. The tears on the way to get her had dried up. I was no longer shaky, but calm. The adrenaline had drained from my body and I felt tired. I was relieved. Content. It wasn't, surprisingly, shocking to me that we were now a family of three; it seemed right. Perfect. I was a mother, Ryan was a father and this little girl - Clara - was our daughter. I felt like we'd had her all along.
It's difficult to pick an ending to this story, since it's not an end, but rather just the very beginning. There is so much more I could share - our cluelessness that first day (thank goodness for Barbie!), finding our way that first night (we couldn't believe we were this little person's primary care givers), when she really felt like ours (that first night), and the wonderfully easy ride home (we were sure we had adopted the best baby in the history of babies). Back home, we continued to receive donations, including a hefty one (a constant reminder that there really is so much goodness in this world), and we are completely paid off with the attorney. We will work to pay back our family over the next couple years.
The adoption will not be finalized until roughly a year from now. I struggle with that from time to time, but, in the end, there is nothing I can do. We trust that everything will go smoothly and, in the meantime, we know we are Clara's parents.
I thank God every day for this miracle - that her birthmother carried her, that she was born healthy despite being only 30 weeks, that word got to us that she needed parents, that no one else took her home before we did, that we got the money together, that I started this blog, that I have joy in my life once again. God is so good, even to those who spent years doubting Him. I can now say, with complete sincerity, that my infertility turned out to be a blessing because it brought me Clara. Every second of heartache was worth being able to look at this face...
He really does make all things new.
I talked with the nanny - the woman who was caring for the baby ever since she was released from the hospital - on Sunday. She was the best baby she ever had, she told me, and she'd had more than fifty. The love sounded in her voice and put me at ease. It couldn't possibly be a scam with such a sweet lady involved. As I hung up I realized this woman was watching my baby. I had a daughter, we just happened to be miles apart.
We started painting the nursery after settling on a shade of light green and there was no looking back. Our friend Matthew was invaluable; Ryan had to work that afternoon, and Matthew and I painted all day. At around 8:30 we headed to Target to buy a crib, despite the fact that even I knew it would be a few months before a crib was actually needed. Matthew was doing the buying. In yet another act of reckless generosity, our dear friend temporarily fronted the money we did not have at that moment and didn't even bat an eye.
We looked like a couple of crazy people running around the store before closing, green paint on our faces, hands and clothes, not to mention I hadn't really slept since Wednesday night and it was showing. We found the crib my mother-in-law had told me should be there on sale and asked an employee to check if it was available in the back.
We were buying a crib together yet Matthew and I didn't look like your average husband and wife, who would probably take their time on a Saturday afternoon, painstakingly looking over the crib and changing table selection, registry gun in hand. Instead it was late on a Sunday night, we were nervous and in a hurry, and I had taken my wedding ring off to paint if anyone even bothered to look. Not to mention I was missing a baby bump. We joked someone might mistake us for child abductors who were frantically getting some necessary items for a baby we had just stolen.
The crib was in stock and soon being carted out to Matthew's car and it was just as quickly being taken back inside where we were forced to return it and place it on hold, so Ryan could get it on Monday with his truck.
We headed to Walmart - since it wasn't closing - and bought some diapers and preemie sleepers. We laughed hysterically at the silly sayings on every article of clothing - Cutie Pie, Pretty Girl, Future Dancer; something I would soon barely notice was so comical that night. I was exhausted but having the time of my life. It was - to use a word that came out of my mouth nearly a thousand times that week - surreal.
Back home, our marathon painting session continued late into the night, well past the end of Ryan's shift. As the paint dried we made lists in an attempt to organize the chaos in our brains.
Matthew left around 2 a.m., not to sleep, but to write a recommendation letter we would be sending to the attorney's office later that day. Two other friends, Grace In My Heart and Lifehopes, were also kind enough to write us glowing recommendations at a moment's notice.
During a break I excitedly pulled out the tiny doll-like clothes I had purchased for the trip back home (because, surely, we would be in need of clothes) and, to my surprise, Ryan didn't share my enthusiasm. Do we really need all of those, he asked. Yes, I laughed, taken aback at his apparent frugality in the midst of our surprise adoption. We only have four and this is a baby, after all, I told him. They pee on their clothes and we're going to be in a car for a long time. I sensed he wasn't yet thinking that an actual baby most likely named Clara would be wearing the outfits because I couldn't imagine him not wanting to give his daughter the world, let alone $20 worth of sleepers.
Our roles had shifted from him being the one confident in the process and me, nervous, to Ryan wondering if it was really going to happen, clearly in an effort to protect me and, possibly, himself. I just can't rest until we call our agency and have our home study faxed, he told me. I understood, but I had now decided to be excited and wanted him on board. We were overtired, though, and so we tried to get a few hours of sleep before calling our social worker at 9 a.m.
She was off for the day. When we heard her voicemail message that morning we joked that it was just our luck, and Ryan instead left a message with the head of the department, Debra, and proceeded to write an email to both her and our social worker, explaining our urgent situation. Debra soon returned his call and, to our surprise, immediately sprang into action, calling the attorney's office and faxing our home study. We had imagined not only that Debra might already have a full plate that morning, being a Monday and all, but that if we were even able to get ahold of her, she might tell us we were crazy. We had built up in our minds that our agency would be the voice of reason - if they told us it was a scam and we were just a gullible infertile couple, then that would be that. But they didn't. I could see Ryan immediately relax and begin to let himself believe this was really happening.
With that hurdle cleared, we planned our trip. We'd leave the next morning and, in yet another small miracle, Ryan already had the remainder of the week off from work, since we had originally planned to head up north. I packed and prepared for our 20-hour trip, cleaned, picked up our crib and bought a changing table, and made arrangements for my mother to overnight a check for an exorbitant amount of money to my blogger friend, Barbie, who I had never met but who so graciously offered to meet us at the attorney's office, an hour from her home, check in hand. We didn't want to risk sending the money directly to the attorney. We were hopeful yet cautious.
I spoke several times with my sister-in-law who was spear-heading a family-wide effort of collecting and cleaning every last baby item we could possibly ever want and had no idea we needed. Exersaucer, boppy, bumbo. I trusted her that these were real things and typed the words, phonetically, as she said them in this strange, foreign language. I figured one day, like her, I'd be fluent.
I was high on adrenalin. This is what I had dreamed of for so many years, becoming a mother, laying eyes on my baby for the very first time. To be honest, I didn't exactly dream of this very thing until about two years earlier, after hopes for a pregnancy began to fade. Now, I was sure that nothing could be more exciting than this, not even seeing those two lines.
What we did get to see that day was a new picture of the little girl - a picture of a picture - and we were forever in love.
We left early Tuesday morning, destined for Ryan's parents' home in Raleigh. We would stop there, load up with the items necessary to our immediate trip, and change cars. We'd be taking his parents' van. Once there, we took our time, ate lunch, and packed for our next leg. To my surprise, his mother had purchased and packed a diaper bag with everything we would need for the ride home, which was great because not only had I not prepared a diaper bag, I had left home the one item, other than clothing, I had bought for the baby - diapers. Motherhood was off to a great start.
By this time the name Clara was being used freely. Our nephew, Jonathan, had taken to calling her 'Cousin Claaara'. If it hadn't seemed real yet, it did now. Our confidence was shaken every so slightly, though, when I called Wendy at the attorney's office to check in. Over the last few days we had, naturally, questioned the legitimacy of the lawyer. He was a stranger to us; we were going on blind faith, after all, and once we confirmed that he was actually a practicing attorney, we joked about what we might find when we arrived. What if we pulled up and his office was in his living room? That's why my stomach dropped when Wendy warned me that their office was located in the clubhouse of an apartment complex. Of course.
With that thought set aside, and car seat securely in the back seat of the van, we hit the road.
The ride was a lot of fun. I probably talked on the phone 90 percent of the time; I told the story of the last five days over and over and never grew tired of reliving it. I sensed that this trip was bigger than us. God's hand was evident and I felt tangibly lifted up by the prayers of so many.
I talked more with Wendy and had her email all documents to my father, an attorney. He was cautious and wanted wording changed and added. Eventually he relaxed; what more could he do? This was how these things went. Adoption was a risk.
That night we stayed three hours away from our destination in a dingy motel that was fine for us, but the new mother in me immediately pointed out that it wouldn't have been good enough for Clara. Wendy had suggested we arrive around ten the next day and, while anxious to get there, I was realistic. I knew we needed our sleep.
I had never known exhaustion like this. I was in a daze, a zombie. I focused all my thoughts on the prize - driving away from the nanny's home with Clara in her car seat. I imagined a hundred times the breath of relief I would have. I clung to that image - not meeting her, not holding her, but driving away - every time I worried that something might go wrong.
We slept six hours, soundly, and hurried to leave by seven. I realized that in the rush to leave, I packed only my new jeans which I had hemmed to wear with heels, and was therefore unable to wear sensible shoes to pick up my tiny baby. I usually wore flats, and here I was, wearing heels to take home a preemie? Hopefully my mothering instincts would improve dramatically over the next few hours.
The mood on the ride there was a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and fear. Excitement that we were about to meet our daughter; anxiety about whether the attorney would seem trustworthy; fear that he might be a murderer. Ryan very calmly explained to me that he was, in fact, a real attorney and, since we had his real name, he would be crazy to kill us just to steal our money because everyone would know who did it. That actually did make sense to me, until I pointed out that it might be someone posing as him. And, after all, people kill for far less than $25,000.
I was clearly delirious. Finally, we crossed into our destination state.
As we drove up to the apartment complex the attorney owned, the feeling of butterflies had taken over my entire body. It was difficult to talk without crying. We pulled in - it wasn't what we expected, but what does one expect when an attorney's office is at an apartment complex? - and were put at ease by the sign with his name on it. For some reason, that confirmed for us that he was real. If we had any more hesitation it was wiped away when we entered and met Wendy and Fred. They looked nothing like I had pictured. They seemed down to earth and kind and I knew Ryan was already working on an impression of Fred as we sat around the conference table. We quickly forgot about our pact to not let the money change hands until the baby was in our arms. Barbie and her husband met us there with my mother's money, which we turned over, along with another check from Ryan's parents, without a second thought.
The paperwork was quick. Quicker than buying a car, Fred joked. It was true.
Before we knew it we were making the 30-minute drive to the nanny's house; we followed Wendy while Barbie and her husband followed us. I was on the edge of my seat but in control. I joked as we turned into the nanny's neighborhood that this drive, these last moments, were like my labor and boy was this easier than pushing a baby out. Ryan responded with a fist bump.
The culmination of five-and-a-half years was right around the corner, literally, and I was surprisingly calm; all I imagined was little Clara in her car seat, and us driving away.
I awoke on my birthday in tears.
What if this isn't God's will? It's all happening so fast. I only want the children God intends for me. How am I supposed to be sure we're doing the right thing?
My poor, poor husband. Ryan consoled me and calmed me down, probably wondering why this woman next to him, who prayed for a baby for so long, was now crying about getting a baby. I'm sure the emotions I felt were all completely normal. I was strapped into a seat on a huge, life-changing roller coaster ride. And I tend to cry a little every birthday, anyways.
I pulled myself together and got ready for the day. We were going to a downtown sports bar to watch the Syracuse basketball game against Pitt. I picked the place because it had tater tots on the menu. I wanted tater tots on my birthday.
Another blogger, and friend in real life, Amber, and her husband, also a huge Syracuse fan, met us there, along with another friend of ours, Matthew.
The only people in the place, we watched the game and talked adoption. The plan was to call the attorney's assistant, Wendy, while we were there. The night before I got Ryan to agree that we would be finalizing this thing on my birthday. It would be my present. The best present in the history of presents.
As we watched the game we talked about the plan for the week ahead, when we might head to the city where the attorney and baby were located, many hours away. A two-day drive. We weren't sure exactly when we'd go, but Wendy wanted the baby in a home as soon as possible.
Ryan handed me a birthday card and inside I found tickets for the Syracuse game, in New York, the following Wednesday. We had a trip planned to my parents' house in Upstate New York that week since we weren't able to go for Christmas. Ryan had secured the days off and we were leaving on Tuesday. Now it looked like we would be heading to a completely different part of the country. No basketball game would be in our future, but it was just about the only reason I wouldn't mind missing it.
Amber and I began talking baby names - a long-held dream of mine, I read baby name books as a child - and I scribbled possibilities on the back of the birthday card envelope.
Gianna, for a first name, and Therese, for a middle name, were high on my list. Therese seemed to fit since not only did I share a birthday with the saint, but I was making this decision on our birthday. Surely she had to be involved.
Ryan liked the name Clare ever since reading about St. Clare in Raymond Arroyo's book about Mother Angelica during one of our weekly adoration hours last summer. He had turned to me that day, out of the clear blue, and asked, what about Clare? What about Clare, I asked back. Well, she was the patron saint of television, his current and my former profession, and what did I think about it for a girl's name? I'd go for Clara, I told him, and that's how we left it. Until now.
So Clara was on our list. Possibly Clara Marie, for our mothers' middle names. Clara Gianna didn't work so well, since both ended in 'a'. Clara Therese. Esther Therese. Esther was my grandmother's name and I had, for years, planned to name a baby girl after her (we'd call her Essie), yet suddenly I found myself hesitant to tell people I was considering it, afraid they'd say it sounded too old-ladyish. I soon realized I shouldn't feel hesitant about a name I was about to give my daughter. It pained me to give up on something I'd planned for so long, but it just didn't feel right.
We decided I would call Wendy at the attorney's office at half time. I only had the number to her cell phone, since it was a holiday, then the weekend. It was a crisis situation and so Wendy, at home, took my call at any time of the day. Butterflies filled my stomach as I waited for the right moment. Was I ready for this? It's funny how you question something you spent years hoping and praying for when the moment finally arrives.
Half time came and I excused myself from the table and headed to the restroom where I hoped to find a quiet spot to make the call. A speaker was broacasting the game throughout the bar and, to my surprise, it was loud and clear even in the ladies' room. I pulled out my phone to make the call regardless, dialed the number, and instead of it ringing, I noticed I had instead picked up an incoming call from a fellow infertility blogger, This Cross I Embrace. You're not going to believe this, I told her, but I'm trying to call the attorney's office to officially say we're taking the baby.
We hung up and I called again. Voice mail. I left a message, said we had the money and if no other couples had come forward yet, we wanted to adopt the baby girl. I had done it. I walked back to the table to share the development.
Moments later Wendy returned my call and this time I stepped outside to take it. So you're saying you definitely want to adopt this baby? I paused. Life changing moment here, I thought. Woah. Ye-es, I answered her, surprisingly hesitant. Yes.
We talked details, which my mind floated through for obvious reasons. Talking details about a baby we would be adopting, and raising, seemed like an out-of-body experience and nothing could really be done until Monday. We would call our agency first thing and have our home study faxed to the attorney's office. Wendy would then send our home study to ICPC, four letters that sounded like jibberish at the time but would soon ring in our ears for days.
This time I returned to the table and told everyone it was official. She was ours. I called my parents to tell them the news and my mother excitedly told me she was cleaning out a closet when a novena to St. Therese floated down from above. She had no idea how it got there and, unlike the rest of the folded and torn old papers she had come across, the paper appeared pristine. She was sure the prayer was intended for me and the beginning lines said it all:
May today there be peace within
May you trust your highest power that you are
exactly where you are meant to be.....
I knew Therese would be the middle name.
Syracuse lost the game without me watching a split second and I didn't even care. I finished my cold tater tots and started to think about what was next. We would head straight to Home Depot to pick a paint color for the nursery.
Letting an infertile woman free in a home improvement store to pick out nursery colors for her baby is dangerous. I ran from paint swatches to the magazine rack, back to the paint colors, flipping through books, all the while asking Ryan for his opinion. Blue walls are okay for a girl's room because they're actually turquoise, with pink accents will be girly enough, but the pictures with green walls make me happy too, I don't want to regret this, blue, green, is blue bad, what do you think? Bless his heart, he even attempted to give feeback.
We left with a kids' room decorating book and primer, since we knew we needed it to cover the red walls in what was formerly an office, currently a prayer room and soon to be a nursery. I would make a decision on the walls after buying an inspiration piece, which Ryan had agreed we would look for that evening at Pottery Barn Kids.
Walking into Pottery Barn Kids was surreal. It was a store I longed for years to have a reason to enter and buy its beautiful, delicate products full of fairies and polka dots. I stopped at the entrance and stood before a display of princess bedding and teared up. An infertile girl shopping for nursery colors at Home Depot and bedding at Pottery Barn Kids, all in one day, and on her birthday. I was surprised my head didn't explode.
I settled on a pink and green quilt as my inspiration piece, which meant the walls would be green, and called my mother from the store to make sure my purchases were even necessary. I hadn't before realized just how clueless I was about a baby's needs and found myself suddenly embarrassed to even be in this store. I was sure the quilt wouldn't be used any time soon, but was it still okay to buy? She assured me it was.
I also ran the name Clara by her. It had suddenly all come flooding back to me that it was a family name, a name I had even used to name dolls as a child. She told me it was, in fact, a family name - my father's grandmother, Esther's mother.
It hit me like a ton of bricks. Clara it would be.
