When my husband and I moved into our house back in 2011, I couldn't wait to fill the bedrooms with babies. Our main level has two other rooms besides our own bedroom, so I knew we could get at least three kids to all fit comfortably in those two rooms. But as the years went by and infertility continued to be an unwelcome presence in our lives, those two bedrooms, especially the big one at the end of the hall, started filling up with storage. Like, a lot of storage.
Our third IVF had just failed when I began to wonder what other use this room could have. Maybe it could be a craft room. It has a lot of natural light and would be perfect for setting up my scrapbook supplies. We could have put a treadmill in there, and maybe a television and yoga equipment. Not that I really did much yoga, but we had the space and if I was going to live my life child-free, it could be a new hobby I take up.
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When our fifth round of IVF was finally successful and I somehow survived that first trimester with excessive amounts of worry and nausea, I allowed myself to start thinking about a nursery. I spent the following months slowly clearing the room out, sending a dizzying amount of garbage bags of donations to different charities. We ended up moving a ton of stuff into the smaller spare room and packing that closet to its limit in order to clear out the nursery closet.
After the room was completely emptied out, the first things we bought for the nursery were two dressers from an antique store. I remember the anxiety I felt as we painted them together and even asked my husband while we were waiting for the paint to dry: "What if we jinx ourselves?"
The nursery was coming together and I was cycling between excitement and fear through it all. Because this room represented far more than just the baby's nursery.
Then came the glider, a bouncer and a baby play mat from various garage sales. The crib, in a huge cardboard box, sat against the wall until we assembled it three weeks ago. The nursery was coming together and I was cycling between excitement and fear through it all. Because this room represented far more than just the baby's nursery.
It meant we were overcoming the battle to have a baby. It meant our persistence in treatment after treatment was paying off. It meant that in a few short weeks, we were going to be bringing home the child that we had prayed for for years, but never believed would actually come.
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I would rock my miracle to sleep in that glider. I would dress her in the clothes from the closet that once held only adult ones. Having this nursery didn't mean our infertility was cured. But it meant, after more than six years of heartbreaking loss and failures, that someone was coming to live with us, someone that could take our shattered hearts and piece them back together again.
Last weekend, we applied the final touches, hung the art on the wall and lay the rug down. And all I could do after that was sit in the chair, rocking softly, staring at the crib, the dressers, the stuffed animal from my mom, and cry.
The nursery is ready. All it needs is our baby girl.
