Shelby and I are in a weird state of middle ground right now. Our pregnancy is public knowledge, and we (more I) gladly share it with those we are close to, or if the timing is right. It’s a weird feeling, being “out.” Once we found out we were pregnant, all I could envision was shouting it from the roof tops. Partly because we took a huge step in our battle with infertility, and the rest because we’re FINALLY pregnant.

I feel like we’ve come so far. We’re just past 16 weeks, and still have a long way to go, and I’m okay with others being in our our little (but growing) secret. However, I will say, telling people isn’t quite the thrill I expected it to be. I find that the more people we tell, the less ecstatic I feel about it. Many other bloggers have eluded to this, as I’ve learned. The more people tell, the more our pregnancy is “normalized,” the more it feels like I’m ignoring or even forgetting the past. Almost as if we’re turning our backs on the 5 years of tears and anger we experienced as we battled infertility. It’s like our pregnancy created a blank slate, or tabula rasa (tabula rasa always reminds me of that Buffy The Vampire Slayer episode – whoo Buffy) where our infertility no longer ‘counts.’

I never expected to be taken aback as I have. I even find myself wanting to keep it to ourselves. I’ve found this especially true when around couples our age, or older than us that do not have kids. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve never assumed that everyone would want kids, but I find myself wondering, “What’s their story?” For those that we have told, I carefully watch their reactions, their eyes, their facial ticks for a hidden signal of pain or loss. I wonder if we share a common thread? I find myself wanting to hint at our infertility. We’re not “just another” pregnant couple. We’re the infertile pregnant couple and it’s not the same.

I wish there was some type of keyword, secret handshake, or other signal that us infertiles memorize. That way, when we tell you that we’re pregnant, we can identify, share, and understand each other just a little better. Sure, when you find out we are pregnant, it may stir up a lot of emotions, but you’ll also know it didn’t come easy for us.

What would your secret signal or handshake be? Maybe we can start that movement today!

Man, I’m really running out of blog topics here. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say, but nothing is bubbling up to my brain.

We had another sanity check ultrasound yesterday. Yes, another! Much like Nina eluded to, when the 2 week mark between ultrasounds rolls around, we start freaking out. If someone invented a monitor you could strap to your stomach that displays our active boy, I’d buy that in a second. Luckily for us, our NP is awesome. This last ultrasound was very cool. We could make out toes and fingers, joints and perfectly formed feet. Our NP was very patient and spent a quite some time trying to confirm our little ones gender. Our little guy is a stubborn one (he gets that from his mother) and kept his legs crossed until Shelby poked at him though her tummy. With his legs crossed, we got a perfect shot of his feet and toes, so cute! I’m still awed at seeing how much movement is on the screen, and that it actually LOOKS like a baby now. A tiny, perfectly formed baby. (oh, and we got a really good money shot, no doubt that it’s a boy now)

As I’m driving into work today, I am reflecting on all the things I look forward to introducing our little boy to. I figured, I’d one up my A to Z post, and challenge myself to do the same, but for the future. I present, the A to Z’s of what I’m looking forward to sharing/experiencing with our active little boy.

• Airplanes. Every boy loves airplanes right? I can’t wait for the first time we take him to the airport. I envision his face plastered to the window over looking the terminal as he is in awe over the flying metal tubes. Maybe as he gets older, we’ll build a remote control airplane and fly (crash) it together.
• Beer. Sharing that first beer, once the kid is (close) of age. Pulling out those frosty mugs, pouring a brew, clinking glasses, and sipping that first beer will be a sight to behold.
• Camping. Shelby and I love to go camping and roast marshmallows. I cannot wait to do that with our kid. I remember the excitement of finding that perfect marshmallow stick, carving the tip with a pocket knife, and sliding that first marshmallow onto it. Seeing our kids first marshmallow sugar high is going to be awesome.
• Diapers. Once Shelby announced her pregnancy to a few friends at work, she was given newborn diapers as a gift/joke. We opened them up, and I was amazed at how small they are. I asked “is the baby really going to be this small?” I knew the answer, but was still amazed. I cannot wait to do that first diaper change. (Now the 1000th may be another story)
• Excitement. Seeing the world though a child’s eyes. Everything is new, challenging, and exciting. I cannot wait to see the world though his eyes.
• Fingers. The first time those little fingers grasp my hand…
• Grandparents. Seeing the hope, excitement, and happiness in my parents eyes as they await to be titled “Grandparents” brings me so much joy. I can’t wait to give them this opportunity.
• Happiness. Above all, seeing our child happy is most important; Smiles, laughter, and love.
• Invitations. Shelby and I were joking the other day that our child’s first birthday party is really for us, not him. But man, I can’t wait to send out those invitations, seeing our boy destroy his first birthday cake. I’m looking forward to all the invitations that we’ll be sending out. Birthdays, graduations, everything.
• Jack-o-lantern. I can’t wait to take you trick or treating, carve a pumpkin, and indulging in Halloween candy. It will bring a smile to my face when I hear you say “tweak or tweet” in that sweet, little boy voice.
• Kicking. Feeling you kick for the first time… Amazing
• Love. You will experience love, in many different forms. The love of your parents, love from your grandparents, that first high school crush. Above all, you will find the one true love of your life, and we’ll love her (him?!) too!
• Merry-go-rounds. One day, when you’re older, I’ll take you to Santa Cruz. They have an awesome merry-go-round where you throw rings into a clown’s mouth. I can’t wait to experience that with you.
• Onsies. From buying the first set of Onsies, to changing you. You’re going to be so cute in these.
• Parks. We’ll go to many different parks. State parks, local parks, the park where your Mom and I first kissed. We’ll play on the swing sets and I’ll push you on the swings. I can almost smell the freshly cut grass, and hear your squeals of joy.
• Quiet times. There will be days, where our house is still and everything is at peace. You’ll be sleeping soundly in your crib and my eyes will be locked on your peaceful face. During these times, I look forward to thanking the universe for giving us the gift of our child.
• Reading. It’s bedtime, we’ll snuggle up together as I read you a bed time story, funny voices and all.
• Star Wars. Oh man, we’re going to watch Star Wars together. Seeing lightsabers, space ships, Luke and Leia though your eyes will be a treat.
• Time Outs. There will be some days where you’re going to get a “time out.” You’ll be testing your boundaries, testing Shelby, testing myself. You’re going to teach me so much about being a father during this time, and you’re going to get in trouble. It’s all for a good reason.
• Unforgettable. Every single milestone will be unforgettable. Those first steps, the first word (mine was, fittingly, “more”), getting your drivers license, going to prom, getting married.
• Voice. What will you believe in? What will you sound like? What will we talk about? I look forward to it all.
• Why. You’ll be so curious and relentlessly ask me questions. Why is the sky blue? Your brain will be growing so fast, and I’ll do my best to nourish it.
• Xylophone. I’m so going to buy you one of those xylophone toys. Bang away little guy.
• Yosemite. Your mother and I will take you to Yosemite. We’ll go fishing, hiking up Half Dome, see the waterfalls. Your mother has never been, it will be a new experience for both of you.
• Zoo. Will you love animals as much as we do? We’ll spend countless hours looking at elephants, tigers, bears, and butterflies. You’ll climb onto my shoulders and point at the elephant pooing in front of everyone. I can’t wait!

This oak tree is special to me, as I eluded to in a Show and Tell post last month. Special enough, to want to share with you as I take time to remember my childhood and the tree that was my safe place.

Growing up as a triplet, was very hard at times. My brother, Scotty, was born with severe brain damage. Doctors were never able to pin a diagnosis on him, but autism, downs, and the lack of many metal faculties that placed a 2 year old in a mans body is a good introduction. Eventually, my parents simply couldn’t provide him the 24/hour care he needed and they made the heart breaking decision to move him out of our family home, and into a place that could provide him the care he needed.

For many years, Scotty lived 20 minutes away, in a group home and was cared for 24 hours a day. We saw him 3 times a week. My parents would pick him up, bring him home and spend the day with him. Eventually, his need for this type  of care, outgrew what this facility could offer, and changes had to take place. Puberty was a difficult time for all of us, especially Scotty. He had no understanding of the changes that were taking place, and even less of an ability to cope with them. He acted out and badly. He became self-destructive and the facility simply didn’t have the means to care for him. My parents had no choice but to find him alternative care. It was a no win situation, and the only care available was 6 hours away and a sterile, institutional setting.

For years, we’d drive down to the LA area, at least once a month. Many trips were so heart breaking and Scotty’s behavior problems were so severe, that there were times we’d see him for 30 minutes or an hour if we were lucky, only to turn around and drive right back home. It was simply to hard to stay the night and repeat the visit the next day. I’ll never forget my parents tears as we’d leave the facility. My mom would play “Smile” by Natalie Cole as my Dad would drive us home, fighting tears in his eyes, trying to be strong for the family. I hear this song occasionally, and it still makes me shiver.

(Now, Scotty is in a much better place, both physically and mentally. He is 45 minutes away, lives walking distance from the beach, and has 24/hour care and is doing fantastic.)

My other brother, Will, is the complete opposite of me and as children we were like oil and water. We never got along and fought all the time. We didn’t share friends, and although we shared the same school, and my parents always made sure we had separate teachers. Will was a popular kid in school, and I was teased mercilessly, often instigated by him. This drove a huge divide between us, that has only recently been repaired. During our elementary school years, I spent many days walking home, alone, crying the hole way. I was a very sensitive, usually overly so and my feelings were easily hurt. I never really learned how to deal with it, so I’d cry.

So, as you can imagine, Scotty combined with relentless teasing at school made for a difficult childhood. (Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all tears, there were many wonderful times, vacations, and happy memories. I remember my childhood fondly, and have wonderful parents, it’s just that hurt feelings are easy to remember.) Scotty had the uncanny ability to pick up on people’s moods, and react to them. No matter what you were feeling, no matter what was happening, when Scotty was visiting, everything was put on hold. Emotions, anger, sadness; I learned how to bury them. To hide them and put on a happy face for Scotty. So did my parents. There was no choice.

There were times, where it was just too hard. Arriving home from school after being teased, or being around Scotty when he was self-abusive was too much at times and I found one place that provided me solace. The oak tree in the picture above. After a short climb up the hill, I was always welcomed by cool shade and a place to gather myself. I’d spend hours under it’s protection. I’d cry, read a book, draw (horribly), or even take a nap. It was my place to escape and to just be myself. In a lot of ways, this majestic oak tree was my best friend. The only fight we ever got in was when the horde of bees that were nesting in it’s branches became unhappy about my presence. Man, I ran at break neck speeds down the hill. I hate bees.

As years went by, the Oak tree and I saw less of each other and the pain of childhood faded. On every visit to my parents, I’d always spend a few seconds gazing at the tree that taught me so much and silently thanked it. I don’t think I even shared how important this tree was to me, with Shelby.

I wondered how old this tree is, and how much change it has lived though. If it could speak, I wonder what it would have said. Were there others that sought it’s protection? Now that we are pregnant, I’d fantasize about bringing my child up to this tree and introducing them to my safe place. I’d share with them what I learned; No matter how hard things get, people love you and everything is going to be OK; That you have the right to be alone, to scream or cry and no one will judge you; That There are still safe places in this world, and the shade of this tree is one of them.

I wanted to pass down everything I learned from this Oak.

On Monday, I received an email that hit me like a ton of bricks. The weight of the oak was simply too much for it’s trunk, and has fallen over, splintered into a million pieces. My heart sank reading this, and I willed myself not to get teary-eyed. I know it’s just a tree, but I feel like part of my childhood has died. I feel like I lost a life-long friend. I feel so silly for being so upset over a tree, but my heart is so heavy over remembrance. Even as I write this, I have to swallow the lump in my throat. Seeing a picture of my friend, laying in pieces chilled me to the bone.

I feel cheated; robbed of the chance to share this experience with my child. I’m sad that this tree is gone. I feel silly to admit this, but I’m ANGRY that it is gone.

Tuesday, we met with our OBGYN for the first time, and I feared that the loss of my “childhood friend” was a bad omen. However, we received the exiting news that we’re having a BOY!!! My heart is sad that I cannot share this mighty oak with our SON, but there is one lesson I can teach him from the love and loss of this tree;

Son, my child, one day I’ll be gone, but for every second I breathe on earth, I’ll protect you, give you a safe place to cry, laugh, or simply, just be.