"Are you there?" J~ asked me on the phone yesterday. I had fallen into a deep and sudden silence, in the midst of humorous and hypothetical prenuptual deliberations. Lately we've been talking about furniture. My bed or yours? (His frame, because it's nicer; my mattress, because it's almost brand new.) Your couch or mine? (Maybe a new one altogether.)
Even as we work through the very practical nitty gritty, we've been carefully noncommittal, keeping a watch out for the moment when the shine of "so much better than the ex" begins to wear thin. But we feel more solid every day, so neither of us really believe that's going to happen.
But still, it might.
There are also moments when the uncertainty makes us want to jump in blind, get pregnant, lock this thing down so that we don't have to face the lonely alternative any longer. Rushing has an unmistakable, unpleasant vibe, so we resist.
For a brief moment on the phone yesterday, for the first time, it didn't feel like rushing, nor did I want to resist. I'm ready, I wanted to say, Let's do this.
The thought brought me up short.
To those of you wondering if my last blog entry meant I'd given up on having children, let me say this: The possibility of throwing caution to the wind very much exists. And if the wind gets strong enough, it might be soon.