half the fun

These are plants on a windowsill. Are they special? It’s hard to say, but they are watered enough to be green — okay, yes, there are some yellow leaves that the super sleuths among you spotted right quick, I’m sure. All of that aside, these plants would very likely grow just fine outside in California. They would not fare as well outside in their current zip code; Minnesota is a far cry from (sub)tropical. They’re a reminder of what we’re up to and where we are headed.

Our last trip to California was in late December. It didn’t go as anyone involved had hoped it would. It didn’t involve anything altogether catastrophic, we just didn’t have any success in the squishy baby department. It’s a weird thought: had that transfer gone to plan, we would be in trimester three now. All of the possible timelines are dizzying if you step back and try to keep track of all the variables: what if this paperwork had been done sooner? Or, what if we had matched with a different couple? Full disclosure: I’m not saying that because we at all wish that we had been matched with a different couple. We love the couple with whom we are matched and are happy to be journeying with them. I just mention it because it’s such a huge variable in the surro-equation.

We’ve officially established a tradition. On the nights before we travel for surrogacy-related reasons, we book a hotel with a pool, order too much pizza, and watch the kids tucker each other out while they swim in ridiculous patterns around a tiled, man-made water box. Our master plan has worked beautifully thus far: blast the children with more fun than they know how to have all at once and they won’t even care notice that we are gone. We all miss each other on these long weekends, but a little absence is super greatdoes make the heart gro–blah blah blah. Married people with kids have a right–nigh, responsibility to get away and not have a schedule. On the flip side, I’m a firm believer in kids having extended times without their parents. I neither know nor care for the vocabulary that describes the psycho-social benefits of such times, but I can say that everyone is the better for it.

Completely switching gears: my wife, you guys. I won’t call her ‘perfect’ because the pressure would be crushing, but seriously–I cannot even with how great she is. Because I know she’ll read this and it will make her cringe (hard, too), I’ll use some of that Insta-lingo and tell you that she is so fire! Kids these days… ‘So fire‘? Try: ‘So ridiculous‘.

Anyway, I just think my wife is a superhero because hormones, as I’ve told you before, make ordinary things hard. This week, she not only braved the storm of medically induced pseudo-amnesia, but also packed every last little thing for our trip, checked into our flight, booked a hotel, organized a pool & pizza party, andto top is all off??! She ran out to find me a cure for my more-than-a-little-painful heartburn. This woman. I am not worthy. This is why I celebrate her often by, among other things, scheduling my own holidays that require gifts. Like flowers every Tax Day.

I don’t have a lot of surro-news, so if that’s what you’re here for, sorry to disappoint. We’ll have some fun updates this weekend as we pretend like we won’t adjust to Pacific Standard Time by sleeping in and staying up way too late.

One more thing before I go. We are going to surprise the socks off our kiddos. We made them a paper chain to count down to something super great. Every day, we wake up, the kids freak out when they remember we get to cut another link off the bottom of the chain, we sprint downstairs, count the links before we cut one off, actually cut one off (with grownup scissors!), count the links after we cut one off, and then do a super excited happy dance for something that might be no more than a paperclip. YAY!! So, readers that know: SHH!! Readers that don’t: we are on 25 today, so if you want to make a chain 25 links long and follow along, you go right ahead! Excitement levels over here are… (wait for it…) …OFF THE CHAIN!!! 🤣🤣🤣

That’s it for now! The pizza guy is late and the children are circling. Like vultures.

One thought on “half the fun

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