Most of us in the infertility world have the room. The room in our homes that was set aside for a nursery. The room that holds so much meaning in our hearts, and yet is so empty. The room that is a constant reminder what is so desperately wanted, and yet so far away.

I have that room. It’s a cute room. We painted it when we moved into the house. It’s a pretty cute little room just waiting to be used.

I’ve been deathly afraid of that room for quite some time now.

I keep the door shut and I NEVER dare to open the door, let alone walk inside.

But now that everyone is getting excited about our adoption plans, I am being asked things like

What colour is the nursery going to be?

When do you plan to start buying furniture for the nursery?

When will you start buying baby clothing?

When will you have a baby shower since you don’t know when the placement will occur?

The first time I heard any of these questions I was at a loss for words. (Yes, even this girl can be speechless). It has been almost 2 years since I’ve stepped in that room for more than 30 seconds. After all our losses, how can I begin to start decorating and assuming we will actually ever get a child? Panic started to set it. At one point I even said to Mr. MPB, I’m just not ready yet. Maybe once we are done the paper work and are officially waiting, but right now I’m just not ready.

Well, it turns out people keep asking these questions and similar variants. It turns out everyone else is ready! Heck, apparently one of our Aunts is already shopping and another one is already knitting.

So, I’ve decided to step up. While I’m not about to go for a stroll around ToysRUs just for fun, if people do start buying or making gifts for our baby, I will start putting them in the nursery. I’m not about to decline beautiful, well-meaning heartfelt gifts for our child, just because I’m scared that something could go wrong. Our child deserves to be showered in love, and I’m not about to stand in the way of love!

And so, upon making this decision, I took a very big step the other day. When I was putting away our Christmas decorations, I saw a box. A giant box that I have been hiding for the last 4 years or so. This box was the only real thing I have EVER purchased for our future child(ren). This box, contained one item – a beautiful Eames inspired rocking chair. I had been eying it for a long time, and the store went out of business, so I couldn’t resist at the closing out sale. I told Mr. MPB that it was a baby gift for a friend and used the story for years each time he’d ask about the giant box in the basement. (I had absolutely no intention of ever giving up this chair and he knew it).

But you see, I bought the chair a few years before we decided to actively start trying. The chair was bought innocently and naively. And thus, the chair became a symbol of everything that was going horribly wrong. The chair became a painful reminder of our lost babies and our lost dreams. The chair found itself left in its box and tucked far, far away in the darkest corner of our basement as to ensure I wouldn’t have to see it and face a physical reminder of everything.

On many occasions I threatened to give away the chair, because I know some of our friends would have appreciated it and I couldn’t bare the sight of the box. I couldn’t bare the reminder. Each time, Mr. MPB pleaded with me not to, not yet.

So, this last weekend, I took one giant step. I pulled out the box from the storage room. My Christmas decorations needed the space which in my pragmatic mind meant the box had to be moved. My hands slid onto the cardboard as if I were touching a fragile piece of glass – ever so slowly and ever so softly. I had done it, I had touched the box! Victory!? Nope, I needed to go further. I brought the box out of the storage room, and upstairs out of the basement. I found a knife and started to dig in. Mr. MPB noticed what I was up to and came to watch and help (and maybe to help pick up the pieces when I broke down). It turns out there was no breakdown. Upon opening the box for the first time, I discovered it is not the light blue colour I had ordered.  But with a twist of fate perfectly compliments the green of the nursery.  So now the big box has made its way to the recycling depot, and the light green chair is unwrapped and resting peacefully in our future child’s room.

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