"Thanks a heap coyote ugly. This cactus-gram stings even worse than your abandonment."

Our back bedroom is vexing me. The spare room. The guest room. Storage. At first I thought it was because all the baby stuff was in there. So I shoved the walker and the circle of neglect in the closet and started dropping hints that maybe we should put the swing in the garage. But the excuse that was used to keep that stuff up here to begin with, (neither of us dared utter; for our baby) that his cousin coming over for playdates with 9 month old twins makes use of them while they’re here, still applies. So I tetris-ed it into the closet as well, shoving it behind the costco paper towels and toilet paper thinking that would do the trick. It didn’t, something was still wrong.

We usually keep the door closed for heating and cooling purposes. But I open it during mild weather to air it out. When the hallway is dark and cavernous down there I don’t think about it. It’s easily ignored. But with the door open, the light spills into the hallway, a beacon, it shines brighter than even G’s room somehow, and I’m drawn down there. I almost can’t control it. I wonder, if I had a near death experience if this would be my tunnel. If the bright light I float to will only lead me to my almost empty spare room. I walk to the room and lean against the door frame, feeling confused at why this room is still not right. I’ve moved the bed 3 times, thinking it was some feng shui thing, like when we moved the living room around I was like Ohh! That’s much better. But it never works. It’s sad how long the obvious takes to occur to me sometimes.

When we moved in, May of 2010, we knew we’d be ‘trying’ again when G turned 1. Which would mean the back room would either be G’s new room, or the baby’s. Because of that, only minimal things were done to it. It’s painted white, the window sill is plain wood, there’s no pictures or decorations, just a bed, and a set of plastic drawers that serves as a night stand of sorts. It’s very basic. The thought of turning it into G’s playroom, or making it a permanent guest bedroom makes me physically ill. Literally. My stomach gets upset just writing it.

I am the least ambitious person I know. I was completely contented with my job at the group home in middle management. I didn’t want to have my own group home, though it was offered to me, I didn’t want to go to school to be a social worker as many of my co workers were doing. I was happy where I was. Now, I don’t want J to have high paying job so we can afford all the luxuries. I’m more than willing to scrape by if he’s doing something that makes him happy, if it means I get to stay home with G. I don’t need much.

When we first started talking about marriage, kids, a life together, there were always 2 of them. To play together, keep each other company up in the wilds of the lonely mountains. To share the decisions and responsibilities of their aging parents. To bask in the unending love this family has to give. When buying baby furniture for G, we went as neutral as we could. The car seat, stroller, pack n play, crib, swing, all these things can be used with a boy or girl, we planned ahead for the next one so we wouldn’t have to buy again. There is, I kid you not, an empty hook on the coat rack J made for me hanging by our stairs. It mocks me.

I have 2 friends who had early 2nd trimester losses, each has a kid already. It was of course traumatic, life altering for them both. And their decisions after their loss was not try again. They were just done. I’m almost jealous of their ability to do this. I am of course simplifying it. I was not there for the tears, the talks, the heartbreaking choices. But I can’t even bring myself to think of those conversations. It is out of my realm of comprehension.

This family is the only thing I’ve ever yearned for. The only thing I’ve strived for, worked towards. These pictures in my head. After school snacks. Arguments and secrets. Home for the holidays. I hope I don’t come off as ungrateful. Discontented, greedy. I am happier than I have ever been in my life with G and J. I adore every ounce of them. But my never ending love for them doesn’t take away the one simple fact.

All I want, is to paint the nursery.