Able to Breathe

I understand that the world isn't the nicest place, that there are things to be fearful of. That in some minds, there's no real reason to bring a child into the world because it could be considered cruel to them. That in a lot of cases, including mine, having a child is a selfish thing to do. I understand it's a ton of work, a huge commitment, and it's one I'll never understand until that moment that I begin raising a child. And all those things said, I still want them.

I want them for my parents. I want them for me. I want them for him. I want them because it takes this daily grind that we go through each and every day and adds purpose.  And even if though I have no other reason for wanting them other than I just do, I still really want them.

So how do you balance already being love with someone with the idea of being in love with your imaginary kids? How does that work?

One of my very best friends and single mother of one, who absolutely completely adores Adam in every way, responded like this...

"Oh, that's a toughy. Liv, I don't know. I mean, I love Sam. But if that meant I couldn't have Elizabeth? I don't know. I really don't."

With our two year anniversary quickly approaching, I ask him the question a lot. When we get up and when we go to bed. When we're traveling and when we're in the comfort of our home. When we're next to each other and when we're on the phone. I've explained that not all kids are like her, and when they're your kids, it's different. They're yours. And yes, they're work, but they're yours and that makes it more fun. Aggravating, but still fun.

I do believe there is hope. And lately, I'm starting to think there's more hope than I thought.

Just yesterday, we walked by the Easter Bunny photo booth where a one year old was tucked in the fuzz of the Easter bunny with an expression of nothing but shock. Adam laughed, and pointed out the baby to me.

And then we strolled by Lowe's and a selection of lamps on display. Adam pointed at the Winnie the Pooh version and expressed how cute it was. I laughed at him and explained that he couldn't admire Winnie the Pooh lamps unless he was willing to entertain having kids.

And then last night, when I asked how long he thought we'd live in our townhouse, he was surprised to hear I thought we'd be there for five years or more.

"I'm not sure I would want to raise a kid in a townhouse," he said.

To which my heart jumped. Because I can breathe once again. Because I am me, and I want it all – Adam and his kids.