Mike lost his job.
We saw this coming; he didn’t loose it out of the blue. See, his work contracted him to stay through the election…the election last November. They extended his time through January, then again through March, and then again through April. We hoped he might find a permanent position with that company while staying on through this spring. But as of right now he rocks at unpacking boxes and being a house-husband, which honestly is extremely helpful at this point in time.
We also knew about the potential need to live off one income when we put a bid on this current new home. Our mortgage is only based on one salary, so while the living ain’t easy the checks will get paid.
There is only one issue looming over my head and heart: trying again for a baby.
We are not presently trying to expand our family. We are going to wait.
I type this with much uneasy trepidation. To try again to conceive that baby, to give me what I feel I lost, would be an easy fix for my grief. Getting pregnant again would give me freedom from this pain, filling the void with a new chance. But I am only one part of this equation.
My heart almost understands what my head comprehends: we have a new house and a bone dry savings account, Mike wants to feel like a provider and contributor, we can use this time to prepare for what comes next.
But for the individual who stocks extra items as backup in case something happens to the original? To the girl who runs on dreams? To the teacher who tends to others’ children day in and day out? To the woman whose biological clock ticks towards having a babe? This will take time to surrender to patience.