Last Thursday we met with Whitney and Mamie. Neither Heather nor I are drinkers, but the prospect of meeting two brave women who had done what we hope fervently to do, and asking them our ignorant, wide-eyed questions, inspired three and a half beers on my end and one and a half on Heather's. We prayed they would be late so we could calm our nerves before they arrived.
We were wrong to be scared. Whitney and Mamie were so gracious and warm that we looked at them 50% of the time even in little William's presence. Or I did, anyhow. Heather is magnetized by babies and I don't know how much of the conversation she paid attention to. I worry that her sole memory of the evening was chubby baby cheeks. (They were, in fairness, about the best baby cheeks I have seen.)
And it's amazing, honestly, that I can spend one post bitching about how trying for a baby drags us into a community we're not familiar with, where other people make claims on us, only to realize one dinner later that we're lucky to have access to a generous, warm community where we can get advice and support. Nobody is making claims on us, but they allow us to make claims on their time and knowledge.
More on that later. I'll save it for after I do some sperm-shopping.