How do you know if you are ready to buy the ticket and get on the train

This is my analogy with E and me about having babies. We want to step up to the ticket booth, we want to buy the ticket, we've even tried to purchase the ticket but we aren't sure we want to get on the train.
So my question is how do you know if you are ready to make that step and bring a child into this world?
E shared with me after his last trip that he is ready. I think am but at the same time, I am not sure. I can't quite tell you why we should wait except for fear? maybe.
I am a thinker, by nature. So I constantly analyze my thoughts. Am I really having baby fever or is it that I just want the next thing because my life has moved in warp speed since I met my husband that I need the next thing? Then at the same time, I find myself looking just a little bit longer at the pregnant women I see. Admiring their bellies. I see pictures and listen to other parents talk about their babies and kids and my heart skips. When I think hard about if I or my hubby would be a good parent--no doubts. I don't worry about how it will change my life because I know it will and we will adjust. I've thought how wonderful it would be to have a chunky baby sitting on my lap and it being my child, watch and nurture its growth. It gives me such a wonderful feeling inside.
I do worry about finances and that I will have to go back to work. Will I be able to find good care and can we afford it. But I can't imagine that is a reason to wait. Or is it? I guess the biggest thing that scares me is taking that leap and letting G-d/nature take over. I've controlled my body for so long with birth control. This month is a year since being off the pill, however I still have had control over not getting pregnant. Now with my hubby sharing with me that he is ready. Am I ready to give up that control, give in to what i think my instincts might be saying and seeing what happens?

The next newest Robbins....we hope!!

Keep your fingers crossed. We put in an adoption application for this big bundle of fur. Her name is Truffle. She is a Bernese Mountain/Newfoundland mix. She is one big love bug. I just found out tonight that she is ours but we have to pass the home visit. We are adopting her from Smiley Dog Rescue. She is 4 years old.

I am in love!

spring in my step and sparkle in my eye

All is good and calm at the nest. E is home and our worlds are back to normal. YAY!
I did however shed a tear today. Is anyone surprised? I am not. It is all because I read this...

Being a Mom


We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually
mentions that she and her husband are thinking of 'starting a family.'
'We're taking a survey,' she says half-joking.

'Do you think I should have a baby?' "It will change your life,' I
say,carefully keeping my tone neutral.

'I know,' she says, 'no more sleeping in on weekends, no more
spontaneous vacations.'

But that is not what I meant at all.

I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to
know what she will never learn in childbirth classes.

I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will
heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that
she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper
without asking, 'What if that had been MY child?' That every plane crash,
every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving
children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child
die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that
no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to
the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub.

That an urgent call of 'Mom!' will cause her to drop a soufflé or her
best crystal without a moments hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has
invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood.

She might arrange for child-care, but one day she will be going into an
important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet
smell.
She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running
home, just to make sure her baby is alright.

I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be
routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room
rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right
there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues
of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect
that a child molester may be lurking in that rest-room.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself
constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually
she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same
about herself.

That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she
has a child.

That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but
will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams,
but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will
become badges of honor. Vanity becomes a thing of the past, she will
unselfishly stand back and allow her children to shine.


My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the
way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a
man who carefully bathes the baby or who never hesitates to feed, change or
play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with
him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women
throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.


I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child
learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a
baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want
her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in
my eyes. 'You'll never regret it,' I finally say. Then I reached across
the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her,
andfor me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into
this most wonderful of callings.

Please share this with a Mom that you know or all of your girlfriends
who may someday be Moms.

May you always have in your arms
the one who is in your heart.

If this doesn't make your ovaries skip a beat and kick baby fever into overdrive. I don't know what will.