My Virtual Talismans

Have you ever bought baby items before being pregnant? Or set up a nursery before the third trimester? Does the idea of it feel more encouraging or terrifying, or both in equal parts? For the record, I don't believe there's any right or wrong answer; I'm just struck by all the layers of meaning behind these small decisions, which—for those who are effortlessly fertile—are barely conscious choices at all.

As Sadie from Invincible Spring says so beautifully in the first post linked above:

"For the longest time though, I never really allowed myself to imagine a a future where we would parent a living child, at least not actively or in too much detail. Items that so blatantly speak of babies used to hold a magical, dangerous allure for me, like mystical talismans the presence of which could somehow deter the very thing for which we longed. Like fire, I was almost afraid to touch."

And yet, fire brings light and heat, clarity and passion. I feel that allure, too. I feel the power in tangible symbols of "reckless, defiant hope," of determination and promise. Then I wonder, Isn't daring to believe that I'll use this object someday, somehow so presumptuous that I'm bound to be punished by fate?

No, it's not logical. We're waaaaay beyond that point. But I do have a logical compromise to this illogical dilemma: I collect virtual talismans.

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I collect photos on my phone of child-related things I come across during the course of my days. And when I was briefly pregnant, I was even brave enough to go actively looking for child-related things to pin on a secret Pinterest board. I know. Living dangerously!

Of the snapshots on my phone, my favorite "happy snap" actually came from a friend, who sent it to me for good luck just before my first IUI. It stayed on my phone's background for a year:

This onesie, spotted in a store window on a walk after dinner, made me laugh:

You may recognize this picture from diaper-changing tables in a thousand public restrooms, but this one has special mojo because it came from the restroom near my RE's office:

This one requires a little background. A friend and I went on a one-day silent retreat held at a church that was connected to a school. We brought bag lunches and were told to find any corner on the grounds where we could take half an hour to eat. When it started raining, we ducked inside and stumbled into this cheerful classroom, where we silently, smilingly ate our lunch at the kid-sized table while flipping through picture books.

Here's one last example. It's a pop-up Mother's Day card from last year, showing Mama Fox and her family (right after I saw them in real life):

May the magical powers of my talismans bring us all good, fertile luck!