Who Wants These Feet?

I am not a hideously ugly person, but I am not particular attractive either. I have size 11 feet, and they're skinny and flat. I have wide hips and a nose that moves when I talk and funny round cheeks.

And I'm not super gifted. I can pat my head and rub my tummy but I can't break a 10 minute mile, hardly ever. I do decently in tests but I don't have the attention span or dedication or probably the brain to be an Ivy-leaguer. I can't read an entire Economist and I'm always grateful for the map at the front, that bottom lines the news. I laugh too loud and I ask nosy questions and I think there only needs to be one of me in the world.

So I never really felt the need to replicate who I am in a child. That's never been what infertility is about for me. I know those people are out there, who want a "Mini Me". I am not one of them. I don't need that. I'm not that great. And frankly, I'm not wild about sticking a kid with my husband's 20/4 billion vision--and his feet aren't a picnic by any means, either.

But the thing is, my my totally awesome, amazing grandmother died. I can't really talk about it except to say how it totally sucks. Except to say that I can't help but think to myself, "What if I had a child that was a little piece of her?" What if I could have a daughter that could stand up to the world when it was cruel and ugly? What if my son could see how to open his heart and his home to anyone, lovingly and trustingly and hoping always for the best? I want that. I want to feel her, to see her every day. Is that a reason to procreate?