My husband and I stood on our driveway, arms around each other, with smiles on our faces and tears in our eyes as we watched a young couple load our baby furniture into their car.

After years of secondary infertility, loss, and IVF, our daughter arrived, and with her came a silent resignation that this was it for our family. No more babies.

We asked around in hopes of finding a good home for our nursery furniture. One day, I received a text from a young teacher at our son’s school. She had heard about my offer for the furniture and found out the next day she was pregnant. She and her husband would love to pick up the furniture the following weekend.

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There we were: two couples standing at complete opposite ends of our parenting journeys.  

They, just days into the knowledge of their pregnancy with an innocent hope and excitement about their future as a growing family.  

Us, wanting desperately to protect their young hearts from the pain that could come with the loss of a pregnancy. Wanting desperately to freeze time so our own babies would stop growing so quickly. Wanting to take one more look at the tiny teeth marks on the side of the crib that cradled our son for the first years of his life.

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We opted, however, to share in their excitement. To share stories about our son crawling out of his crib. To share a bag of maternity clothes and unused clothes our daughter grew too quickly for.

They deserve that. They deserve to enter their pregnancy journey with unbridled optimism, joy, and support.

As they loaded their car and drove off with our memories, giddy about making new memories their own, my husband and I watched. Holding our breaths, wanting the best for these hopeful parents. Holding and celebrating each other because, after a long road, we are parents to the two babies we had hoped for too.