She Turned a Year Old Yesterday...

It's a date I shouldn't remember, but I do.

I wish my brain could forget it, but it can't.

She was almost ours; she was almost our daughter.

I hate that I remembered her birthday.

I didn't want to say anything to Michael. I didn't except him to remember, and I wasn't going to hold it against him if he forgot. I was actually avoiding him, because I didn't want to tell him why I was sad. But when he asked what was wrong, I started to cry and said,

"She's a year old today."

"I know. I know it's her birthday."

Hearing him say that was like a breath of fresh air. I felt so reassured that he remembered too. I didn't feel so alone in my grief. I started to cry in earnest. Telling him that I need to forget this date. It's not healthy to keep remembering and holding onto something that is not mine.

I have to let her go if I'm to move onto to the next match, whenever that may be.

Happy Birthday, baby girl. Wherever you are, I hope you had a great birthday yesterday. I need to stop thinking about what our lives would be like if you were in it. It's not healthy for me to keep wishing you were here with us. It's not good for me to remember how old you would be each 3rd of the month.  I'm sorry things didn't workout. I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to be your mom. Have a good life. Be a good girl. This is goodbye.

Love,
Jonelle

The Darkside of Procrastination

or How is an Adoption profile like a Horcrux?

For the last couple of months I've have been procrastinating getting our profile done and sent to our adoption agency. My brain has been constantly fighting with me about having to do the work.

In all honesty, I don't want to do the work. I feel like I've (we've) been doing the work for 9 years now to try to have a child and doing all the work hasn't done anything for us.

Part of what was fueling this feeling of anger, sadness and resentment was two friends of ours had recent placements within a year or less of waiting...and here we are going on two years and still waiting.

And it doesn't help that it's coming upon a year since our failed adoption and everyone around us is getting matched. Hating myself for being so angry and stubborn, I had some words with God, and naturally He won.

As gently as possible He revealed to me an interesting point: If I don't complete this profile and send it in, I can't honestly say that I did everything in my power, or everything that was asked of me (us) to further our endeavors to add a child to our family.

He's right. If I don't finish it, I'll always wonder what would have happened had I finished it. And not finishing it, would be giving up on this entire journey.

*sigh*

I finished our profile yesterday and sent it in.

I'm a harsh critic of things I do, and while I like the story part of our profile, I'm not excited about the finished product. However, Michael and two of our friends that I showed it to, like it. I'm just waiting to hear from our social worker to find out if there are any additions or corrections that need to be made.

I'm elated that this part of the adoption process is finished. I had such a hard time with it. It seemed like such a simple task, but I quickly discovered that it was not so simple.

My two friends, L and N were keeping me on task with this profile as they were eager to see it finished. One particular Monday, I was asked what part of the profile I was having trouble finishing, and that is when I started crying and ranting about having to do all this work, when I felt others didn't have to do anything*.

My new good friend N (who is a huge Potter-head and someone I get to geek out with every Monday morning about Doctor Who) said this to me in the midst of my tears, "It's [the profile] your Horcrux**. It's an object that you are having to pour your soul into, and that is hard to do."

Leave it to someone to use Harry Potter as a way to illustrate my difficulty with making an adoption profile.

So having poured my soul onto a piece of paper, complete with pictures was both exhausting and exilarating.

And now we wait...again.

*To my RL friends, I apologize for making this assumption. I know you each had your own struggles to add to your families, and I know it wasn't easy being in the midst of the struggle. I was sad when I said this, and I apologize for saying it.

(**Yes, I understand that a Horcrux is a dark object in the Potter-verse, but the sentiment about having to pour my soul into an object (profile) was spot on.)

Lost

No not the TV show (though I probably shouldn't admit that I have only ever watched the first 8 episodes and the series finale), I'm talking about where I'm at right now.

I'm so lost and more than ever I'm struggling with where I fit in the ALI community. Michael and I aren't doing treatment anymore. We are not actively trying (though we are not preventing, but our chances of conceiving on our own are slim). And while we are a family of 2, we are not "officially" a family of 2 yet. Though we are in the waiting stages of DIA, it doesn't feel like we are doing anything.

I don't really know what direction God wants us to take as far as building our family. I know I can ask, but I think part of me is afraid to hear the answer. Because what if the answer is no children. What if the direction is remaining a family of 2.

And I'll admit, part of me is scared that that is where we are headed. ('Scared' might be the wrong word, but I can't think of the right one because I've been crying for the last 2 1/2 hours.) I know that if that was the plan for us, we would be okay. We would be sad, and might have to go back to grief counseling, but we would be okay. And really I don't want to be scared.

We haven't come to making that decision yet, but I know its there. Waiting to be discussed and thought about. Again, I know it wouldn't be a bad thing, because at least it would be an answer and we would know that we had done everything possible to build our family.

I did something stupid today. Something I knew I shouldn't have done. Something I knew that if I did do it, I would be in a horrible state...I looked a dear friend's baby registry. Now I can't stop crying. I just keep thinking about all the things we would have had, and all the experiences we would have been enjoying (and some maybe not so much) had the adoption gone through.

She's 4 months old today, and she's not with me. And instead of caring for her, I'm caring for a 5 mo old kitten with ringworm (not that I'm complaining, he's a sweet little guy, I'm just laying out the perspective).

*headdesk*

I'm just so tired of the waiting and uncertainty that comes with this whole sucky IF journey. I am forever exhausted of fighting to become a mom, but as hard as this fight is - I can't stop until I'm told to stop, and right now I don't feel God telling us to stop. And right now I'm afraid to ask when we should stop.

*double headdesk*

I'll get this figured out eventually, but today my head is pounding.

High Expectations

Thanks for all the supportive comments on my last post.

Sometimes I need to be reminded that grief isn't linear. Instead it has its peaks and valleys. I'm just so tired of finding myself in yet another valley. I know I'll make it out eventually, and that it will take time. But because of the holidays it feels extra hard to climb and reach my peak.

After Friday's post I was hit with a bit of an epiphany.

I sometimes wonder if after being on this rocky road of infertilty for so long (8 years, this last September), if I've become so callous, so closed off, that there isn't anything anyone can tell me that will make me feel better about my situation.


This whole time I've been waiting for someone to tell me something that will make me feel better. Encouraging words that will save me and pull me out of the darkness that has found me. Words of wisdom that will help me navigate through the perpetual grief that seems to find me whenever I find a respite.

The harsh reality is that I don't think such words exist. There are no words to ease the grief, unless I want to hear useless platitudes that are about as useful as a chocolate teapot (ooh chocolate). And if I'm waiting for such words to be said to me, that is a horribly high expectation I have put on my friends.


This whole time I've been expecting them to know what to say to me, and that is a bit twisted, not to mention utterly stupid.

This is what I have been struggling with, until I had this epiphany Friday night.

Most of my friends don't know the pain we've gone through to have a child. They know our story, and the struggle, but they have never experienced the pain of infertility, and honestly, I don't wish for them to know that particular kind of pain. It's lonely, and it sucks.


So what words do I not want said to me? Please don't tell me that our baby is out there somewhere, because what if she/he isn't. Please don't tell me that we'll be great parents someday, because what if we never get the opportunity. I know this may sound harsh, but these phrases don't help us.

Just tell me you are thinking of us, and if you are the praying kind, just say you are praying for us. Truly, those are the best words.

Putting a Time Line on Grief

I'm trying to enjoy the upcoming Christmas season...but really I can care less. I've partically decorated our apartment, which means I've put a red tablecloth on the kitchen table and replaced the everyday placemates and seat cushions to the Christmas ones.

I feel like I'm suppose to be joyful and really...I'm not feeling the joy.

I feel like I should be over the grief from the failed adoption, but I'm not. I know my pain isn't unique. I know that there are people out there in the ALI community that have gone through much worse. And really, I think we were quite fortunate that the adoption fell through a week before the baby was born, so it shouldn't feel so horrible, but I do.


I just hate that we have to go through the grieving process again. Its so exhausting, and its so much harder during Christmas. I'd like to be over this by January, but I don't think I can put a timeline on grief. Can I?


Church is becoming a hard place to go to lately. Nearly everyone knows what happened, which is making me feel a bit exposed.

There's a new baby at our church. The interim pastor was holding her on Sunday and my heart hitched as I looked at him hold her while talking to her parents. I looked away, and as I did, I met the eyes of a woman who knows what happened to us. I felt ashamed that I got caught looking at the baby.

To help me survive December, I'm looking forward to January - we are getting a new kitten. Hopefully, Jack will be up for having a new sibling.

What my dreams tell me...or Don't tell me (Dreams Part deux)

I sometimes have this recurring nightmare/dream where I'm somewhere and I need Michael, but I can't find him. I can't call him, text him...nothing. Its like he vanished off the face of the earth. Usually in the dream I'm looking for him for answers to something, some problem or challenge that we are facing. But I can't find him to help me get out of it.

In these dreams, when I'm looking for him and can't find him, I panic, to the point of crying hysterically until I remember that its just a dream. If I need him I can wake up and he is either right there next to me in bed, in the other room, or just a phone call away.

I don't have these dreams often, usually only when we are facing something life changing like the decision to stop treatment and trying and pursue adoption, or struggling with the aftermath of a failed adoption.

Its these dreams that remind me, as much as Michael is my support, ally and teammate in this journey - I can't make him my stronghold, my refuge, my hiding place in times of peril, because that is God's job. Its the shelter of His wings that I need to find refuge, not my husband. I think that is especially why I can't find Michael in those dreams when I need him - I'm relying on the wrong person for strength.

This is when I'm reminded that God uses dreams to help us see things clearer than we would if we were awake.

There is another dream I have sometimes, its of me and I'm pregnant. I can feel the baby move. I can feel the roundness of my belly and I'm so happy...and then I wake up and realize that I'm not pregnant, nor am I close to ever being pregnant. Reality hits that it was just a dream and I'm heartbroken and mad at God for giving me that dream.

There are others, sometimes I'm not pregnant, but caring for a baby, and I can feel the small weight of a baby in my arms...and then I wake up and my arms are empty and my heart is aching. I had even become so bold as to ask God not to give me these dreams as they were too painful to endure. And just to make sure that I didn't dream, I would purposefully wait to go to bed until I was thoroughly exhausted in the hope that I'd be too tired to dream. Sometimes it worked, other times it didn't, especially on nights when despite my body's fatigue, my brain was very much still active.

But what if I've had it wrong this entire time? What if these dreams that God has given me are promises and not tortureous dreams of longing lifestyle?

I told Michael about the pregnancy/baby dreams for the first time last Sunday. He told me not to discount them. I told him that it wasn't so much the pain of the dreams themselves as much as it was the pain of waking up and realizing it was 'just a dream'.

I'm sure God knows what he is doing by giving me these dreams; even if I don't know what He means by giving them to me. Maybe to remind me not to give up?

Michael is right, I shouldn't discount them. I might be throwing away promises God has for me...for us.

Learning to Dream again...

...is the title of the new series our Pastor is teaching at church.

I'm not going to lie, my first reaction to reading the topic title brought out a cynical side of me I try to closet away while at church.

But the cynical voice wouldn't shut up. Before his sermon even started, all I kep hearing in my head was, "Dreams are dangerous. They crumble to dust and have to be mourned."

Not really something one wants floating around in their brain before church, but when you've had to go through eleven months of therapy to mourn the dream of having your own children and grieve the losses that come with infertilty, and now a failed adoption - the concept of dreams or dreaming is useless, tiring and painful.

I'm sure I failed to listen at the most important parts of the sermon, because I couldn't hear them over my brain saying, "But you don't understand what dreaming has cost me, so why would I want to continue to dream?"

Its not like my dream is an impossible dream. Its tangible (sure, I just lack working ovaries, one tube and balanced hormones), but I don't think my dream is all that complicated.  Its very simple.  I just want a baby in my arms. I want to be a mother. I want to be happy. And I've done everything I can to accomplish this dream.

I charted my cycles, saw an RE, did treatments. Got pregnant twice, miscarried twice. When treatments failed we decided to pursue adoption. We found an agency, had a homestudy, waitied, got matched, match failed. Now we are waiting again.

I've done all this and still nothing but tears and heartache. This is what dreaming has cost me.

As cynical as I can be about the concept of dreaming, maybe I'm blaming the wrong person for them not coming true. Its easy to blame God, or myself, for this dream not coming true. Because really who else is there to blame? I can blame infertility, but whose to blame for why I am infertile?

I don't want to sound like a bitter believer, but I'd by lying if I said that part of me doesn't blame God. I know that is a horrible thing to say. But God understands, and I don't constantly blame Him for everything.

I know God has chosen a particular path for us, and I know that I'll never understand why He chose for us to walk this bumpy, and painful road of infertility. And in my heart of hearts I wish He'd have chosen another couple, because this journey sucks.

I'm tired of having my dreams crushed and having to mourn them, so learning to dream again is going to be a challenge.

Missed the Train

First I just want to say thanks for all the kind words everyone left on my last, last post. It meant a lot to know that you all care.

Michael and I are doing alright, still processing things and trying to make sense of everything that has been happening lately.

We had many good, tearful talks. Shared with each other how tired we are of fighting to become parents, but we don't feel like that fight is over.

For some reason the discussion briefly came back to trying again, but only briefly. If we were to start trying again, we would have no choice but to do IVF. But making a rash decision like going back to treatment at the cusp of dealing with our grief, is not wise, so we decided to stick with the adoption.

I told Michael that I feel like I somehow missed the train when it came time to trying to have a baby, and now every time it comes by, it passes me at 200mph and I'm unable to jump on it.

Its been eight years since I chucked the birth control pills and we decided to start TTC. Its been four years since we started treatments. Three years since the ectopic ruptured my tube, further complicating our chances. Two years since our second miscarriage and when we decided to stop treatments. One year since we decided to pursue domestic infant adoption. And one month since our last match fell apart.

And in all that time my friends have gone on to have their second, third and fourth child.

I hate how lonely IF makes me feel. I know I'm not all alone. I'm so grateful to have Michael walking this rocky road with me. It just seems like such an unfair task, and no one can tell me why we have to be the ones walk the road of IF.

I don't really feel like I can talk to anyone about it either. Sure I have friends that will listen to me, but sometimes I don't wish to talk to them about the horrible IF thoughts that are raging through my brain.

I don't think they want to hear that a majority of the time I feel like its my fault we can't have children, and because I can't get pregnant, I feel useless. I don't think they want to hear that because everything feels so out of control in my life, that the only thing I can control is what I put in mouth...or don't.

Boxed In

I have been going back and forth between angry and weepy. Last week I had a bit of a breakthrough talking to Michael about it. I think I said before that its not so much wanting to know 'Why?' as much as 'What was the point?'.

I think deep down I know what the point of all this was, though its quite personal and I won't share it here. It did help me feel a bit better, if only just a bit.

I started feeling better and so I left the apartment for the first time in two weeks, of my own volition, to go work out. I had realized that I hadn't left the apartment unless someone was 'making' me. I made the excuse of staying home because we are moving into a new apartment and someone has to pack our junk stuff.

Well it felt weird leaving the security of my home, but it was time to get out. I was okay. I worked out, talked to my former co-workers, visited for a while and then headed to Star.bucks. The barista knows me, and so she cheerfully said, "Hi, I haven't seen you in ages, where have you been?" To which I said, "Yeah, its the first time I've been out in two weeks."

Crap, why did I have to open my mouth.

She asked me what happened and then I start to tell her about the adoption and how it fell apart and that is when I started crying right there in my favourite place. She was really sweet about it. She came around from behind the counter and stood next to me while I told her the shorten version of the story. She gave me a hug and my drink and scone were on the house. I started crying again when I realized she wouldn't take my card.

I was so embarrassed. I can't believe I cried...in public...and got a free drink and scone because I cried.

Really, I'm just so tired of grieving. I know its necessary that I do, especially in this instance, but honestly I'm so tired that I have to do it again. I just want to move on and put this behind me.

Anyway, to help me move on, I bought a gift box today to put all the things I had bought for the baby that we aren't going to be using anytime soon. Its nothing much, just some clothes, bibs, and a book. I put the folder from our Baby Care Basics class in there too as well as the ultrasound pic in the book (I couldn't throw it away, that seemed way too harsh).

Also, I got shipping labels to send back the car seat and pack n' play, which I would like to send back this weekend. My mom gets back from TN tomorrow and Monday she wants to do something so hopefully we can fit in going to B r Us to send back the stuff we both bought and then I get my closet back.

I almost didn't leave the house again today. I started crying at random things (well not so random, just the usual baby News Feed on FB).

The interesting thing is the anxiety hasn't returned, but since I'm having trouble leaving the apartment its possible it's already here and I'm just now realizing it.

ETA: All baby stuff has left the building. I got cash from the stuff I returned from B r Us and put it directly on my Star.bucks card (it felt fitting to go there.)

The Power of Sugar

I'm not an emotional eater, but I can understand where it can be a comfort and also a danger.

My mom calls me a pleasure eater, which means I eat when life is going good and I don't eat much when life is crap. I also have a nervous stomach - so add an unknown and potentially nerve-wraking situation like adoption and the ickiness of IF to the mix and well I haven't really been interested in food for quiet a while.

But I can understand certain aspects of emotional eating to a degree. I'm not going to be so bold as to say I understand it fully.

Yesterday, I went to Disneyland with a friend. God bless her, she tried so hard to cheer me up by taking me to the Happiest Place on Earth! All I really wanted was a Churro, that's all and go on a rollercoaster. I really didn't even matter which one, just as long as it was fast and made me scream. Well I got to go on Big Thunder and on my way back toward Main Street not one Churro stand was open from Frontierland to Main Street.

Seriously? This is Disneyland. They're expected to provide sugary treats at every corner. Its part of their appeal, isn't it? This is the reason (well one of the reasons) I wanted to go. But sadly no Churro for me.

The craving for sugar didn't go away once I got home. I just wanted something with cinnamon sugar. We don't have bread in the house, so I couldn't make cinnamon toast. However, we have torillas, so I made cinnamon sugar chips.

It took forever for the oven to preheat.  It felt like eternity for the chips to bake. The smell of cinnamon chips baking was awesome.

They were so good, but the moment was short lived. Nothing seemed to make me feel good, and the more sugar I ate, the more my stomach hurt.

I still felt so empty, so lost. and so angry.

And the more time that passed by, I started to feel worse about what I had done.

I can't do that again. I can't eat food to make myself feel better, that kind of thinking creates more problems than I'm willing to deal with. I have enough to be going on with, thank you very much.

I think I might have to go back to compulsively drinking coffee. Its a slightly safer option, don't you think. Well, not so much on the kidneys, but you get my point.

Why I Hate Crying

I guess part of me has always hated crying. Its messy, its loud and it always gives me a headache and a stuffy nose afterwards.

But at the same time, it makes me feel better. The tightness in my chest is gone, the tension in my throat subsides and my heart doesn't feel as heavy.

I still hate crying.

When I was little I was a very sensitive child. Anything would make me cry, I was that sensitive. Kids wouldn't be my friend anymore because they didn't wish to be associated with "The Cry Baby". This label also made me a Bully Magnet.

It wasn't until the end of third grade that I was able to rein in the tears. It was also at this time I learned the value of sarcasm and definitely put it to good use.

Kids are still cruel and will find anything to target and make fun of, and when those times came I still wouldn't cry. I'd wait until I got home and in my bedroom to let out the tears. Because my bedroom was a safe place.

Some times it was harder than others to rein in the emotions. Especially when puberty hit, and hormones went crazy, and there I was again - crying at the drop of a hat.

As I got older, I got it in my head that showing emotions was somehow a bad thing (no doubt being raised by someone who was also told this exact same thing).

When I married Michael, everything changed. It was okay to cry and show emotion. I was encouraged that I tell him how I felt, and he didn't make fun of me or call me 'emotional' for doing so.

Michael didn't mind that I'd cry at another BFN, or failed cycle or another pregnancy announcement.

Even now, ten years later, he doesn't have a problem when I start crying because I'm frustrated that we are struggling to have kids while others are not.

So why do I hate crying?

Because I hate how transparent it makes me.

I hate that I still have a reason to cry.

I hate that I'm still hurting because of IF.

I hate that my children weren't meant to be here on this earth with us.

I hate that I'll never be okay with a woman I know getting pregnant.

I hate not knowing if we will ever be parents.

All of this makes me cry and I struggle to not let to show on my face. I still apologize to Michael whenever things that are IF or pregnancy related make my cry. He always tells me the same thing, "Its okay to be sad. We have struggled for a long time", and then he hugs me and lets me cry some more.

Why I don't go to see chick-flicks

My mom wanted to see "The Help" on Thursday and asked me if I would go see it with her. I agreed to go see it. It looked like an enjoyable movie...for a chickflick.

I need to be honest, I'm not a chickflick fan. Mostly because they are too sentimental for me and 95% of the time they make you cry. And I hate crying.

If it were up to me we would have went to see an action film. I love action films - explosions, fist fights, car chases and hardly any need to make their audience cry.

Anyway, back to The Help. I knew going in that there would be obvious controversial themes seeing as the film took place in Jackson, Mississippi in 1963. What I didn't know was that there were far more serious scenes than the funny scenes they showed in the trailer.

Overall, its a great movie - Emma Stone is great as Eugenia "Skeeter" Phelan, a young woman who comes back to her hometown after graduating from Ole Miss, a little more outspoken, and educated than her contempories. And while Stone is great in the scenes that she is in mostly getting lots of laughs for her character's great comebacks, her performance is overshadowed by many of the characters.

Bryce Dallas Howard (Hilly Holbrook) plays her part well as the woman who basically runs the neighborhood and the society ladies of Jackson. You can't help but hate her from the start of the film as she carries herself to be far more superior among not only "The Help" but also her own friends to the point of influencing their decisions on how to "handle" their maids and their homelife.

Viola Davis is excellent as the meek and mild Aibileen Clark. The audience can see that there exists great pain in her past. She bears the weight of her pain in the slight slump in her shoulders and her slow gait. Aibileen holds much of her pain and sadness close to her heart, to the point of silence. Its not until she is given the opportunity to share her point of view of being a maid with Skeeter, that she slowly opens up about her history of being a maid and the stories that come with that life.

Octavia Spencer is great as the sassy Minnie Jackson, a fellow maid and confidant of Aibileen. Early on in the film she becomes a bit of an outcast and deemed unemployable by Hilly Holbrook for doing something ultimately deplorable (I won't spoil the fun, you have to see it to appreciate it). She is the second maid that comes to share with Skeeter her stories (good and bad) of being a maid. Minnie finally gets a job working for Celia Foote - a sweet young married woman who is labled a social outcast by none other than Hilly Holbrook.

Jessica Chastain plays country raised Celia Foote (my favorite character) with such naive sweetness you want to hug her and cheer for her as she tries so hard to fit in with the other society ladies in Jackson. Her downfall (or her greatest strength, however you may see it) is her inability to act superior to her maid, Minnie. Minnie is the one who tries to educate her in the employer/employee way of life in Jackson. However, to Celia, there is no distinction between them, and really in the end Celia needs a friend and finds that friendship in Minnie as she teaches her how to cook.

One of the scenes that made me cry sob was the scene in which Celia has locked herself in the bathroom and practically yells that Minnie she can go home. We learned early on when Celia and Minnie meet that Celia is newly pregnant.

I don't know why my brain went here, but it did. As soon as we hear the ruckus coming from the bathroom, and Celia's panicked pleas for Minnie to go home, I knew what was happening behind that bathroom door. I knew that Celia was miscarrying the baby...and I was right.

I cried hard for the next five to ten minutes, I had to put my fist in my mouth to keep me from making any sounds.

And I hated my mom for a split second for making me go see this movie. How dare she and this film make me relive something that I hate sharing or expressing. How dare this film make me cry.

That scene made the character of Celia Foote all the more tragic in my eyes. She voices her inadequacy of being a wife to Minnie, "What good am I here, if I can't give Johnny any children."

My heart broke when she said this, because how many of us, who struggle with IF have not said those exact words? "What good am I if I can't give my husband children?" I know I have.

I am blessed to be married to a great man like Michael, who reminds me every day that he married me and not my uterus.

Still, I hate crying - which is why I will be staying away from chick-flicks, at least for the next year.

Has My Secret Been Found Out

My arms feel stiff
As she hands me her newborn son to hold.
He's a small bundle, Precious at first sight.
A perfect combination of his parents.
He senses the awkwardness,
and fusses in my arms.
I try to calm him and myself,
but its not working.
He knows I'm uncomfortable.

Its a good thing I'm sitting
I don't think my shaky legs
could support me.
Whose idea was it
To place this innocent child
In my desperate arms?
Was it the longing look on my face,
Or the defeated slump in my shoulders?
Has my secret been found out?

Its not his fault.
He's just trying to sleep.
He doesn't know the journey I've walked,
Or the struggles I've endured,
To have a baby of my own.
He doesn't know the tears I've shed,
As month after month
My arms remain empty.
He just knows I'm uncomfortable.

She takes him away,
And thinks she's done a good thing
By allowing me to hold him.
She doesn't see the damage
This simple gesture inflicted on my fragile heart.
Its not her fault
I should have said,"No thanks"
or "Maybe next time"
But I didn't want to hurt her feelings.

She Came to Him Crying

She came to him crying,
Carrying the pieces
Of their shattered dreams in her hands.
She knows she should let them go,
Its remnants constantly digging in her hands,
As she holds tightly to what is left.
She doesn’t want to say goodbye,
But she knows she needs to.

He looks into her pleading eyes,
And gently takes her in his arms.
He doesn’t know what to say,
To take the pain away from her, from them.
So he says, “I love you.”
He doesn’t know what to do,
To make the tears go away.
So he presses kisses to each tear.

She melts into his arms,
As his embrace dissolves the grief surrounding her.
“I love you too,” she says.
Allowing his words and affection to
Wash over the open wounds she cannot reach.
Soon she is no longer crying,
But encompassing every part of him,
As he penetrates through the sorrow
Turning it to joy.

Adoption is a Quick Easy Fix for Infertility a.k.a Just Adopt if you Can’t Have Children

Infertility Myth: Adoption is a Quick Easy Fix for Infertility a.k.a Just Adopt if you can’t have children.

 This one, at least to me, seems like an obvious busted myth. Who in their right mind would think that adoption is an easy fix for an infertile couple? However, I know there are people out there that think that adoption is much easier than getting pregnant on one's own. This week, April 24th - April 30th is National Infertility Awareness Week, a week Resolve.org sets aside to educate the public about the pain of Infertility. This year Resolve.org has encouraged infertility bloggers to "Bust an Infertility Myth".

I took it upon myself to set things straight to those individuals who think those of us who have chosen to pursue domestic infant adoption after infertility have it "easy".

A little history. When we realized that trying to have a baby naturally wouldn't be easy, we took the appropriate steps needed to ensure that we tried all the options available to us. After two miscarriages, two years of failed infertility treatments and the financial and emotional exhaustion of treatment, we made the final decision to stop all treatment and any other pursuits to try to get pregnant naturally. That decision didn't come easy by any means.

We decided that domestic infant adoption would be the next step in building our family. But deciding to adopt, and being emotionally ready to take those steps to make it happen were much harder than we anticipated.

I don't think many people realize that after years of trying to get pregnant and not being able to, adoption isn't the quick easy fix. Because to them, when a couple adopts they don't have to deal with weight gain, morning sickness, swollen ankles, muscles stretching, pelvic bones dislocating, stretch marks and other things associated with being pregnant. According to them the adopting couple just gets a baby.

They often don't understand that coming to the decision to adopt, means having to resolve the issues infertility has already created in the infertile couple- grief, loss, shame, inadequacy, insecurity. Not to mention that we, the infertile couple, must mourn the dream of having our own children and the experiences that come with it.

Mourning a dream isn't easy, but I do feel it is necessary if adoption is to be pursued.

Who wants to carry around those things with them when they adopt? I know I didn't, so we made the decision to go into grief counseling to help us not only be emotionally ready for adoption but also to help us live.

I remember the thought of having to endure a home study had scared me to death. What if the social worker didn't think we were emotionally ready for adoption? What if our infertility history prevented us from being approved? What if he/she didn't think adoption was a good fit for us?

I didn't have anything to worry about. Our social worker was very pleased that we had taken the steps to become emotionally ready not only in our preparation for adoption but in life in general.

Still, having to deal with applications, autobiographical questionnaires, invasive interviews about our life and parenting pursuits, reference letters to see if we'd be capable parents, physical exams to see if we are healthy enough to care for a child, fingerprinting, background checks, and employment verifications were not the easiest things to open ourselves up to. Especially when there are people out who shouldn't be having babies and they get to without having to endure a home study and all its requirements.

Once all the requirements for domestic infant adoption are completed the experience still doesn't get any easier. Now we sit and wait to see if our efforts will come to fruition.

The wait is unnerving, because now the years of trying to have a baby are now added to the time waiting to be matched.

There is no telling when or if we will be chosen by a birthmother. Doubt starts to creep in and out as the months pass with no news of anyone wanting to see our profile. Loss returns as yet another year passes and no baby in our arms. Anxiety never really goes away as we remain hyperaware of being asked inappropriate questions from strangers.

Most of all, I think the hardest of all is the relinquishment of control. Our child is literally in someone else's hands or more specifically someone else's womb, and truthfully that can be a scary concept to swallow.

Before, it was up to an agency to see whether we were good enough to be parents. Now, it’s up to a birthmother to see if we are good enough to parent her child.

Does that sound like an easy thing to go through? No, because nothing is ever as easy as anyone assumes.

Myth BUSTED!

Now What?

As you read a couple of posts ago our Home Study was completed at the end of December. But now that there is nothing else to do for the adoption I find myself residing in the "Now What?".

There is nothing else to do now, but wait. Don't get me wrong, I knew waiting was part of this process, and considering our agency is out of state, I knew we would be in for an even longer wait. And really we haven't been waiting that long, so what's my problem?

Well its not just 6 months we've been waiting for a baby. Its been nearly 7 1/2 years that we've been waiting. Some days I'm okay with it...and other days I'm not.

On the days I'm okay with the wait, the anticipation of being matched doesn't bother me. I get to enjoy life being just the two of us for a little longer. We can go to the movies whenever we want, go to Disneyland at a moments notice, or fly across the country if we wanted to.

I can cruise by the Baby section at Tar.get and instead of a dull ache in my chest there's a geniune curiosity as to what I would want to buy for our baby should we get matched with one.

And on the days that I'm not okay with the waiting, the grief of IF seems so unbearable. I feel transparent everywhere I go, like everyone around me can see that I'm infertile and grieving. My shoulders physically hurt from the weight of it pressing down on me. My chest hurts from holding my breath as I try not to have a panic attack on "trigger moments."

Trigger moments for me are sometimes at work. I still find that I am constantly uncomfortable with meeting new people, and meeting new people is part of my job. I can't converse with new members as freely as my co-workers can. I clam up as soon as they ask me about my life and what I do outside of my job since I only work three times a week. They ask about children and whether I've got any of my own. I shut down, because there should be children, but I haven't been able to have any. I just can't bring myself to tell them I'm infertile.

I feel guilty that there are some days that I still grieve my infertility and our dream children. Especially now that we are in the middle of the adoption process. I feel ashamed that I still can't go to baby showers or baby dedications. I hate that sometimes I still feel so separate from my friends that have children.

But then I'm reminded that grief doesn't just go away, because years or months have separated me from the loss. I have to remember that grief comes in waves and ebbs and flows in and out of my life whether I'm ready for it or not. And when it does come I have to remember to breathe, and try not to carry the grief all on my own. I need to ask for help and be okay with crying it out.

So now what?

We go to the movies, go to Disneyland, and wait and pray for our child.

Stuck in The Valley of Grief

I haven't been a good blogger lately. I really haven't had anything to say...well that is a lie. I have had stuff to say, but fear that I may offend people I love and trample on the new joy that they are experiencing has prevented me from blogging.

Writing is such a release for me and not being able to express what I'm feeling is starting to take its toll.

Lately with everything that has been happening I feel like I'm regressing. All that time spent in grief counselling now seems worthless. I feel like I'm in the deepest valley of our grief and for the life of me I can't seem to climb my way out of it.

I've cried more times this month, than I'd like to admit. I haven't slept well in two weeks and both weekends I've been sick.

And when I really think about what it is that is bothering me, the only conclusion I can find is that...I miss my babies. Granted with both I only knew I was pregnant for a little more than 12 hours before I lost both of them, but for a moment, just a tiny moment there was a life and it was half me and half Michael. After four years it had finally happened, but they weren't meant to be with us, and that reality hurts the closer I get to 35 at which point my already bad eggs will ultimately be useless.

I guess the other thing I'm struggling with is the recurring feeling of being forgotten by God. I know thats not true, but it feels true. I know He hears me. I know He sees the grief I'm feeling. And I know there are a lot of people out there that have had it worse than we have. I'm just so tired. I don't want to go through this anymore.

I've been told I'm a strong person, but I don't feel strong, not today, not this month. I feel so beaten down by IF lately, that there are some days I don't think I'll ever be able to stand up straight.

*Breathe*

*Breathe*

*Breathe*