"I take issue with only children"

I didn't say this.

Why would I? I, myself, am an only child. My child will likely be an only child as well.

I was in the bathroom stall at a restaurant in San Diego this weekend, when I overheard two ladies talking. One of them was talking about her sister-in-law who told her that she is not having anymore children.

The young lady seemed perturbed at the thought of someone intentionally making their child an only child.

"I just take issue with only children. They should have a sibling."

She just going on about only children, bringing up every myth in the book. How we are all spoiled, weird, and lonely.

I came out of that bathroom stall with my Tenth Doctor shirt on, Comic-Con lanyard around my neck, and a smile. I said to her, "We aren't all bad, us only children." And went on to wash my hands. I can't believe I said something to her. A stranger. I was having a bold day, earlier I had asked Alan Tudyk a question at his panel for NERD HQ.

She seemed taken aback and said, "Oh, are you an only child? I'm sorry."

I told her that it was okay, that I wasn't sorry that I was an only. I continued to tell her that, after 9 years of infertility, 2 1/2 years of waiting for an adoption match, that my daughter will most likely be an only too. I also made sure to tell her that I was content having an only. I get to have her all my love and attention. I also told her that most people don't intend to be "one and done".

I learned that her annoyance with her sister-in-law's decision was mostly because SIL didn't have help with the pregnancy or after. SIL felt old (she is now 40), and didn't see the need to try again. Fair enough, it's her decision, not this young woman's. She may not have seen outward complications with her SIL's pregnancy, but that doesn't mean SIL didn't experience PPDA.

I was surprised at this young woman's naïve attitude as she approached pregnancy, like it's a right, a guarantee if you have one, you must have another.  Because she saw no complications in her SIL's pregnancy, she called her lazy for not wanting to experience it again.

However, it was okay for me, with my history of infertility, to be okay with being "one and done". How does that make sense?

It didn't matter what I said, she still seemed to resent her SIL for not wanting more kids all because she assumed it was her nephew's right to have a sibling. Because she herself wants a big family someday.

I hope this SIL doesn't feel pressured to have another child, just to appease her husband or his family. I hope her husband is content with one, if that is her wish to have an only child.

I know I struggle with the whole "one and done". For like a split second.

I often think what if I miraculously got pregnant? How awesome would that be to be able to give Miss A a sibling. But it oftentimes doesn't work out that way.

I can safely say that Michael and I are one and done. We are open to a pregnancy (should it happen, though considering the odds against us, it doesn't look good), but we are not holding our breath to make it happen. We are not open to another adoption either, as the first time was draining enough.

I guess I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that I got a "get out of having a second child" free card by this stranger, while she is casting judgment on her SIL. People amaze me.

I know there are people wishing for us to have more children, but considering I'm on the wrong side of 35 I don't see it happening anytime soon. Would I like to prove myself wrong? You bet, but I can't hope for that kind of miracle. Other people can for us, I can't. I like where my focus is right now, which is on my growing daughter. I don't want to lose sight of what I have with her, of what adoption has taught me, and brought into my life.

Maybe this sounds weird, but I don't want her to have to share me with someone else. Does that sound unreasonable? Probably. If I had the luxury of planning out my kids like other people do, this wouldn't be an issue at all.

So all this to say, watch what you talk about in the Ladies room next time you are there with a friend.

Survivors' Guilt

UGH! Has it really been five months since I last posted?

I swore to myself that I would keep this blog up. Sorry for being MIA.

Last time I wrote we were approaching the dreaded 4-month sleep regression, and let me tell you, that was hard. We went from short naps, to no naps, to overtired infant and sleep-deprived mom. It was madness. On top of that, her reflux meds needed to be adjusted for her weight. No wonder she didn't want to nap.

I found this wonderful baby sleep site called Troublesome Tots. The woman is a genius. Started putting A in a swing for naps, and it helped her sleep by having her upright, as well as "teaching" her how to fall asleep on her own. At night I played with "Putting her down awake" and some days it worked, some days not so much.

At five months we moved A to her own room, which was the best move we could have done. She slept much better in her own space.

At six months we moved her out of her pack n' play and into her crib, though still having her sleep in a swing for naps. Three weeks later A weaned herself off the swing and is now sleeping exclusively in her crib.

A is seven months now, no teeth and still sleeping through the night. She can roll over from tummy to back and back to tummy. She likes to squeal real loudly and scare the cats. I put her in the infant carrier and we go for walks, but since she is so fair I have to be careful about the sun for fear she might burst into flames.

Even after seven months it's still so surreal that we have a baby.

Speaking of surreal...Mother's day was a whole new experience.

For awhile, even after having A, I was still struggling with the concept of "Mothers' Day". I wasn't sure if I wanted to go to church, go to brunch, or just spend the day with my mom walking around antique shops (something we always do). I didn't really want to think about it.

Mothers' Day had always been this longed-for treasured experience, that over the years turned into my biggest enemy (along with her mate, Fathers' Day). Nine years of hating this day, and all of a sudden I'm suppose to put on a happy face and forget the past? But I am happy, so why do I feel so guilty?

One morning I had a breakthrough when it hit me why I was feeling the way I was...

Survivors' guilt.

I don't know if this is a common feeling among couples who are parenting after infertility. I don't think it is shared much for fear that the couple may be labeled "ungrateful" or "crazy". I questioned celebrating Mothers' Day, mostly because I still have friends that are deep in the trenches of infertility and loss.

But at the same time, I had "crossed over" and I felt I'd be doing a disservice to myself and my friends if I didn't enjoy the day, and it was a great day.

I was actually happy, which I haven't allowed myself to be happy on that day for the last 9 years.  We even went to church. It was surreal being out with A and my mom and not have this heavy weight of "what could have been". Instead it was a welcoming lightness of "what is to come".

However, I would not be able to celebrate Mothers' day if it wasn't for one brave young woman who made the most courageous sacrifice, so that I could become a mother. Thank you!

The Security of a Routine

I have realized over the past couple of weeks that I like having a routine. It might seem boring to others, living by a routine, but I have found that there is a security that a routine provides.

Routines are predictable, you can foresee what you will be doing and that knowledge is comforting because there are no surprises.

I wasn't always like this. I used to like surprises, especially if that "surprise" was of the gift variety.

However, living with infertility and the struggles that come with it, the "surprises" I have endured over the past couple of years haven't been all that forgiving.

SURPRISE!! You have Polycystic Ovaries!

SURPRISE!! You will need fertility drugs to help you conceive!

SURPRISE!! That sharp pain in your abdomen, that's your tube rupturing!

SURPRISE!! Your very last IUI turned out to be a chemical pregnancy!

SURPRISE!! Your adoption match has failed!

I hate surprises. I hate infertility.

Lately for the past month, I've had to fit in a new task in my weekly routine - my new old job. Yes, you read that right - I'm back at my old job. Part of the deal in returning was that I would only work two days a week, Mondays and Wednesdays nights, no morning shifts, and no responsibilities.

So far all the terms have been met, which to my relief and sanity has made for a pleasant working experience. But this week I was asked to come in and work a short shift on Tuesday. I didn't realize that a short detour from my normal routine would throw me off so badly.

All day I felt a familiar tightness in my chest, and I was struggling to catch my breath. It was an anxiety attack, all because my routine got thrown off kilter.

I felt like a bit of an idiot getting all worked up over a wrinkle in my week. It wasn't a major change, I was only coming into work for an hour and a half. Big deal. But, why was I getting so worked up over something so little? Because there was a change to my routine.

I think its because I have found the value in the small routines that I have and the security and stability that they provide me. There are no surprises in them, only a predictability that I find comforting.

However, when it comes to food, I don't like routine, so at least there is some spontaneity in my life.

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.)

I'm Not Apathetic. I'm Just Introverted.

We have been waiting for a match from our agency for awhile (since Dec 2010). But since we've been trying to have a baby since Sept 2003, it feels like we have been waiting forever.

This past December we had the opportunity to transfer to another adoption agency (C) as the agency that did our homestudy (B) (our adoption agency (A) is out of state) merged with this agency (C) here in CA.

Because the two agencies merged (B&C), we were technically already a client of C, we just needed to make it official. We were encouraged to attend an information meeting and because we were considered a special case (we had already taken the classes that were required for DIA which were hosted by our out of state agency and they complied with our state's requirements; and our homestudy was completed) all that was needed of us was to attend the last of their 4 workshops. This last one was on Making a Profile and the different options of Networking your own adoption.

Our social worker tried to break it to me gently that they already have 43 waiting families and if we wanted to expediate our wait we could hire an attorney or facilitator. I was glad I was on the phone, because even then, I had to school my features and think hard about what I was going to say.

The truth is, I'm not desperate to become a parent. Of course, I want to be a parent, but I'm not desperate. There is an ache that I have in my chest that I'm not yet a mom, but the ache is dull, not sharp and piercing as it once was when we were 3 years into our IF journey, not having a clue of where we should go, or what options we had available.

But how do you convey this to your adoption social worker, without seeming insensitive and apathetic? Well, you are careful with your words and mindful of your tone. I was honest, and I told her that we are not desperate. We are doing what we feel God wants us to do, in our next steps of building our family, in the time He wants us to do it. Its not in our budget to hire an attorney. We will be fine waiting.

She seemed happy with my response and didn't think I sounded apathetic at all. Good.

~~~~

We went to the Making the Profile and Networking workshop on Monday . The profile seems fairly straight forward, and doesn't look too hard to make. There is no set pattern to making it, just that we have a recent picture in the front, and that we be ourselves in telling our story.

The networking part of the workshop got me slightly discouraged. The introvert in me panicked at getting myself out there and basically telling the world (or the internet) that we are adopting. I'm not ashamed of our adoption (far from it!) and I have told EVERYONE that is how we are building our family. But making business cards? Posting ads on Google and Facebook about our interest in adopting seemed a little too...out there for me.

The whole time they were playing this You.Tube video of this Adoption Advisor, I kept wondering, 'where is the line being drawn between networking and desperation?'

But my introverted nature was saved when, at the end of the video, the guy said, "Network through outlets that are comfortable for you."

So I think we well do the hardcopy profile (as required) and make a website, so we can link it to agency C's website. Michael also wants to do a video to post on the website. We just have to figure out what we want to say in the video.

It's not that I don't care at all about this, and its not that I don't want to do the extra work. I know it needs to be done, just don't mistake my lack of enthusiam as apathy. I'm just introverted, and extremely cautious.

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.

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.

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.

Invisibility Cloak

If you haven't figured out by now I'm a huge Harry Potter fan (shhh, don't tell my my mom, really if you know her don't tell her). One of the things I love about HP, besides the story, the characters, and the entire world JK Rowling has created, are the little bits of magical items associated with the world of Harry Potter.

I love Harry's Invisibility Cloak. It had once belonged to his father, James. In Book 1 Harry receives it as a Christmas gift from Dumbledore with a note that instructs Harry 'to use it well'. Throughout the series, Harry takes Dumbledore on that offer (sneaking out of bed after curfew (book 1 & 2), sneaking into Hogsmeade (book 3), eventually using it for protection (book 6) while on the run (book 7)). I think one of my favorite times that he uses the Cloak is in Book 4.  Its for something really simple, and understated. He uses it simply because he doesn't want to be noticed.

I know Invisibility Cloaks are not real. There are some days I wish they were real because I'd love to have one. Just to have one so I can go about my day unnoticed by people.

I don't know what that says about me. Maybe because there are some days that I just don't wish to be noticed or seen. Because if I'm not seen, I don't have to answer questions about how I'm feeling, or what I'm thinking. And if people don't know what I'm feeling or thinking, they won't judge me.

This all sounds really depressing. I know, but it was something that I was thinking about. I don't feel like this all the time. Generally I like being around people, but mostly as a silent observer and not really a vocal participant. I think it also depends on my mood and what kind of group setting I'm in. I realize that I deal really well one on one or a small group setting. Large groups still kind of freak me out.

I'm just having a hard time with the waiting. I think I'll always have a hard time with it. I think its affecting me more because of the pregnant women I see every week at church. Hence, the need for an Invisibility Cloak. I'm happy for them, don't get me wrong. I truly am happy for them. Its not their fault I can't get pregnant.

I just wonder when will it ever be my turn. When am I going to be a mom? Will I ever get the opportunity? Am I meant to be one? Or is this adoption just something that we are supposed to do as part of our journey like with the IF treatments? IF treatments didn't result in a child for us, and I don't know if this adoption will either. I hope it will, but I don't know if it will.

And the thing is, the ache will still be there once their babies come and I'll still be waiting...

So Harry Potter, Happy Birthday. And if you aren't using your Invisibility Cloak on an Auror mission, I'd really like to borrow it.

Jumping the Shark

If you don't know what this term means then you either don't watch tv or you were born after 1985. It refers to when in a tv show, whether it be an hour long drama, or a half-hour tv sitcom, makes a desperate attempt and often absurd execution in their season plot line that virtually renders the show unwatchable. In other words, its television suicide.

In my opinion, this usually happens more commonly in half-hour sitcoms when one of the main characters (in many cases the 'mom') gets pregnant.

I remember when Elyse Keaton on Family Ties got pregnant and after she had the baby the show was okay, but it wasn't the same. The family dynamic changed not only between Steven and Elyse, but also the three siblings (Alex, Mallory and Jennifer) to accomdate Andrew (who seemed to age 5 years in one season).

I remember when I was a kid not liking it when sitcoms would do that. The same thing happened on Growing Pains, again changing the dynamic of the show between the characters. I don't think I watched it after that.

Even on Friends, when Rachel got pregnant I didn't like it, but I watched the rest of the season and the show until it wrapped for good in 2004. That season just happened to be the funniest season Friends had since season 6 (in my honest opinion).

I'm about to say something controversial on here, and some of you might not like it. But I wouldn't be accurately expressing myself if I didn't voice it.

There is a genuine joy and yet a constant fear that I have at the prospect of a baby entering our family of two dynamic.

Its been just the two of us for more than 10 years. Its something that I've been used to for all our married life, and to be quite honest those years have been beyond wonderful, dynamic to be exact.

I love having Michael all to myself. I'm grateful that we can still have 'Date Night'. We can go to Disneyland at a moments noice (or when our passes allow). Go to the movies every weekend in the summer. Stay up late, and sleep in. *sighs* All these things sound so stupid and petty, but its what I'm used to and what I'm comfortable with.

Its these things that I savour to keep me sane and prevent me from wallowing in self-pity.

I'm grateful for a freedom we have that most of our friends don't seem to have anymore now that they have children.

I think a part of me is scared of losing that freedom, of having to share Michael with someone else.

Overall, I guess I just want some reassurance that when the dynamics do change, I'll be up to scratch.

Days like these

I really don't have much to update and therefore not much to say in terms of our adoption journey. It feels rather odd to have a blog when I have nothing really to blog about.

I woke up this morning with a familiar tightening in my chest, which really doesn't bode well for the rest of my day. Because now I'm trapped at home wary of going anywhere public in fear that I may go into full on anxiety-attack mode and fall apart at the slightest question directed at me.

These don't happen often...about once, twice maybe three times a month. It was worse when I was working, because I didn't have the luxury of staying home like I do now. I'd have to grin and bear it all the while struggling to breathe and counting down the hours till my shift ended.

When I'm like this its hard to look for a distraction. Usually I'll find one in reading a bit of fiction our watching a movie (mostly action - the fast pace action sequences are great for my senses). But typically the distraction doesn't last and I'm back struggling to breathe or find the reason why I'm in the state that I'm in.

I wish I knew what triggered them? Is it hormonal? Probably. Am I making these attacks happen? I don't know.

You'd think that since I'm not working that the anxiety attacks would stop. Yeah, I thought so too, but no.

I don't really want to look for a job, and I feel guilty for thinking that. I try to compensate by attempting to be the best housewife ever, but sometimes I even suck at that. Or maybe I'm just being too hard on myself.

Its not that I don't want to work, heck if I was getting paid to write movie reviews that would be the BEST. JOB. EVER. I just don't want to work in a customer service setting, and for whatever reason I feel that is all I'm qualified to do. To be completely honest, the thought of having to look for a job freaks the heck out of me. Especially if days like these are happening more frequently.

I know I should probably call my doctor and make an appointment. But this is the same doctor that when I gave her the physical form from the adoption agency she said, "Oh, so you're giving up on trying?"

Thanks.

I don't remember if I actually answered her comment or not.

Its also days like these that I wonder if I should go back into therapy. But I don't think they happen enough to constitute $110 a session.

Its sad that its such a beautiful day outside and yet I don't feel the need to leave my apartment.

Sometimes I wish I was a runner. Because I'd run until my lungs screamed in protest and my legs burned with exhaustion. And maybe, just maybe I'd be able to breathe. I'd be forced to take deep breaths from the overexertion and maybe the deep breaths would subside the sobs I can feel itching to escape.

I wonder sometimes if I get these anxiety attacks because I'm depressed. Its possible. I don't eat much on days like these because I'm not really that hungry. I'll eat some cereal, but that's about it. The rest of the day I'll just drink coffee.

Maybe I am depressed. It seems silly, but after Friday the thing I've been looking forward too since 2007 will be here. 



*sniffs* Post-Potter Depression will commence on Sat 7.16


I know you're rolling your eyes at me. I can feel it, but just give me a chance to explain. We aren't doing IF treatments anymore so the things I look forward to now-a-days are small silly things like trips, movies, Disneyland trips, new Doctor Who episodes, or that coveted phone call from our agency telling us that a birthmother is interested in our profile.

Its the little things I look forward to, as silly and daft as they may be, that make this whole journey of nothing happening bearable. Especially on days I'd rather stay in bed in the safe confines of my apartment.

Its Been a Month

Its been a little over a month since I had been laid off from my job. I have to say that I'm actually doing pretty well.

I'm not going to lie, the first two weeks were pretty awkward and I was still trying not to overanalyse why I had been laid off.

But now a month later, I'm actually quite relieved and a little more settled into my current unemployment status. The way I see it, my boss actually did me a favour.

I no longer dread having to get up out of bed to face people and their nosy questions. I can go to my former place of work to just workout and not be forced to talk about me.

At the beginning of June, Michael and I had planned to go to Columbus, OH to attend a convention. Well, technically he was attending the convention I was going for moral support. I was a little nervous about going, more so because of my unemployment status. There would be people there that I hadn't seen in a while and others that I would be meeting for the first time.  I didn't really fancy answering the question, "So Jonelle, what do you do?" or the other question we all love to hear "Do you have children".

Aside from getting stranded overnight in Dallas with no fresh set of clothes or toiletries, and having my luggage missing for a couple of hours without anyone at A.mer.ican Air.lines.helping us to recover it, (I will never check a bag in or fly with A.me.ric.an Air.lines ever again) our time in Columbus wasn't half bad...except on the day of the Reunion dinner.

Every year at convention they have a Reunion dinner for the graduates of the college associated with our denomination. For some reason my anxiety was so high I couldn't breathe. I was fearing all kinds of things mostly questions being thrust at me by people I didn't know. Like the "kids question", the "what do you do, Jonelle" question, all of which are safe questions, but not for me.

I could feel the beginnings of a freakout coming on as people I didn't know were arriving in the restaurant.  A handful of people I did know where sitting elsewhere and all the unknowns seemed to gravitate to us.  I tried to calm myself down by reading the dessert menu, which only seemed to make me hungrier.

I did made it to the bathroom before the freakout surfaced and I exploded into tears. I was there in the stall trying to calm myself down, taking deep breaths, and trying to picture myself at my happy place - Disneyland, (which is hard to do when there is Italian music playing the background).

Lucky for us a couple we did know sat in front of us. She and her boyfriend had no idea how much at ease their presence was to us...well to me.

Since being laid off I've decided to focus a good portion of my time to writing. Some of that writing hasn't included my blog (so sorry). Mostly because there are certain topics that I want to write about that I can't include on here and other mini projects that I've started and need to finish before starting a new project. I've decided that if I'm going to seriously focus on my writing I can't be sharing a laptop with Michael, so I'm getting my own laptop. YAY!!!

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!

I Hate My Ovaries

I'm late again, and I blame my ovaries. They are not known for doing anything I ask them to do. They don't produce eggs, just cysts and I blame them for making my cycles long.

I'm a bit bummed. I thought my cycles were regulating. For the last two years, after our last miscarriage in August 2009, my cycles had been coming fairly consistently, without the aid of icky birth control pills (a.k.a Crazy in pill form). It had been nice to have something normal occurring for a change, even if we weren't able to get a pregnancy out of it.

Every once in a while I'd have a long cycle, but then it would regulate and I was "normal" once again.

During those long cycles I had hoped that maybe I was pregnant. Maybe I had defied the odds and my lazy left ovary had decided to produce an egg instead of cysts. Or that the overachieving right ovary, who doesn't have a tube, had decided to produce a good egg and that egg had decided cross to the other side to the left tube. Sounds absurd, but my RE had told me it could happen.

I tell myself that I'll wait until CD 40 and that will be the day I'll test. I take a test and of course its negative. I start my period the next day or the next week (one time I started my period the day I decided to take a test) and I beat myself up for being so stupid for thinking that the test would be positive this time.

Back to Present Day.

I'm late again, and I don't want to take a test even if today is CD 44.

The ovulation pain I thought I felt three weeks prior was most likely a cyst rupturing. The spotting that occurred a week later was most likely not implantation bleeding, but the result of said cyst rupturing.

So really there is no need for me to take a test, because clearly I'm not pregnant.

I wish I still didn't hope for it to happen.

I wish I didn't think about it anymore.

I wish my ovaries worked.

I wish I had both tubes.

I wish I had regular cycles, because that would mean that a part of me was somewhat normal and not broken.