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.

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.

Still Here...Seriously

I noticed that I hadn't written a single post for November. I kept putting it off and putting it off and now the last day of November is here and I can't quite put my brain around how fast this month has come and gone. Tomorrow is December and in 32 days it will be a whole new year.

Another thing I noticed with the last few entries in my blog (sad one followed by a "feeling better" one, then a sad one again). I realized there was a pattern with these entries as the extremely sad posts were written a few days before the Crimson Wave would strike. The only plus side I can see from this is that its coming on time, however the bummer part is that I still don't know if I'm ovulating or not (most likely not).  And I really don't want to know if I am ovulating as its a thought I don't wish to entertain.

Much has happened this month. We are closer to finishing our home study. Everything that is required is completed and turned in to our social worker. She just has to finish writing it up and we have a few certifications of completion to send her and its all done.

We also attended a required workshop at our agency for waiting families. It was a great experience and we were able to really see how the agency works, meet the staff and meet other couples who are waiting like us. We realized that since we are out of state that we were most likely in for a longer wait than most couples.

We both also realized that if adoption doesn't work out for us, we will be okay living as a child-free couple. It will hurt and there will be grief and mourning involved, but we will be okay because we have each other.

There was also something we learned about us and our journey to parenthood - we are not desperate to become parents. Sure its a desire of ours to be parents, but it is not a desperation. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn't happen...well, it doesn't happen.

We don't have to think about that now, but we know that it is a possibility and we are at peace with it. We might have to go back to therapy, but we will get through it.

Its interesting that my brain went to the childfree living route rather than back to treatment or something else like embryo adoption. I think I've just been so use to living with "no children" that the possibility of actually having children has become a rather foreign concept. I've become so accustomed to life without children, its difficult to imagine my life with them.

I was walking through the baby aisle in Target with my mom searching for a baby shower gift for a friend and I was slowly starting to entertain the idea of catelogueing in my brain certain items that I thought would be nice things to have for whenever we might get matched with a baby. My mom came up behind me and said rather wistfully,

"Can you imagine getting this stuff for your baby?"

"No, I can't." My reply surprised me a bit, but it was the truth.

I could see this wasn't the answer she was expecting me to say. But I continued, "I can't afford to imagine a baby. I've been doing that for the last 7 years. But you can."

I think it took the wind out of her sails and probably made her worry about me even more, but its how I cope. Living each day, one at a time. I can't afford to daydream about the future of being a mother or caring for a baby that may not come to us.

Don't get me wrong, I do want to be a mother. I do want to raise/rear a baby, love him/her and nuture him/her. But we've been waiting so long to do just that, that its scary for me to allow my brain to go there, because what if it doesn't happen?

My brain seems to be full of contradicting thoughts. Because I do want adoption to work out for us, but I think the past experiences with failed IF treatment and miscarriages has made my heart and my brain a bit gunshy about believing anything will go right for us.

I still feel in my heart that adoption chose us and I believe God put that desire there. If not for Him I don't think we would be on this path so quickly after what happened last year. God's plans are always perfect even if I don't agree with them or understand them.

I do know one thing, God has given me a great husband, and if I get to spend the rest of my life with him and only him - Oh what a great life!

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*

Not Meant for this World

We wanted to have two kids,

That was our plan, our dream.

Just two, a good even number,

One boy, one girl, one of each.

We set to planning when we would start.

“It should take less than a year,” they said.

“We won’t have a problem,” we said.

One year turned into three,

Eventually became four, then six.

Now seven years of waiting and trying,

Praying and hoping, that one day,

Our love would bring a baby into this world.

We waited for you both, and those days did come.

But you both weren’t meant for this world.

So tonight we’ll light a candle,

Remembering your short time with us,

Honouring your place in our hearts,

Until we see you once again.

Things are Starting to Move Along Nicely

Okay, I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been a bit overwhelmed with getting little things done in regards to our adoption and mixed up in some work drama, (which as of this moment has been resolved).

I finally finished our Life Book last Saturday (8/7) and ordered two copies from Shutterfly.com (one to be sent to us and one to be sent to the agency). I found out Thursday (8/12) it had arrived at the agency. Ours arrived the same day. We could start to be profiled by birthmoms as soon as next week.

We found an agency here to do our homestudy and training. We met with our new Social Worker yesterday afternoon and she is very sweet. We start the training on Aug 24th and I have my individual interview with her this coming Wednesday...at our apartment. I'm a little nervous, but not worried.

I am a teeny bit apprehensive about having to share with her the ectopic story, and because its part of our infertility story I know it will come up. Its not that I don't want to tell it. I just haven't told that story in a while and the last time I did share it, we were in therapy, and I sobbed the entire time.

It will be fine. Really it will. I'll be talking to her for about two hours, which is 80 minutes longer than one of our counselling sessions...it will be fine.

I hope Jack is on his best behavior. It would really suck if he attacked me while the social worker is at our apartment.

Well thats where we are. I'm glad that things are starting to move along for us.

Why I Had Kept My Infertility a Secret

At first it wasn't intentional. We were excited that we had finally made the decision to try for a baby, but since nothing had happened yet, it wasn't worth sharing with people.

Time had passed, a year, maybe three and the exhilaration of trying to make a baby had become excruciatingly painful as each month passed and nothing. Nothing to show for our efforts but resentment as we had become aware that biology had failed us. Three years had passed and not one positive test. It was clear we had a problem, but who wants to admit to people, much less themselves, that they are having trouble getting pregnant? We sure didn't.

People began to think, as we reached the fifth year mark in our marriage, that we needed them to remind us that it was time for us to start making a family. Little did they know that we had been trying to start one for three years. It was these people that told us to "just relax", "don't think about it", "have some wine" It was then that we realized we didn't need the added grief, we didn't yet even have a diagnosis. No, best to keep this to ourselves. It was none of their business anyways.

A few people knew of our infertility struggles, our parents and our best friends. We had felt that was enough people to share our secret with. Because that's what it was...a secret. And keeping secrets takes a lot of work.

I know for me there was a shame factor involved in keeping our infertility to myself. I was ashamed that I was different from the rest of my friends. I was ashamed that my body couldn't or wouldn't do what it was supposed to do. So I kept that shame to myself.

There was also pain that accompanied the shame. A pain my friends couldn't understand because I wouldn't share it with them assuming they wouldn't be able to understand. Horrible logic, but it was mine. I didn't want to subject them to my pain either so if they asked, I told them. If they didn't, I once again kept the pain and the shame of my secret to myself.

I often found that when a person doesn't know what to say when they hear you are having trouble conceiving a child they usually say the wrong thing or worse give you a useless platitude that is about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

Then the ectopic happened, and it was a bit harder to keep our secret from people as I ended up in the ER and then rushed into emergency surgery. Our "just an ovulation problem" was made more complicated with the removal of my right tube. But still I didn't talk about it.

I realized in hindsight that it would have benefited me to be a bit more honest with people. But considering how emotionally fragile I was in regards to my IF and the trauma of the ectopic, it was less painful to keep quiet rather then open myself up to horrible comments and advice.

I didn't even tell people I would soon face my fears and learn how to give myself shots for our next phase of treatment: injections.

I didn't want to say anything to anyone until I saw a positive pregnancy test, or held my baby in my arms.

When our last IUI resulted in a chemical pregnancy it also marked the end of us seeking further IF treatment and activly trying to have a child of our own. It was then that we realized that we could no longer keep our IF a secret. It was a heartbreaking time for both of us and we needed the support of others.

I only just started sharing our story. Its been a scary and yet helpful process. It hasn't been easy opening myself up to people, but I no longer carry the burden of my secret on my shoulders.

I've also learned that not everyone deserves to hear our story in detail as I still run into people who think its a wonderful joke calling me a D.I.N.K or a 'Woman of Leisure' because we don't yet have children. Or assume that because I've been married 9 years and don't yet have children, means that I don't want children. That is probably the worst obstacle I've run into lately, assumptions, but best save that for a different post.

I'm no longer ashamed of my IF, because I've come to the conclusion that its a part of who I am, not what I am. IF still sucks, that hasn't changed, but its shaped me into the person that I am and I'm not going to hide who I am anymore.

I spent 6 1/2 years hiding and keeping secrets and I'm tired.

Even Jesus was Sarcastic or Is Honesty Really the Best Policy

These past couple of weeks I've been doing something that I normally wouldn't dream of doing...

cue the music...

I've been honest with people about our infertility. Its something new I've been doing since outing myself in April and finally deciding on an adoption agency.

There have been ample opportunities to do this, preferably two Sundays ago when Michael and I went to my old church to hear my former pastor speak. It was a weird day. Almost everyone from my old youth group was there and it was nice to see everyone grown up, married and with kids.

Naturally we got the kids question, which we answered, "Not yet, but we are in the process of adopting and we are excited about where the process takes us."

I was surprised that I was genuinely excited when we told people about us adopting. Don't get me wrong, I am excited, but I'm also very guarded about it. There is still a possibility that this won't work out, so I'm guarding my heart, but that doesn't mean I'm not excited that we are adopting.

Of course with this entire honesty thing one is bound to receive some crap not so nice comments from people. One came before I was even able to answer a question. The "Any kids" question a.k.a "The Dreaded Question" came from someone that was in my youth group who was a few years older than me. Before I could even answer the question he stepped over the line when he added, "What, you don't want kids?"

All this while staring at my chest...in church...right in front of my husband.

So not only am I uncomfortable with the question, I’ve also been put on the spot by someone I haven’t seen in over 15 years. So I gathered my courage, and quickly scrambled through my catalogue of snarky comebacks because at this moment I've pretty much rationalized that Jesus was sarcastic too (read the Gospels), so it’s okay. Jesus understands and He loves me.

Here is what I would have liked to have said: "What about you? Are you married? What, you don't want to get married? Was that question inappropriate? Can you please direct your question a little higher?"

Instead I said this: No we don't have kids. (honesty) We want kids, we just haven't been able to have them. (more information than is actually necessary) Right now we are in the process of adoption and we are excited. (does that answer your question, jerk)

I probably said more than what was necessary, but really who goes from asking if you have kids to assuming that you don't want any? Obviously people I haven't seen in over 15 years. After that I left before he actually said anything else to me. I heard later on that morning he came up to my mom and commented on how different her hair looked.

G: Your hair looks thinner, and shorter. Was it always like that?

Mom: Well the texture of hair changes when you have cancer and have to go through chemo. Often times it grows back thinner. What's your excuse?

YES! Oh how I wish I was there to have heard that conversation.

Everyone else was really great about hearing our adoption news. They were encouraging and excited for us. We had many people tell us that they will keep us in their prayers.

I also had the opportunity to share with one of my other old friends about our struggles with infertility, our losses and deciding not to try anymore.

It was very refreshing to be honest with someone and not feel shameful about our IF struggles, but talk about it freely with her. I surprised myself that I was so open with her, because we all know that I'm a bit out of practice in the art of opening up. But I felt she was a safe person and it was only her, not 20 people at once.

I stepped back and realized that had this been two years ago, or even a year ago, I would have dreaded going to my old church and seeing people I hadn't seen in years. I would have anticipated the kids question to the point of being on the brink of a panic attack. I would have driven myself crazy figuring out how to respond to each question, and over analyzing every encounter with these people.

Two years ago around this time, Michael and I went to a wedding of one of my old friends and there were some people in attendance that I had grown up with but hadn't seen in years. We didn't get the kids question that day, but it had only been 4 months out since the ectopic, and the outing was enough to dissolve me into tears seeing all my old friends I had grown up with, with kids of their own. I distinctly remember struggling to breathe during the reception.

A year ago at this time Michael and I were awaiting the results of our 4th and final IUI. Had we received an invitation to go to my old church, I don't even think we would have gone. If we had gone and received the kids question I would have just said, "No" and maybe a "Not yet". We would not have been upfront with anyone of our attempts to have children, much less talk about our losses or our IF struggles. I most likely would not have engaged in any conversations with anyone besides the usual small talk, but nothing in-depth.

To sum it up, there would have been lots of awkward silences trying to talk to me and the conversation wouldn't have been at all enlightening.

I guess you could say we have grown in the last year. We are a lot more honest with people when the Dreaded Question comes up. We usually don't include the "haven't been able to have them" part unless it is implied that we don't want kids. We just jump right into the "but we are adopting" and we make sure to say it with the proper enthusiam it deserves.

So I guess honesty is the best policy, but just remember that if I get asked the wrong question I will exercise my right to give a sarcastic answer.

Thank you Apple, Inc for once again reminding me that I'm infertile.

Have you seen the new iPhone 4 commercial? This woman tells her husband through the new video share feature that she is pregnant. However, before she shares this precious news with her husband she tortuously drags out the news by asking first if he has a minute, then asks if he is alone and finally says, "You know that thing we've been working on for a while now. Well..."


I'll admit the commercial is sweet, but after being beaten to death with it yesterday, it started to slowly pry open a wound that I wasn't aware still had tender spots, but one that I had hoped I had come to resolve and move on from. It was a part of myself that didn't want to be reminded of the life experiences taken away from us by IF.

It made me a bit sad that something so sweet, albeit poorly scripted and executed, could resurface the bitterness and anger I had at the course God has put us on. The unfairness of not being consulted of the detour He would set for us in our life plan. Our dream of biological children shattered and needing to be mourned. The constant inappropriate questions from people asking us about children and if we wanted any.

I know that there will be always something like a commercial, a movie plot, or a TV episode that will bring back those feeling of loss and anger. I know its not something that I can hide from. I just hate getting the wind knocked out of me while watching my favorite program.

Because it's things like this that get me thinking of questions I still don't have answers to like, "Why did God choose us to be the ones to deal with IF? Why does He think we can handle it? What does it all mean? What is He preparing us for? What lessons are we suppose to be learning? Have we learned them yet?"

The only possible "answer" I can come up with that makes sense to me is that maybe He is preparing us to be better people, and hopefully better parents. I honestly don't know. I'm sure I'll never know why God chose this path for us.

As hard as the road of IF is, I do believe in my heart that God's plan is always perfect, more perfect than I can ever imagine. I may not be able to see how our journey ends, but knowing God is walking with us as we are on this path makes it more bearable.

I just hate when stupid things like TV commercials remind me that I'm infertile. Praise God for a mute button, though I do wish a mute button applied to people as well.

Holding My Breath

I feel like half of the year I'm holding my breath and counting the days until one month passes into the next.

Case in point, February. I hate February and I'm so thankful it is the shortest month of the year. February is when everything changed for us. February is when the ectopic happened. February is when everything became much more complicated in our quest to have a baby. February is when our "just an ovulation problem" became a "tubal factor" and "ovulation problem". So for the past two Februarys I've held my breath and prayed for March to come fast.

I love March. Our anniversary is in March and we always go to Disneyland, dodging the strollers all day in our mission to get to the good rides.

But this year I found myself once again holding my breath when April came.  April would have been my due date month had I not miscarried in August.

And now we are in May and I'm still holding my breath, praying tomorrow and the rest of this month goes by fast. I don't like Mother's Day. I haven't gone to church on MD for the last two years. I just can't do it. Its too hard. I couldn't even make it through a baby dedication in January, I doubt my heart will allow me to make it through a church service. I'm not sure if I'll ever make my peace with Mother's Day.

I've been holding my breath through this month for the past 6 years, more so in the last 3 years since turning 30. The breath holding doesn't stop after Mother's Day, it continues until the day before my birthday, near the end of May, when I'm reminded that I'll be another year older and still no baby.

Its harder this year, because we're not trying to have a baby anymore. We're no longer doing treatments, and I'm sad. Sad that I'll never get to see my babies, heartbroken that they weren't meant for this world and tired of trying to put a happy face on a situation that sucks.

I'm not sure what kind of day I'll have tomorrow. I know the day is not all about me. I have a mom and Mother's Day is when I can honor her as my mom, and be thankful I get to spend such a day with her.

I just hate that I feel forgotten.

I'm sure I'll be holding my breath through most of tomorrow, but I'll do my best to remember to breathe.

What IF?

What IF, after all the pain and struggle of trying to have a baby, enduring the heartache of loss and failure, there is nothing left of me to give a baby through adoption?

I worry sometimes that because we had been TTC for more than 6 years, endured two miscarriages, and now are no longer TTC, if there is enough in me left to open my heart to adoption. All our invested hopes and dreams of having children of our own has been spent, what if there is nothing left to give?

Its been nine years of wanting a baby, six years of trying for a baby, What IF by the time I get baby I'm not good at being a mother, or worse after waiting so long, I hate being a mother?

Yes, my brain works on overload and I tend to ride that bad train of thought until I'm lying on the couch dissolved in tears. I forget sometimes, that thinking too far ahead in the future, can distort perceptions and create fear of the unknown. I have to be reminded to just concentrate on today. Just get through today.

But I can't help it. I've been fantasizing about the future and our children for ages. I've had their names picked out for 10 years. I've dreamt about who they would look like. If they would have my curly hair or Michael's hazel eyes.

There are some days, rare occasions, when I just want to stop...everything, stop all pursuits at parenthood. Because some days I'm not sure what kind of mother I will turn into having walked the road of infertility.

But then there is this voice in my head asking, nagging, yelling at me that What IF I'm good at being a mother, and I love and cherish every minute of it? Even the all night crying and sleepless nights.

What IF the wait was worth it in the end? Because I couldn't imagine my life without this child in it.

What IF all the pain of waiting, the anguish of failure, the heartache of loss was turned into joy? What IF all that we have been through makes us better, loving parents? What IF this child has been waiting for us and not the other way around?

Then I'll stay for the ride and endure the road blocks and speed bumps along the way. I'll open my heart to whatever God has in store for me. I'll pray He gives me the strength to hold on to the hope of our child, where ever he/she may be, that they will soon come home to us.

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week April 24 - May 1. This post was part of Project IF organized by Resolve.org and Mel of StirrupQueens.com. To learn more about infertility and how you can support someone you know going through this journey visit Resolve.org for more information.

If you would like to view the complete list of What IFs you can find them here.

Stingy Now, Generous Later

Yesterday received some information packets from adoption agencies I contacted last week. If we decide to go with the one that is out of state we found a local agency here that will do our Homestudy and Educational classes. Looking at the fee schedule for this other agency made me slightly depressed as it was more expensive than their website indicated. So still no final decision on an agency.

*headdesk*

Last night I just kept wishing that I was "normal", "regular", "fertile". And then other stuff followed like: I wish I already had my children. I wish I didn't have to worry about irregular cycles, another ectopic pregnancy, or choosing an adoption agency. I wish I didn't live in the most expensive state in America where the fees for an agency is 16K to 35K.

Most of all, I wish I knew why God chose this journey for us. I don't like spoilers when it comes to movies, but this is my life, please God, spoil me. I promise I'll look and act surprised when I see what it is that you have for us.

But God doesn't work like that, and to be honest, I wouldn't want Him to do that for me.

As I was laying in bed on the verge of tears I remembered something Michael said to me the morning of our miscarriage in August. "Maybe God needs to be stingy to us now, to be generous to a child later."  I was reminded that maybe the reason we are going through this journey is that there is a child out there who needs us, and God's generosity.

So Baby, where ever you are, Mommy and Daddy are waiting and praying for you. We just haven't found each other yet, but we will.

ICLW Week :)

Welcome! If you would like to know more about ICLW just click on the green icon to the right. If you are visiting here for the first time let me share a bit about myself and give you the summarized version of our story.


Michael and I have been married for 9 years and have been TTC our first for 6 1/2 years.

After 3 years of no pregnancies we discovered that I had PCOS causing annovulation so we decided to see an RE. We did 4 cycles of Clomid and the last one was successful, however it was a tubal pregnancy and I ended up losing a tube and our first child.

The next option after the Clomid we did injectables w/IUI. After 4 cycles the last one worked but not good enough as I miscarried early. Treatments and medications got increasingly expensive not to mention emotionally taxing on our hopes and dreams.

We felt that we needed to redirect our focus on other ways of building a family, so we will eventually be pursuing domestic infant adoption. We haven't yet made a formal decision on selecting an agency. We are still in the information stage and working through the emotions and grief of not being able to have children of our own. We are somewhere in the middle (hence the title of my blog) of no longer trying, but not yet ready for adoption.


Hopefully by the middle of this year we will be a bit further in the adoption process. I think that is it so far.

Happy ICLW week. I look forward to meeting new people.

Why holding babies isn't fun anymore

Its interesting how many of these thoughts occur to me after a harmless encounter at church. While Michael and I were greeting, someone near us was holding their baby. That person had to be on stage to help with worship and was quickly looking around for someone to hold her. I started to go in panic attack mode and internally chanting "Please don't hand her to me. Please don't hand her to me." And they didn't. Whew.

I'm not really sure why something so tender and precious as holding a baby would bring me to tears, but it does. Maybe because in my heart of hearts I know that the baby being handed to me isn't mine and after about 20 minutes or so I'll have to give the child back to his parents. And my arms will once again be empty.

I wasn't always like this. When I was 18 maybe 20 I liked holding babies. Mostly when the gesture was offered by new proud parents. Newborns made me a little nervous because they were so tiny and fragile, but once they were about 3 months or so I wanted to hold them and even jumped at the chance.

The last time I enjoyed holding a baby was about 6 years ago when the concept of trying for our own was still fresh and exciting. Because it was only a matter of time before I'd be holding our baby.

As the years passed, and the excitement of trying got to be...trying, I started to realize that holding other people's babies wasn't fun anymore. Don't get me wrong, I was happy for my friends new additions, but I was sad for us. At first it was just another reminder of what we didn't yet have. Eventually it became a reminder of what we had lost.

Two years ago, I was asked if I wanted to hold a baby. It had been 6 months after the ectopic and the loss of our first child was still so fresh in my mind. This person had no idea they were ripping my heart out by asking a simple question.

I said no.

I know what your thinking. Who in their right mind would say no to holding a baby? Well, I do apparently. I felt guilty for saying no and hurting this person's feelings, so I held out my shaky arms. Poor baby was so uncomfortable, and so was I.

Michael asked me how I would feel about our future adopted child being handed to me to hold. Would the pain of our losses prevent me from enjoying holding him/her? I thought about it and instantly said No. Because the joy of our new child would outweigh the pain, (not replace it) just outweigh the pain. I'm sure I would still cry, but the tears would be joyful.

One day holding a baby will be fun again. I just hope the next baby I hold will be ours, so I'm saving my arms and my heart for our baby.