The infertile friend

As I scroll down my Facebook feed, I freeze. My eyes fill with tears and I wrinkle my nose to thwart their impeding cascade down my cheeks. I shut my laptop and walk away. Mad. Happy. Sad. Ashamed. Confused. Wishing a single post did not hold the power over me that it does.

She is pregnant. An adorable pregnancy announcement on Facebook just confirmed my suspicions. I already knew on some level. The last time she saw me she kept asking “how are you?’ with a tilt of her head and raised eyebrow. Over the years, I developed an uncanny prego-radar.  It helps that people usually give it away with how suddenly they feel awkward around me or even avoid me altogether.

You see, I am the infertile friend.

At this point, my friends are on baby #2, 3 or even 4. The announcements are growing less and less and many of my friends feel their families are finally complete. I remember a season where I would look at my hubs and lament “is seriously everyone pregnant?!” That was also the season where I would bulk buy pregnancy tests from medical supply companies. Now under the bathroom sink sits an unopened box that I haven’t used in years. I am in a different place but somehow that announcement post surprised me. My reaction caught me off guard.

I hate that my barren womb is such a joy sucker. I hate that my friends feel like they must be nervous to tell me. I hate that when they do tell me, while I have great joy, I also go home with a fresh reminder of my grief. My wait. I hate that I walked out of a baby shower last year when the mama-to-be was complaining about pregnancy symptoms (she has the right to complain to her friends - growing a human inside of you is kind of a lot of work). She was tired, constipated, stretched and simply ready to meet her little. I heard those complaints and felt like Frozen’s Elsa had just shot an icy beam to the heart. I kept thinking; "I would take all the hemorrhoids in the world and how I long for morning sickness, or if only I had killer gas that could clear a room." I don’t know if I really meant those thoughts, but in that moment, I set my coffee cup on the counter and snuck out the door without a single goodbye or piece of cake. (I was in my right mind enough to grab a shower favor, those damn shower cookies are melt-in-your-mouth-divine).

Or that baby shower where everyone began to share labor and delivery stories. In college, I used to binge watch that show “Baby Stories” on TLC. I loved a good labor story. Enough medical drama to feed my medical obsession yet still a story about the power of being a woman and the remarkable way we give life. My friends swapped details and then suddenly all eyes began to dart nervously back and forth at each other and then toward me, quietly trying to signal “what about our infertile friend.”  The stories abruptly stopped as someone awkwardly proclaimed, “It has rained so much this week.” Sly transition, you guys.

See, their hearts are trying to watch out for me. And I feel like they are in a catch 22. If they don’t tell me before they announce it on social media, they run a risk of hurting my feelings. If they call me or tell me in person before they announce it, they run the risk of hurting my feelings. If they talk about pregnancy or labor at a shower, I could complain they are being insensitive.  If they don’t share the updates and details, I might possibly accuse them of treating me differently.  The reality is, I want to hear the story about my friend delivering her own baby in the car on the way to the hospital as much as we all do. Who cares about the rain?! Don’t transition away from that goodness.  

I recently asked on my social media account, which way other women in the midst of infertility prefer to find out about pregnancies from friends. The answers were all over the board. Some felt that they did not want to be treated differently than any other friends you were just going to have seen your FB announcement. Others said they felt more respected when friends made a call to share the news privately with them before going public. However, one theme ran deep in every response. Even though we might encounter a reminder of the loneliness of our journey, we have great joy for the new life you are announcing. We are genuinely happy for you. Us not sharing in your joy stands opposite to our hearts desire. Because if you did not have this announcement to share, that means you are now in our infertile friend club too. While we are an incredibly welcoming, supportive group, we do not seek or desire new members.

I also asked the fertile ladies what it’s like on the other side. Are they nervous to tell us their news? Specifically, I was so afraid that my grief was stealing from their joy. Gracious, beautiful women with miraculous, egg-making ovaries shared that they simply want to respect our grief. Respect our struggle. Grieve with us.

I wanted to write a blog that would help our fertile friends share their news and might help my fellow club members share in their joy. But you guys are already doing that. We are all trying. We are trying to grieve together. Celebrate together. Share in new life. Despair over lost life.

Bitterness sneaks in when we forget to invite grace into the conversation. When we assume the friend making her pregnancy announcement has not seen or shared in our grief. When we assume that our friend will not share in our joy or would not want to know the latest update. The best way to dismiss assumptions is to humbly voice our intentions and bravely share our fears. And then smother the whole mess with GRACE.

Have grace for the silent exit at a baby shower, for the awkward conversation transitions, or for the text or phone calls asking “how are you?” Extending grace for the tears that gleamed in my eyes as I genuinely exclaimed Congrats! I am hanging out in the tension of joy and grief. Thanks for trying to meet me in that space.




2014 in review

2014 flew right on by and we are now entering "the year of the hover-board".
I like to spend a little bit of time at the end of the year in reflection. The first time I did this was here, for 2012, helping me create and seal some precious moments in that I would otherwise be unable to recover years from now. So let's look back at some of the biggest moments of 2014.

A year of Hope, Hope Lost, Gratitude, and Grace.

January was our first full month home with Little Man. Quite a chunk of that time was spent battling RSV at Texas Children's. We were thrown head first into parenting. It challenged me to let go of expectations and control. I made the decision right there to not take for granted one second of the new gig I have been given. No matter what. 

In February, we started at The Rise School of Houston. 
Game Changer. 
The teachers and therapists at this school are one of a kind, helping Little Man reach his potential. He loves it, I love it and they, of course, love him. 

We spent Easter weekend in Boston visiting Aunt Courtney, Crazy Uncle C and sweet Cousin Abigail.    

The Ducks were wearing Ukraine and DS awareness colored scarves. They must have heard we were coming to Boston.

Best Friends in the making!

Spring came and brought with us Little Man's first birthday

What many did not know, is it also brought us another pregnancy. As Little Man blew out his candles (Ok, you caught me, really we blew them out), I had sweat beads of morning sickness nausea dripping down my neck. The flame flickered out and I pictured us doing this again at his birthday next year, with a baby in our arms. We were the cliche - we were that story that always gets told to adopting couples - we got pregnant right after an adoption!

In the summer, I graduated as a Family Nurse Practitioner and some how passed boards. Grace! An adoption and grad school might be tricky for some, but not if you are surrounded by the incredible family and friends that I have. As family gathered to celebrate, I started to have signs and symptoms of a miscarriage and we ended up at the hospital instead of the ceremony. Instead of walking the stage, I was given a different gift:
I watched a baby's heart beat within me for the first time. 
Hope had been conceived.
 The next couple weeks we hung onto hope. Each appointment with a flickering heart made my hope grow stronger.

We lost Hope the end of May.

May, June and July were hum-dinger months for Little Man. We got our senses up and going! Tubes were put in the ears, glasses were prescribed and he got his undescended testes brought down! Then to really end the summer with a bang, we had a couple of health scares. Including a rushed ER trip with the car flashers on and me, embarrassingly, hanging my head out the window, flailing my arms screaming for people to get out of our way. Because acting like a maniac in tense situations helps. 
Kidney function concerns, frustrating MRI's, and a couple blood tests later we confirmed Little Man is healthy, happy and thriving. He just had a terrible kidney infection. Once we found the right antibiotic, he healed right up. 
He is tenacious and brave. 

We finally made it to Midland in August. A trip to Mimi and Papa Jack's house after a hectic summer was just what the doctor ordered.

Catching up with old friends. I still can't believe we are old enough to have kids. 

Fall brought pumpkins and teeth.  Little Man loves words that start with d and p and laughs hysterically at them. He brings such joy. He is a gift in so many ways and our lives are way better indeed. He also got a mouthful of teeth; it seems like overnight. We woke up one morning to a cute-giant-toothy grin! 

Fall also brought us an attempt at IUI.  The D's made it a family affair. We even awkwardly met up with Crazy Uncle C in the hospital lobby. 

All of us in the exam room right before the procedure.

 How funny would it have been to say Little Man was there for his brother/sister's conception? 
To be honest, I never really thought it was going to work, I just felt like I needed to try it so I wouldn't regret not having tried it later. Surprisingly, this failed attempt did not rock me the way I feared it might. It might also be because right after the Big-Fat-Negative-news we entered Winter.

Winter brought such a season of gratefulness. Thanksgiving 2013 was spent eating crackers on an orphanage couch with Little Man. To have him in our home, in our arms, crawling around, babbling up a storm this year was overwhelming. 

Thanksgiving 2013 vs. Thanksgiving 2014
Basically, everyday I had a "this time last year" moment that would almost move me to tears. Instagram followers were probably annoyed with all my #tbt cheesy posts. I couldn't stop myself. I was stuck in a sentimental cloud for most of November.
 We are a family. And on Dec 13, we celebrated with our friends and family that we are indeed "Forever a Family." 
His RISE teacher made it to the Forever a Family celebration.

Once again, we move into another year without the "gift" of pregnancy. There were a couple days of lost hope in 2014.  Literally and metaphorically. Our hope was due in December and due dates can be daunting with miscarriages. But Christmas came and reminded me Hope did come to the world. Our long awaited HOPE is already here.

At an Ellie Holcomb concert I was reminded: Hope is Alive

Thankful for Grace. During the last couple of years, there have been people in my life who have stepped up to the call. They provided resource, encouragement and friendship in astounding ways.  I move into the new year asking God to stir my soul, to make every bitter thing sweet as I hunger for him, and to open my eyes to how I can now be an encouragement those around me. 

We enter another year asking God to redeem our loss. And if you have read much on my blog, you know he does time and time again. 
2015 and Martin McFly, Here we come!

He is walking hand-assisted.  In 2015, we are definitely gonna be strolling or hover-boarding, either would be pretty cool.

Do remember me

A couple weeks ago Little Man and I were cruising into town to go to RISE and jamming to our usual PAGE CXVI, in hopes that it would lull him into a deep travel slumber. Instead it was me that got lulled into a deep travel sob. One of the lullabies was Do, Lord an old hymn. Tears leaked from my eyes and stuck to my cheeks as the song words swirled throughout the car begging to be remembered.

Do you remember me?

Have I been forgotten?

Infertility has the trick of making you feel broken. Lying to you that the reason you can't get/stay pregnant is that you are broken and God does not want to fix you. You have been forgotten. I laid on the couch at 9 weeks pregnant already on bed rest with a subchorionic hemorrhage. We were not of to a good start. A group of friends gathered around and "laid hands" on me to pray for me and baby. This is awkward for me. The denomination I grew up in did not do this much. I feel silly. I doubt. I am cynical. I wonder. And in that moment I desperately searched my heart and genuinely asked God to help me overcome my disbelief, begging him to remember me.

That night I miscarried.

Do you remember me?

"O God my rock," I cry, "Why have you forgotten me? Why must I wander around in grief, oppressed by my enemies?"

Thanks David for finding the right words. Here I am, wandering around in grief and oppressed by my damn old ovaries! Betrayed by my own body and mind, acting as my oppressors. 

If there was one thing I would say to someone wandering around in similar grief:


God loves you. AS IS. Do no let infertility whisper this lie to you anymore. The answer is 100% yes.
 He remembers you. 
He is the rock you can stand on during this whole journey. He is the one that will remind you of your great purpose and worth with or without pregnancy. He is the one that will redeem your infertility and make it into a story about him pursuing YOU to be a part of his kingdom.
I have been there sister, loved by God. I know the darkness and distrust that can take root. I began to not trust God. Not trust him with my prayers. I began to fear the worse. I needed to be reminded and then I stumbled across this video:








How the D's do infertile - Part 2

What to do with infertility?

Where is "How the D's do infertile Part 1?" you ask. Come on guys- you know this story- we ended up in the Ukraine!! 

I meet with my doctor next week to reconsider our options. I am very unsure about what to do next. I am very nervous about getting pregnant again. I want it but then I don't.  During this last pregnancy, I think we all felt there was no way we would lose another, not to mention it was just cliche to get pregnant right after an adoption. :) Right?!? When I think about how it all played out…….
All said positive. Fear can make you feel not so positive about it though.
Fear creeps in.

What if it happens again
Can I handle it?

But what is next for the D's? What to do with infertility?

When we finally (it sure is embarrassing how long it took) asked God what we should do about it last year we were given a clear answer to adopt. Now I am waiting for another answer. 
It is so simple to try and label infertility as bad. Cause it SUCKS. While reading "Anything" by Jennie Allen, I came across a story of a young lady who has been given more the her fair share of what the world would label bad (abandonment, disappointments, abuse, etc) and her response:
"You have to thank God for the seemingly good and the seemingly bad because really, you don't know the difference."
I can relate to that. While this now 4 year journey has left me with many days and nights of tears and confusion it also has brought me incredible moments of truth and clarity. Truth about God's love for the Hubs and I. Truth about His Glory. Truth that is seen in little man every day. I don't know if Infertility is good but I have seen how God can redeem it to be good. 

Can I trust God with my infertility?

I am trying. 

Please prayer for our family as we once again hand over this issue and pray God uses it to bring Him glory. Who knows where the D family will end up this time?!?! 
Truth moment #1029: First family photo in the Ukraine.
Struggling with identity and worth…. {BUT THEN GOD}….. Now calm in His calling and love.

The chapter: Recurring Loss

Blogging about infertility can mean, from time to time, the less jovial post.

This last month we drifted out of the waters of infertility and into the vast ocean of recurring loss.

Infertility can keep you wearingly treading to keep your chin above the waters of insecurity.
 Recurring Loss simply drowns you in grief. 

Infertility is struggle to get pregnant, recurring loss is the struggle to stay pregnant.

Many ask if it hurts less with a child at home or does it hurt less with each time. (These are legitimate questions- I like and understand why you ask- always ask rather than assume).

After hearing the news of the loss, I got to go home a see a family that remains precious AS IS. Any further additions will be welcomed with joy and praise and still my heart is currently complete with my spectacular family of three. I am so overwhelmed with thankfulness for Little Man that I do not as quickly feel forgotten my God as I did times before. He brought together a beautiful family. He redeemed my broken body by using it to guide us on a journey to meet the most incredible little boy- and in his grace I got to take this little boy home and call him MINE. This journey led my Hubs and I to place our worth and identity in God alone. A lesson difficult but amazing to learn. That said……..

"Does it hurt less with little man home?"

I smile a little and lie a little. The real answer seems too harsh to say out loud.

"Yeah, it hurts less."

But the truth is…..

One day there is a heart beating inside you. The next day that life is gone.
One day hope pulsates within of you. The next day that hope is gone.

Not a lot makes that hurt less, maybe just hurts differently.

For those who keep trying to conceive (Or have conceived) after recurring loss, what are ways you stay encouraged to keep trying? What resources, books, songs or scriptures keep you uplifted?

Would you consider sharing your story as a resource for those just starting this new chapter of our story?

The Journey to Destination BEST

As I write this, a snotty little guy lies in the pack n play next to our bed heavily breathing, deep inside an unawakenable slumber. (When this guy is ready to sleep - he is out for the count). I keep looking over every couple minutes in disbelief.

That is my kid.

Our responsibility.

I have a son.

The depth and reality of this sometimes is overlooked between the feedings, the poopy diapers (or more often- the fret over lack of said poopy diapers), the laundry, family, friends, Christmas. 

I cannot compare this to anything else. I do not know what it is like to come home from the hospital with a fresh wrinkly newborn or hear that first cry as a baby is placed upon the exhausted laboring mother's chest and still I watch as his chest moves rhythmically up and down in a deep peaceful sleep filled with surprising assurance and confidence that we belong together.

And I feel like I have labored, like I pushed for hours.  Then with an exhausted cry, sweaty brow and a nauseated husband; walked out of the airport and collapsed into my families arms as they greeted our  child into a new world. 

I once heard a sermon by David Platt where he expressed that he kept thinking adoption as a second best option. Even during his families journey to bring home their son. While excited,  it was at most -second best. Until they were home. 

Then it became BEST.

Either way. You end up arriving at the best.

I no longer go to gender reveal parties or see baby bumps and ache that my journey did not take me through that path.  Instead, I see them and rejoice for those moments for sweet friends and pridefully ponder the uniqueness and beauty of my own Little Man's story. Pretending all the grief and insecurity of infertility magically slipped away as the plane taxied into our home gate would be a lie. But just as they have experienced a precious joy that I might never personally encounter, I have been blessed to go on a journey that they might never walk through either. 

Either way. 

He is our OWN son. Because that is what adoption is. Where he did not own before, he owns now. He did not have a single thing to bring with him or any visitor to say goodbye to when we walked out of that orphanage. For 7 months nothing belonged to him.  He might not carry our genetic makeup (but can we just say that his biological parents sure did pass on some major cuteness) yet he carries every inch of our heart and soul. 

The intimate exchange of souls where the definition of BELONGING takes root. 
We belong to him. He belongs to us. We are each other's owns.  


Shameless Selfie while waiting for Hubs outside the SS office! 

Reclaiming April

"Dreading a due date after miscarriage."

You see, I have googled that exact sentence before.

6 months later the world, even my world, continued to spin around. It had not come to a halt like I thought it might. I had started to heal. My husband diligently worked to purge the mail and email of the reminders and updates I had signed up for to track my pregnancy.  I allowed myself days and weeks to not even consider how far along I should be, or what milestone I should be hitting.  People announcing their pregnancies no longer elicited bitterness (Sorry about that guys).  I had survived.

Then came April. With April came this dread. This was supposed to be a month of ending and a month of beginning. A highly anticipated month, 2 and half years in the making. Boxes of free samples began to showup at our door as I had eagerly enrolled in several online promotions at the start of pregnancy. Hubs was caught hiding all the formula and diaper samples in the guest room dresser.  Gerber, Pampers, Huggies, and Similac were all kind enough to send  "Congratulations on New Baby"cards.

I dreaded the end of April.  Because I knew my April was suppose to be different. As April 31 arrived, I retreated away from friends and family.  I was unfairly angry at them as they were falsely condemned  for not remembering this date (and sorry about that too).

"This was NOT MY APRIL!"  
April had come and gone.  I had been robbed.

Should Be's and Suppose To's are the curse of a miscarriage. They sneak around grabbing moments with- I "should be " finding out the sex today or I am "suppose to be" greeting my baby today. They are quick to injure as we yell out, "This is not how it is suppose to be!" And I think it ok to allow ourselves that cry. It is ok to allow yourself  a chance to re-grieve as this dooming due date approaches.

 I let the Should Be's and Suppose To's rob April from me.

Yet with the ever 20/20 hindsight, I see it differently. I was suppose to be finishing up my spring semester and talking to my husband about going part time or quitting my job soon.  I was suppose to be pouring into friends and community and growing friendships and family that would soon change my life. My heart was being prepared for thing I could not see. April was exactly what it Should Be. It was indeed MY APRIL.

Because then came May. 

In May we decided to adopt Baby D. Would I have had MY MAY without MY APRIL?
Maybe, maybe not.

Contrary to how I felt for several months, I did not deserve or give myself a miscarriage. I might always wonder how differently my life might look today and I do not always believe "it was for the best". I still struggle analyzing the suppose to's or should be's.  But I do believe that God redeemed the loss. He redeemed April and used it to bring me May.

Advantage us

"The only way to care for the disadvantaged – is to disadvantage yourself –which is guaranteed to turn out for your advantage."
-Ann Voskamp

Here is the deal. I love that everyone thinks I am awesome. Mainly, because 1) it might be true 2) the encouragement is appreciated 3) My self-esteem has greatly improved (something I sometimes struggle with). HOWEVER,  the response I hear frequently after sharing our story is, "You guys are awesome." or "He is so lucky."  I get that sometimes people might be at a loss for words and this feels like a good place to start.  I mean really, what is the appropriate response to finding out about the orphan crisis in Eastern Europe and then hearing we want to adopt a child with DS?

Can I confess a little something? I feel a little burdened by the awesomeness. I love the encouragement  but let me interject with a quick disclaimer. While I do whole heartedly believe we are saving his life, he in return, is saving mine.
We will never require him to be grateful for what we have done. We are grateful he is ours. He is my gift from God. 

We struggle with awesomeness.  There are days I fall quite short of it actually. Days and weeks where I wrestle with this decision and my future. Moments where I do or say completely un-awesome things to my husband or think less than awesome of the people around me. Once Baby D is home there will be days where I am frustrated with him and parenting in general.  I can only imagine the  amount of awesomely-bad-parenting-decisions I will make.  Thankfully, our AWESOME GOD  can supply grace over all this awesome unawesomeness.

Further, what would be truly awe-inspiring is if we could turn a country upside in their structure and beliefs so that families would be equipped and encouraged to keep their babies with special needs in the first place. That his mama, and the other mama's, would not be afraid or shamed by their baby's extra chromosome or disabilities and be given the tools and education to love and raise their children. I feel like we are simply putting a band-aid over a dehiscing wound that needs someone to suture it up.

The other response I frequently get is "Could you guys not have kids of your own" or "Do you struggle with infertility?" or The best one yet.... Ready..... it is good:

"Do you not want to try for your own kids first?"

Well nosy-pants. We do struggle with infertility. The journey through infertility has been bumpy and long but it led us to a place where our heart were open to this adoption- for which I am incredibly grateful.  But I have news:

This not our replacement child. THIS IS OUR OWN CHILD.
Who knows how or when God will choose to grow our family in the future?

The bottom line here: Advantage us.

This is life to the Full.

Image via Holly Gerth 

Every morning since we made this decision I wake up EXCITED! 
I don't know if it is because I know OUR BABY is out there already or if it is because we are now answering 'yes' when God puts something on our hearts.
But like the Hubs asked, "Why can't it be both?"
Stepping out on Faith.
Family and friends have questions and concerns. I  respect that. That shows me you care and have a heart for me that you don't want to get hurt. I AM GRATEFUL. You guys have a heart that hurts when Jon and I  get hurt.
I have been called to be the heart that will hurt for this little peanut.
Parenting hurts. It is full of risk. Any way you try to slice this apple, heartbreak is inevitable.
And then there is blessing.
We did not make this decision thinking- "We are hopeless, we want a child, We... We.... We...."
But rather this was about one thing only:
God put it on our heart.
We inquired about some orphaned children in Eastern Europe with Down Syndrome and we wept. Literally.
And like Nehemiah we prayed that God forgive us our sins and grant us success to help be part of their story of rescue and redemption.
Also like ole Nehemiah we did not tell many people what God put on our heart (Nehemiah 2:12) while we examined the remaining walls. Not just the facts of the situation, children, or agency but more importantly the walls of our heart. We started really listening. AND THE SPIRIT KEPT TALKING. This is where I apologize if you felt left out. We had to pray and answer this calling before we made a decision to tell everyone.

There is a chance we could get burned. There is a chance I will call my mom with a broken heart during this process.And yes,this is a life long change. Let's be honest, this is also an inevitable fact of parenting. When I called my mom broken, 28 years after she brought me home as a baby, and told her I lost my baby, she hurt. She cried with me. She came up to care for me and was simply mom and I was daughter.

28 years later. She is still Mom. 

Someday this little guy might be a giant Eastern European Man. I will still be his Mom and he will be my son. How will that look? 

I do understand the concerns and question as this was a huge "word bomb" we exploded on everyone. I hear you. I respect you. 
My Response:
1. PRAY. Examine the walls of your heart. Surrender it all over. ASK GOD to speak in your 
     heart. What is scaring you and why? How can God cover that fear with faith? 
2. Read Nehemiah. God does indeed still speak- and how did Nehemiah decide God placed
    this on his heart? How did he respond? What amazing things did he accomplish? 
3. Research Down Syndrome. We really do not know the extent of his delays but we have 
    been told that  to the best of their knowledge THE ONLY THING MEDICALLY DIFFERENT 
    ABOUT THIS  CHILD IS ONE EXTRA CHROMOSOME. What does that mean? I think you 
   will be surprised to find that it is not as scary as it looks.  
3. Encourage us. I am calling it the Double T. We are THRILLED and TERRIFIED. God has 
   already  placed some friends in my life that have uplifted me over the last week in a way that I  
   know was Spirit led.  Will you also let the Spirit use you to encourage us?
4. Be excited. You are now Grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. Life-long partners and Friends in this
    celebration of life. This is going to be AWESOME. Even during the heartbreak. Because 
   God's glory is going to be shown in this step of faith no matter what happens- and it is 
   HUMBLING and EXCITING that we get to be a part of that.

And then, when you are ready, pray for this child. He needs someone to pick him up NOW and when he cries at night he needs someone to cuddle. Join me in praying God send a person to be his designated cuddler until I can take over that role. Pray for us, that God shapes my heart into a heart of a mother. That God guides Hubs in all these decisions and gives him wisdom and patience at every turn. For protection and wisdom and FAITH. 

Several months ago I stated "Because I know my life will never be: unfruitful, unproductive, sterile, barren, or exhausted.  Jesus whispers something else to me the morning after: I have come that they may have life,and have it to the full."


what should we call it


I googled a synonym for it and  the other options are worse. Trust me on this.... don't do it.

So what do we call it?

I almost put a question mark at the end of that word. I simply do not think it fits. By medical definition, it just might. After two years, this word has started to creepity creep its way into my mind. Somewhere along the way I have adopted an attitude that this label is not me/us.

"I am young. I've got time. I'm in grad school still. The timing actually might not have worked out right anyway. Some people have struggled even longer."

While the above statements are indeed truth. The underlying secret is for about one week, EVERY month, for TWO years, I get excited that I might be pregnant. (of course, this excludes the months I was actually pregnant). When will a girl learn this is not a good idea?

This can make anyone start to tiptoe the line of insanity.

So what should we call this...........


I have never blogged about this before. But after such positive feedback (hey thanks for that) from the last post I decided to brave forward.

I don't think I am there yet. Don't mistake my optimism for fraud. I still cried yesterday on our "Not this Month" date night of sushi, mango mojitos, and coffee.  I feel in my gut that there is a plan for the hubs and I. The day after the day I realize I'm not pregnant, God fills me with renewed energy and excitement about the days ahead.  While my mom and mom-in-law will dislike this statement, the energy is not from the faith that I will get pregnant. I do not feel God has promised me that. It lies in this idea that if I never get pregnant; I can still be/do incredible things for the kingdom. Maybe even more than if I get pregnant.

Which is why I will not call it infertility. Because I know my life will never be: unfruitful, unproductive, sterile, barren, or exhausted.

 Jesus whispers something else to me the morning after:

"I have come that you may have life, and have it to the FULL."


 I am very fertile.


Here Comes the Sun

Sure, I can blame the all the concussions from soccer, or maybe I need to be taking Ginkgo on a daily basis, but I struggle to remember events, days, ok even years! I am not talking about I can't remember my 4 yr old birthday. This is as big as I cannot remember the day I met my sister-in-law for the first time 6 years ago, getting my driver's license at 16, or even what I did for New Years in 2011! I feel very left out during those: "Let's Reminisce" moments with friends and family. I always awkwardly ask, "oh was I there" and then every one stares at me like I am an alcoholic.

I am not one for resolutions or reflections. They make me feel like I am trying to hard. But maybe I need to spend a little time reflecting over the year so that at the dinner table Dec 31, 2013, I can laugh while people share memories of the year because I will have these memories too.
The problem with reflections of 2012 is it has a one dark cloud  that is shadowing over some wonderful experiences that I feel I can no longer enjoy to the fullest. 

I will never again have the first-time-to-find-out-your-pregnant moment.

I want to remember that.
I want to remember roaming around my house bewildered and overcome, screaming "I'm pregnant!" in every room because I simply did not know what to do with my self.
I want to remember calling my husband at work, trying to play it cool and asking him to try to come home early for dinner. (He could tell immediately and left work right away! I never am good at playing it cool :))
I want to remember lying on the bed together- thinking- We Did it! Your Sperm- My Egg! And crying out to God in thanksgiving and begging for guidance.
I want to remember hearing my mom on the phone almost pass out from the news- super glad she wasn't driving-and hearing my dad choke back tears and trying to whisper in the courthouse where he worked.
I want to remember my in-laws opening their present with a onesie inside and looking at us with confused and excited faces and shouting- "I knew it".
I want to remember the first time I threw up at work and called my mom because I was excited to get to experience morning sickness and then calling my mom after a weeks of throwing up at working, crying because I was experiencing morning sickness.
How precious and perfect are these memories and I don't want to forget them and I refuse to let them be robbed from me because of the circumstances.
Hubs and I are selfishly celebrating our 6 year anniversary in St. Thomas. What-What! So roll on dark cloud! I plan to reflect, resolve, and move into 2013 filled with strength and joy and I am excited to see what happens next.