They're like secret little holidays that people forget to acknowledge! Well, not this girl! (Not this year!) Because not only are they rare, but there's a limited supply of them! We're already in the double-digit counting days, so we don't have long before they are expired for good within my lifetime. What a sad counting-less future 2015 holds.
So, today, don't forget to honor what a special, sneaky, smart date it is! You won't get many more opportunities. Have fun counting!
If y'all haven't gone to see "Pitch Perfect" yet, do it. Seriously, we laughed the entire time. Start to finish, even in the downtime when they weren't throwing jokes our way. It's awesome. And I'm pretty positive that guys will love it, too. We just so happened to use the opportunity to make it about the girls.
I'm so blessed to have such amazing friends that make boring Monday nights into wonderful memories!
And now these three remain: Faith, Hope, and Love.
But the greatest of these is Love.
1 Corinthians 13:13
It's another new month. But I don't mean October. This new month comes with a much heavier weight than the joy of autumn and the anticipation of Taylor Swift's fourth studio album. I mean another new cycle. The start of another new month after another failed month of trying to conceive. It's month 22 in a row of deliberately trying to get pregnant and not succeeding (not counting the year-worth of months we casually tried before that). It's month 22 of unfulfilled hope. It is month 12 of intervened, doctor and drug assisted attempts to conceive. Month 12 of unfulfilled medically assured hope.
That hope, it's a tricky thing. The hope is what makes it hurt. Every new cycle, like this one, it's the hope that "this could be the month." Every drug, it's the hope that "this one is going to do the trick." Every ovulation, it's the hope that "this egg is going to get fertilized and become my baby and be the first of my children to bless our home." Every two week wait filled with unusually strong smells or weird tastes or tender breasts or exhaustion or light pink spotting around possible implantation days, it's the hope that "these are symptoms of pregnancy, finally." And then every new menstruation, all of those fresh hopes die; are given up; are grieved. They must ultimately be replaced with new ones, again. But is that continually possible?
The death of that hope hurts.
Wouldn't it be better to just not hope anymore? Wouldn't it be less painful to not get hopes up just to be let down?
I wish I could respond to those rhetorical questions with a determined strength and scriptures to back it up about how God never lets us down and to just keep on truckin' along with that hope in full swing. (There are plenty of them.) But I can't. Not today. Not Cycle 22, Day 1.
I have love aplenty. I love my husband with all my heart. I love our families. I love our friends. I love our pup. I love my Lord and Savior with my entire existence. And I never, for one second, doubt God's love for me. After all, He loved me enough to sacrifice His only son for my salvation. That's a love that can't be questioned.
And I don't waiver with faith. I truly believe that God is good, and He knows what is best for our future. I believe He wouldn't withhold something I desire so strongly unless it was for a great purpose I can't see. If He's willing to give even His own child for me, why would He keep anything else from me unless it was for some great reason?
But, today, the hope is a struggle. The definition in the above photo states that hope means "to look forward to with great confidence and expectation." Well, I simply can't claim that right now. Just yesterday I was doodling our future children's names on scrap paper at work, but today, I can't look at this new month with any confidence that we will conceive. I can't actually expect to see a positive pregnancy test anytime soon, if ever. Too many months of experience have taught me that it's simply not going to happen. Why would this month be any different? We're coming up on the third holiday season I hoped to celebrate with either a baby or a pregnancy. I can't imagine this one will be the one, either. Boo.
Hope is tricky, because we hope with our human perspective. I could passionately hope to win the lottery, but it'd be silly to blame God for not granting me my wish. Or I could have hoped desperately to marry some random dude, all the while God knew that Brad was the man for me. Or I can hope with every ounce of my being to conceive a child (or two or five), but God may know that my heart's desire isn't what our future holds. Maybe we are to adopt? Maybe we are not meant to be parents at all. (I'm not at all prepared to accept that one, yet.) That's why hope is tricky, because it's determined by what we hope for, which may or may not be right for us. So basically, I have hope for a future, and hope to serve God faithfully, and hope for an eternity spent with Him in Heaven, but right now this minute, I do not have hope to conceive, at least "naturally" or any time soon.
How in the world do you know what God wants for your life? Do you just wait and wait and wait and wait until something happens and then assume that it is His will since it came to pass? Do you continue trying in the meantime for what you want? Or do you just trust that if God wants it to happen, He'll make it happen regardless of the effort put in on your part? After all, Mary conceived without ever even having sex! If God wants us to get pregnant, He can achieve that regardless of whether or not we take drugs, endure invasive procedures, or pee on sticks. Trying desperately and pleading in prayer every month isn't going to accomplish anything if it's not His plan anyway, is it? So what's the point? When do you let go? When do you move on? How do you know what His will is and what it'll take, if anything, to achieve it?
I don't know...
I think this month is unique with unprecedented difficulty for me. For the last 22 months, I've been devastated every time I didn't conceive, but I never really doubted that I was eventually going to. This month, however, the non-conception came as no surprise. It's what I've come to expect from years of experience. Furthermore, what's changed this time, is now I'm doubting and questioning and confused. Doubting our future. Questioning God's will. Confused of what steps to take, if any. I've always been so confident that I would be a mom, and sure that God knew my life better than I do. I've never truly asked "Why?" before, because I didn't think that as a member of creation I had the right to question the Creator. But this month I can't seem to help it. A lot of "Why?'s" and "What's the point?'s" are swirling through my head right now. I've never crossed this bridge of doubt before, nor did I ever intend or desire to, and I don't know how to navigate this new terrain. And I'm not entirely sure I want to stay in this new hopeless land long-term anyway.
Is it possible to have strong faith and love but let go of some of the hope? Is it healthy? Is it okay? Because today, that is where I am.
But what do you do without hope? How do you keep going? How do you give up a dream and longing that God placed so deep within your soul? How do you let go of the hope that you'll one day join Him in creating life? Of the hope of feeling your baby's hiccups from inside your belly? Of hearing his or her heartbeat for the first time? Of seeing that sweet face and recognizing a perfect combination of you and your spouse? Of rocking an innocent child to sleep with a lullaby and a nightlight? Of caressing that soft cheek as he nurses? Of hearing precious coos filling your house? Of looking into her eyes and seeing your future? How?
I'm at a weird place right now. I don't know how to keep the hope alive, but I don't know how to let it go either.
I genuinely wish I could be strong and faithful and encouraging and end this blog post with passionate affirmations to never doubt and never lose hope. I love God with all that I am, but today, I can't encourage or affirm. Thank you for allowing me to admit my weaknesses, struggles, wounds, shortcomings, and vulnerabilities. Christian family (which I consider all of you to be) is such a blessing.
TSwift had to live performances back-to-back last week. Thursday night, she closed out the MTV VMAs with a live version of her fun video for "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together." It was quite a grand finale for the awards show. She had a lot of fun with the performance, and the crowd seemed to enjoy belting out the earworm chorus.
Then, the following night, she performed her second single from her upcoming album, "Red" at the Stand Up To Cancer benefit event. The song is titled "Ronan," and it was written for a 4-year-old boy by the same name who recently passed away after his battle with Cancer. She was inspired to pen the song after reading a blog from Ronan's mother, who is credited as being a co-songwriter on the single. It's so beautiful and moving that it literally made me cry, so beware. If you feel so inclined to purchase the song on iTunes, you'll be supporting a great cause, becaues all of the proceeds are going to help fight cancer.
She is such a versatile songwriter. I can't believe she can go from a fun, quirky performance like "WANEGBT" on one night, and then switch to such an emotional, moving performance like "Ronan" the very next evening. America just can't ever know what to expect from her. I think we can definitely be sure that her fourth album will be very eclectic and different. I can't wait to experience every story and emotion she'll capture on it. I also can't stop tearing up at "Ronan."
I guess you could say I'm awesome by association. My best friend is a super talented singer/songwriter! No, not that best friend (although her, too). My real best friend! Emily is amazing, y'all! After years of her holding the title of BFF, I finally got to watch her perform last week! And believe me, she was as incredible as I knew she would be. Her voice! Her lyrics! Her music! Oh, I was one very proud friend hoopin' and hollerin' and snappin' pictures in the front row!
Charlie is so used to being near mommy around the house when she practices, that the sweet toddler ran on up to the stage in front of everybody to help out like usual! Don't worry, Charles was on hand to make sure it didn't get wild. I loved that it was a family affair! (Plus, Charles was already doing all of the sound like a pro, since being an audio engineer is kind of his day job.)
However, by the end of the set, wild is exactly what it got! Layla wasn't going to let her BFF dance up there without her! So, after much insistence on the girls' parts, it finally became the dance party they had been waiting for!
I know that you would absolutely love Emily's music, too. Believe me. That's not just a best friend talking, either. That's coming from just a regular ol' enjoyer of music! Also, I think you'd totally dig The Well Coffeehouse, where she performed. Learn all about that awesome non-profit organization (of which we know the founders!) here or here. If you're in the Nashville area, stop by for some delicious brew that spreads love all the way around the world!
Like sweet Linus from Peanuts, sometimes I just need a little something to make me feel safe and "at home" again when the world is spinning too fast for my liking. For me, those blankets aren't necessarily physical objects that I clutch in my hand (anymore -my childhood teddy bear has officially taken up residence in the guest room-), but have evolved into forms of entertainment that allow me to escape my world and all of the confusion, stress, drama, apprehension of the future, and every other bad feeling or emotion that it may contain. Generally, any good album, film, or book (series) can help temporarily distract me from my stressers, but sometimes I need my go-to security blankets to slow the world back down when I can't seem to get a firm grip on anything. Lately, my life has hosted its fair share of frustrations and chaos, and as a result, I've been venturing back more and more to my safe places looking for that comfort and familiarity that they provide.
Currently (this minute), the biggest Bad in my life is my perceived loss of control and sense of self. I feel like I've become a slave to (in)fertility and her many cumbersome treatments. Each day/week largely consists of a calculated diet, an exercise regimen, doctor visits or calls, insurance questions, acupuncture sessions, checking my temperature, peeing on sticks, swallowing various forms of medication, enduring negative side effects, monitoring any changes in any symptoms in my body and mind, attempting to understand everything, trying to not expect anything, making all efforts to avoid looking into the future all the while hoping and longing for that unsure future. Basically, it feels like every minute of my life is determined for me. I'm trying to do what I'm told to do by people whom I trust and respect, and do all of those things with only positive thoughts and emotions without recognizing the dark, misting raincloud that seems to hover over my whole world. I strive to meet those requirements with very few freedoms or choices of my own. Needless to say, I frequently find myself grasping for a sense of control and familiarity. Enter my metaphorical security blankets.
If I've simply had a bad day and I only want to unwind on my way home from work or while I'm making my evening salad for dinner, I'll turn to my "afghan" security blanket: my best friend, Taylor Swift. She and I have such a great relationship. We just get each other. So, as I drive away from my bad day, I blast her music, belt out every single word to each song, dance around the kitchen, and gladly enter into Taylor's world and forget my own. Her music is my afghan, because it's pretty and small and easily accessible.
If a 45-minute commuter concert isn't quite cutting it and I need a full evening away from my own life, then I'll crash on the couch and pop in one of my go-to DVDs. I love Dirty Dancing and Moulin Rouge! both so incredibly much for so many very specific reasons that I won't necessarily go into full detail right now. (The love! The dancing! The songs! The costumes! The theatricality! The woman-is-worth-more-than-she-ever-thought-before!)
But these two films uniquely qualify as security blankets because of my personal history with them. In college, I would watch either of them as I studied, did homework, or wrote term papers. At the time, they provided a perfect distraction; one that would keep me from hearing the chatter in the hallway and wanting to join, but didn't demand my full attention because I knew them by heart. Music would beg me to sing along, and regular television programs would urge me to see how they ended. But Dirty Dancing and Moulin Rouge! were perfectly there for me. I could tune them out when I needed to focus, and I could turn around and join in the storyline at anytime that I needed a mental break from the school work.
From 2002 - 2006, my favorite two movies were my college companions. Now, they serve a new role as a couple of my "fleece throw" security blankets. When I sit down and watch one of them, the familiarity of the story lines, the song lyrics, the memories attached to different scenes all make my heart calm down from its now-typically quickened pace. In this other world, I know what's going to happen. I know how each person is going to react. I know what they're going to say, and I can recite the lines right alongside them in unison. I don't have to wonder or try to make sense of anything or be anxious with a ton of apprehensions looming in my mind. I can just rest in the safe place that their love and their stories provide and completely escape the heaviness of my own life for an evening. Since these act as fleece throws in my life, I keep them readily handy, pull them up to my chin, and snuggle up under the comfort they provide.
However, the Big Daddy of all Safe Places is Hogwarts. When I need more than one night "off" from my brain, when my emotional muscles grow too weak to carry the weight of it all anymore, I run into the arms of JK Rowling's magical world of Harry Potter. This is my most sufficient way to escape. It's a long-term relief with the fantasy lasting weeks or months or however long I want it to, but it only requires short-term commitments of reading at a time. I can go back there, whenever I choose, for merely a few minutes if I simply need a break to clear my head, or I can go back there for hours on end if I need to better forget all of the responsibilities and burdens I'm hauling.
I can experience Harry's journey with him all over again from start to finish. Alongside this boy wizard, I can realize that I, too, am capable of great things I never knew possible, learn of magical places and creatures, meet fantastic characters and form strong, life-long relationships, and eventually understand that I am destined to fulfil a calling and a purpose that no one else is equipped to do. Through Harry, I can leave all of my troubles behind and soar with him on the backs of thestrals and dragons and finally, after much struggle, defeat the bad guy once and for all. For the moments that I am entered into Hogwarts, my life is free and light and fun and magical. And familiar. This book series is my biggest, softest, comfiest, covers-the-whole-bed security blanket of them all.
Recently, I purchased and downloaded all seven books in electronic form. I can't even describe how wonderful and therapeutic that was for me. Just knowing that I had the entire series on hand at all times on my kindle or my iPhone literally sent a sense of physical calm and relief through my body. (Yes. I may be crazy.) What those e-books provided me was a completely accessible security blanket any time I might need it. Just having the blanket present actually created a safe place in itself. Any time life gets too crazy or chaotic or confusing or scary or overwhelming, I can whip out one of my electronic devices and quickly retreat into the fantasy world. It helps me not be afraid of what's to come. I can handle the coming days and weeks and months (and years?), because I know that the very moment it all gets to be too much for me to take, I can dive into the safety of Hogwarts. What an amazing resource a security blanket can be.
Do you have a "security blanket?" Where is your safe place to escape when the real world gets too much? And have the forms which your security blankets take morphed over time as you've gotten older?
Taylor shared some exciting news last night! During a live web chat, she announced that her new album is entitled "Red," will be released on October 22, 2012, and will contain 16 tracks, many of which feature various cowriters. Yahoo! I'm sure Album #4 will be just as good as its three predecessors. If you missed the big announcement, you can still watch the entire video online, even though it's not technically "live" anymore.
At the end of the webchat, she debuted her first single from her forthcoming album called "We Are Never Ever getting Back Together". It's definitely different than any Taylor songs in the past. It's much more pop and doesn't even try to be country (I think she's also releasing a country version), but it has a catchy hook, and I'm sure it'll get stuck in everybody's heads as it plays all over the radio. Hopefully, it'll succeed in garnering some attention for her upcoming album.
What do you think? It's definitely fun, and you can tell she is having fun with it! I love how random the video is. I can't wait to hear every song on "Red" and see what stories she tells with her lyrics. How fun to have another record to look forward to!
The following post originated yesterday as an
email reply to my best friend’s inquiry of how I was doing. As a result, it is extremely long,
personal, raw, transparent, and chalk-full of TMI regarding our struggle with
infertility and everything that comes along with that. It has been slightly modified, and posted with the permission of my friends that are involved in the content. Emily and I exchange these
“email novels” on a regular basis, and sharing our lives with each other serves
as a very effective form of therapy for me. But after I recapped this past
Sunday for her, I realized that it provided a good snapshot of what a day in my
life of infertility is like. Not every single day, of course, but a typical bad day. Already, this week, I feel much better. But Sunday was a different story.
If you are interested, please read on, but do it
at your own risk. And also, I ask that you please be kind and patient with me
and hold off on hasty judgments, as I bear the worst parts of my soul,
originally only intended for my very best friend, to the whole world. I’m not proud of everything I thought or said on Sunday, but that
does not negate the authenticity of the thoughts and actions in the moment. Most of this post is just hasty word vomit I spewed without much thought. It’s not my best writing, and I say “and then” way too many times, speak in fragments and run-on sentences, and have paragraphs that are entirely too long. This is my heart on display, as is. Again,
proceed with caution.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First of all, before I even go into how I've been feeling, I made it up to the 97.8's this
weekend, and I decided that's when the hormones really start going super crazy. So that sets the stage.
(Emily knows my chart like the back of her own hands, so this makes sense to
her. But for the rest of you, my temperature generally falls in the mid-96
range prior to ovulation when estrogen is the reigning hormone, then with the
influx of progesterone, it jumps up a full degree to the mid-97 range and
continues to rise until my period begins and brings with it the lower temped
estrogen to begin the cycle all over again.)
Church this past Sunday proved harder than I had
expected. It had been so long since we were able to go to a service for various
reasons, and I was just so excited to finally get to go again that I completely
forgot to mentally prepare myself for being in the midst of so many sweet
babies and children. I never anticipated that it would be a challenge, because
it hasn't necessarily been in the past, as long as it's babies whom I personally
know and love. But this time it was hard. There were times when I couldn't even look
toward the pulpit, because I easily saw three babies out of my peripheral
vision. Instead, I just stared out the windows on the doors. But even those doors hosted
multiple moms taking their children out for various reasons throughout the
service, so I then directed my gaze to the bright red Exit sign.
During the prayers, which
were wonderful and heartbreaking and about God's timing being perfect and not
condemning the challenge in order to quickly receive the blessing, all I could hear over the sound of my breaking heart were
sweet babies laughing or asking for more snacks or turning pages in sticker books or even screaming in a far
corner of the auditorium. It was like my baby radar was so heightened that I could have heard a
giggle from the neighborhood across the street ringing in my ears. What in the
world? I absolutely loved seeing the three babies in front of me, and the two further down our row and even the three others behind us, and I love each of the families they belong to... But it
just reminded me that we don't have a sweet child to occupy during services.
Brad was sweet and held me.
He alternated putting his arm around me or holding my hand the entire time, and I appreciated
the comfort he provided so much. But it just emphasized that he was the only
one I have to hold in my life right now... Blah, dramatic, I know. It’s just
that I spend so much time trying to think of other things and focus on
something other than the fact that we’re childless, that these kinds of
reminders that force me to remember what I'm so desperately trying to put out of my mind are tough on my already tender heart.
And then after the service, I couldn't wait to talk to a
couple with whom we're friends but haven't gotten the chance to visit with in a long
time. I was especially anxious, because he had mentioned that they went to NYC recently.
Holla! I could talk about that great city all day long, and it was something
other than sad things for me to focus on. A topic that I enjoy and that makes me
happy. Brad and I talked with him about it for a while before his wife joined
us. Then she and I chatted while he and Brad carried on their own conversation. I was secretly glad to be
talking to a friend without a baby and who is not trying to conceive, so we
could discuss other things, and we didn’t have to have the conversation over
the head of a sweet baby who was propped on her hip. She asked about my dad and wondered how he is recovering from his motorcycle accident,
which was very nice, and we talked about him and that whole situation for a little bit. And
then she mentioned how thankful she was that I wasn't pregnant at the time,
because of the added stress a pregnancy would have compiled on top of all of that. ........ (Thankful that I wasn't pregnant???
Because a pregnancy is just added stress?????) I just said, yeah, it was definitely
a pretty stressful period of time in my family's lives.
And then, with that perfect segway, she was caringly curious of
how we're doing with the baby-making process. We proceeded to talk for maybe 15
minutes in which she said every wrong thing on a list of wrong things to say. I
tried to extend a magnitude of grace in the situation, because she (thank
goodness) has no idea what she's talking about when it comes to this particular topic. I know her well, and I know her heart, and I know that she was hoping to comfort, console, and encourage. So I tried not to take offense
or get irritated. Or cry. She told me that I'm still so young, and that if I
was 38 instead of 28, then I'd have "a right to worry." She told me
that it only "seems hard" because we got married so young and
"have been trying for so long." (Well, yeah, that trying for so long does play a
big factor.)
She said that thanks to America marrying older and older, the average age of having a first child is in the 30s, so I'm luckily still way ahead of the curve and shouldn't worry. She said that those people who don't get married until they're in their 30s don't get this "luxury" of having so many years to try. Even if everybody in my life has kids, regardless of some
statistic. Even if my life-long dream was to have three by 30 and now even one by 30 seems like hardly a possibility. She said she
understands what it's like to be frustrated that things don't go according to
how you have it all planned out in your mind, but you just can't help it. (It's
not like I had a specific plan, just a hope, a dream, and dare I say, a
naive expectation.) Her mom didn't "plan" to have cancer (which is
even worse). She said I just need to let go, and let God. God's in charge, and I
need to not try to control everything. She, of course, was right on all accounts. But still, boo. She said many things. Many, many,
kind-hearted, well meaning, very correct, unknowingly insensitive things.
She told me that many people who adopt then have
kids afterward, so maybe we should go that route. (Who? Who are these people??)
She told me how her aunt tried and tried to get pregnant. After two failed attempts
with IVF, she finally gave up at the age of 36. She mourned and moved on. And
wouldn't you know it, just two short years later, they got pregnant with
"regular ol' sex! So see?? If you could just mourn this and move on, it
will happen! If you can just stop thinking about it and focusing so much on it
and worrying about it and relax, it'll happen on its own! Maybe you guys just
need a relaxing vacation..."
I knew she was so well-intentioned. She meant to
relieve some anxiety and provide some encouragement. And I know that's all the
information that she had on the subject. But I had to cut her off. I couldn't be told to "just relax" one more time. I said, "Don't. Just
don't. Please, don't say that to me." She looked a little shocked as I
continued, "I understand that you've heard those stories, and I'm
grateful that it has worked in those situations. But we tried that route. We
tried that method for three years. We tried just chilling and having sex and
letting God handle it. And it didn't work. It won't work for us. Please
don't tell me to relax and stop thinking about it. I don't think you
understand, and that's okay, and I love you, and I'm grateful that you're
willing to talk to me about it, and I don't expect for you to understand not
having lived it, and I'm thankful that you haven't had to experience this,
because I’d never wish this on anybody. But I can't simply stop thinking
about it. I think about it every day. Every single day. I have to think about
it when I take a pill every evening. Oh, yeah, I have to take medicine every
day of my life. I have to take another, additional type of medicine on
different, very specific days of my cycle. So I have to constantly be aware of
where exactly I am in my cycle. I have to take disgusting prenatal vitamins and refrain from any form of alcohol, 'just in case.'
"I have to
take my temperature every morning at 5:30 a.m. in order to gauge my hormone
levels. I have to pee on a stick for ten days in a row just to predict when I might
ovulate. Then Brad and I have to have sex at the exact right times, the exact
right amount of times, and the exact right length of time apart from the last to increase our chances.
Then, a specific number of days later, I have to go to the doctor's to get
blood drawn, so it can be tested to determine whether or not I have enough of
a particular hormone in my system to even maintain a pregnancy. And then I have to wait
weeks which feel like an eternity, trying to keep hopeful while trying to not get my
hopes up. Two weeks where I monitor every symptom my body is showing, and
trying not to convince myself that the increase in appetite, the decrease in
energy, and the breast tenderness are actually pregnancy symptoms, but are just side
effects of the progesterone raging through my body. And then being absolutely
devastated and heartbroken when my period comes, and with the sight of that horrid blood, my dream fades a little further
into the distance. Again. And furthermore, because all of our current methods have failed, starting next month, if we can afford it, I have to do all
of that, AND go to the doctor's office when I have a positive pee stick, so
they can unceremoniously take Brad's sperm from him and inject it right into my
uterus. It's very romantic and ideal, and it's definitely not just relaxing and
stopping thinking about it."
I said most of it without getting too choked up,
and she was so loving and sweet. She compassionately hugged me tight and said, "I had no idea
it was so involved." I said that of course she didn't, and how would she,
and I hoped I didn’t offend her in any way. But, regardless of her lack of
awareness and extremely kind heart, it was still such a hard conversation to have. It was hard to hear
all that stuff in the beginning from yet another person and keep my emotions in
check. Then it was hard to relive all of this experience with someone who
simply doesn't know a thing about it. It was hard because even though I know
her intentions, the message she was trying to send and the message I actually perceived in my fragile state were drastically different from each other.
I felt like she was telling me that I didn't have a right to be
worried, since I was so young. Even though, if my body's fertility isn't on my
side when I am the age of an average fertile woman, how in the world is it
going to get better with age? That's the opposite of how that time clock
runs. Reminding me that I’m young only reiterates how awful and hopeless it is that my body
is already not working properly. I felt like she was saying that "all I need to
do" is go through this whole process, and in ten years after thousands and
thousands of dollars are wasted, then mourning for two more years, then
everything will miraculously be okay. Well, that's not very encouraging! I felt
like she was telling me it was my fault for not getting pregnant, because I've
put too much emphasis on it in my life and if I could just do the right thing and handle it in the right manner, then I wouldn't even have this problem. She was acting like IVF and adoption
are just simple tasks to check off a to-do list, and are not expensive or taxing
and are only a quick means to a happy end. Like it's that easy.
I know she didn't mean any of those things. I
know that. I know her heart and I know her intentions. But that's what I felt.
And it hurt. And I figured, when it got to a certain point, if she was willing
to have that sincere of a discussion with me about it, then she deserved to be
educated about it as well. It became my responsibility to inform her on the
true struggles of infertility. If she's willing to discuss it, which is a
blessing, then she also deserves to know some more details. But it was not a
fun lesson to give. And I was exhausted by the end of it. Besides being 97.87
degrees worth of exhausted already.
Brad and I ran some errands in Smyrna after
church. He needed a haircut, so I ran to Target while he did, killing two birds with one stone. I tried to avoid anything
baby or child related in my favorite store, but the stupid Sam Ridley Target is laid out differently
than my usual locations in either Mt. Juliet or Hickory Hollow. So in my quest
for paper towels and toilet paper, I ended up walking straight through the baby
section. I panicked when I realized what I had done. So I quickly fixed my eyes
on the end of the long row and didn't look down any of the tempting, damning
aisles. I thought I'd break down with jealousy if I saw an adorably pregnant woman choosing the perfect, cutest onsie known to man for her precious
bundle of joy. With my tunnel vision, I managed to survive my Target trip with
my still fragile heart intact. Then we went and got some lunch and headed home.
Immediately, I laid down for a much needed long afternoon nap.
I woke up when the Jordans asked if we wanted to
join them for a walk at Long Hunter. Well Brad and I were planning on going and
jogging anyway, so we just went a little bit earlier to do a lap with them
before we got our real jog in. Now, I could have changed the situation if I
really wanted to, but... Instead of walking the trail, we ended up just sitting
on a picnic table at the nearby park and watching a bunch of sweet families with their
adorable kids playing on the playground. Just sat there. And watched them. I
tried to distract myself with the babies I was with. (Honestly, when I'm with
Hill Ridge kids, it's personal and not "some kids," so it doesn't
affect me the same way.) So I fed Hannah her bottle. I love her, and she was so
sweet. She fell asleep in the middle of the feeding. Dumb Aunt Deedee forgot to
burp her! It's been so long since I’ve fed a newborn. She gave a good burp, and
didn't spit up on me any. Whew! I loved her and held her and focused only on
her and the conversation amongst the adults. Then I needed to hand her back.
And I watched the quickly filling up playground full of sweet kids and crazy
kids and laughing kids and hyper kids and sweating kids and all kinds of
wonderful kids innocently playing to their heart's desire. And I watched their mamas help them up the ladders and their
daddies catch them at the bottom of slides. I watched parents laugh as they
picked up kids and swung them in a circle and then wiped the sweat off of their
little faces before sending them back off to play some more. I watched a sweet
dad helping teach his little girl how to ride a bike. I watched a family across
the way sit down for a picnic together. I watched all of these people living the life I've dreamed of for years, and I watched the longing in my heart swell two sizes too big.
And then, luckily, Charles asked if one of us
could hold Liv. Oh hallelujah! I jumped at the chance and looooved her! At first, she was
quiet and just looked at me. But then she started laughing as I tickled her,
and as Brad was "getting" her, and as I bounced around with her fitting
perfectly on my hip. She laughed and held onto my arm so tight as I spun from
side to side. And I shifted her over to the front of me, and she leaned forward onto my
shoulder and had her arms around me as far as they could go. And I was happy.
A real happy. My heart melted in a peaceful way that reminded me of why we're even going through
all of this in the first place, and that it's all worth it just for this very moment with my own child(ren) someday.
And during these precious moments, I was able stand with my back to the playground, so
she could still see her daddy playing with Charlie, and I didn't have to watch
the hundreds of kids taking turns on the slide. Hannah and Liv distracted me,
and made the playground more bearable. I was glad for that. But my heart was
still aching and on guard...
Then it was time for everybody to go, and Brad
and I headed toward the trail for our planned work out. And wouldn't you
stinkin’ know it, that we had to stop so that a dad racing his two kids to the
car could pass in front of us! The kids were running so fast and laughing so
hard, and "somehow" they both beat their dad to the car and ran into the
doors with incredible force from their impassioned sprints. My inside fell to my toes. Since I
was in high school, I've always said that I wanted to have kids when I was
still young enough to have enough energy to race them to the car, because that
fake competition was one of the simpler things I was most looking forward to as
a mommy. (My mom always raced me to the car. And I always won.) I saw it
happen. I had to stop to let them pass. I watched the kids' joy at the challenge
and victory and their dad's false dismay at his defeat, and I died.
We started jogging and my chest was so tender
that I had to literally hold my boobs with my hands for the first few minutes
until I just sucked it up and jogged through it. Then my calves seized up and
got so tight that I insisted that we stop so I could stretch them out more. It
hurt so bad; I couldn't hold back groans of pain. Brad encouraged me to at
least finish out the mile, even though I already thought I'd collapse with only one
more step. I couldn't handle the physical pain on top of the emotional. So what’d I do? I just started crying in the midst of jogging.
Tears were running down my face as I was running down the trail. Crying from
the pain. The pain in my calves and the pain in my boobs and the pain my lungs and the pain in my heart.
Brad said, "It's okay to cry. Cry if you
have to. That doesn't bother me one bit. Just don't give up yet. Cry and jog at
the same time." (When I first started running years ago, I would cry every
time, just because I hate it so much, and it's such a mental and emotional
battle for me, along with the physical challenge. So Brad wasn’t really caught
off guard by my tears.) He kept encouraging me, saying that running is a mind
game and I just have to get past it. (He was right that the weakness was in my mind, but he didn't realize what form it had taken.) That I've done this before, and he knows I
can do it again. That he wouldn't let me give up on myself and how much he
loved me.
When we got to the mile mark, I just started melting down. I slowed my pace, caught
my breath, and let the tears flow. He immediately told me how proud he was of
me, and how great of a job I did, and how we can walk for a while now. And I responded to his kind words with venom. He told me he loved me, and I
told him that I was pissed that we came to walk, and I ended up sitting
watching (seemingly) happy families full of kids joyfully playing at the park, and
that I have to hold other people’s babies and play with their kids instead of
being able to love on my own. And I was pissed that I had to witness a dad live out my most
basic dream by racing his kids to the car. I told him I was pissed that I had
to have that conversation after church, both the first part and the last part.
I told him I was pissed that I couldn't even dream in the baby section of
Target anymore, but had to zero in on the wall and walk as fast as I could,
because our future children are no longer a “when” or even an “eventually someday,” but are
now an “if at all.” I told him I was mad that I felt crazy and couldn't help
it. That I know better than all of the things I keep thinking, but it's still
how I feel, anyway. That I can tell it's the hormones, and I wish that
knowledge would make the emotions easier, but it doesn't. I seethed at my
woeful lot in life and threw myself a glorious pity party right there on that
trail. I didn't say hi to people who passed like usual or even make eye
contact. I was fuming. It wasn't fair, and I was mad.
We walked about a quarter of a mile while I
expelled all of those ugly demons, and then I felt like running. I wanted to run.
That's never happened. I've always ran because I needed to or should or as a
way to spend time with Brad or simply because that's what we were doing. But
all of the sudden, I was mad, and I wanted to run away from it all. I
envisioned all of our stress and struggles and hard times sitting on that
bridge we just crossed, and I wanted to run as far away from it as I could. So
I took off without saying a word. Brad silently quickened his stride with me,
and reminded me to pace myself and breath slowly, because this was quicker than
our usual, comfortable speed. But I just wanted to get away from that horrible
bridge and all of that baggage on it. I was afraid that it might somehow be
able to catch back up with me if I slowed down. I couldn't stop. I couldn’t
face all of it again. I had to keep going. I couldn’t slow down. I was running for my life.
When we were coming up to the last little bit
(probably a little less than a quarter of a mile) where we nearly always jog
this last portion no matter how our work out has been, Brad said, as usual,
"Okay, when we get to the post, give it your all from here on
out." I said, "I don't think I have anything else left other than
what I'm already giving." He said, "That's okay. That's fine. Just
try to make it to the end if you can." I said I would. And as we rounded
the curve, a young couple came along the path pushing my three wheeled
jogging stroller. I don't even know if there was a grinning toddler, a sleeping
newborn, or a watermelon in that thing. All I know is the sight of it made me
want to vomit. They passed, and I literally muttered "stupid baby!"
to my feet and sprinted all the way to the end. I sprinted as fast as my legs
could take me. I wanted to punish my body. I wanted it to hurt. It deserved the
pain, because it has failed me. It has hurt me too many times to go unpunished
any longer. My lungs burned, and I said, "That's what you get!" My
legs cramped, and I said, "Sorry about your luck!” My arms grew weak, and
I said, “Sucks, don't it??” And I ran full out. I wanted a physical manifestation of the emotional pain I couldn't grasp; something that I could finally control. Brad shouted from behind,
"Don't forget to breathe, Mindy! Deep breaths! Pace yourself! You don't
have to go that fast!" But I couldn't even hear him. The whole world fell
into this other place. A bad place. A painful place. A dark place. And I wanted
to run away from it all. Run until I died.
At the end of the trail, I literally collapsed on
a large rock, heaving for breath. Brad caught up to me and asked, "Are you
okay?? Take slow breaths. I don't want you to hyperventilate. Do you feel light
headed? Are you going to vomit? Are you nauseous?" I just focused on
trying to fill my scalding lungs with air. I sat there for a good three minutes
just catching my breath, regaining consciousness, and becoming reacquainted
with the faint world around me. Brad kept making me look at him, so he was sure
I wasn't going to pass out. And then I heard it again. Right behind me at the
pavilion. The best and worst sound in the entire world. A baby cooing. That brought me back to reality in a snap. I didn't
care how much my body was screaming, I stood up, muttered "stupid
baby" one more time, and looked Brad straight in the face, and said,
"Get me the hell out of here. I can't stand it one more minute." And
he did.
I'm not proud of my thoughts, especially toward
innocent strangers who just happened to cross my path in the line of fire on an
emotionally reckless day. I hate that I fell that deep into the dark pit. I
hate that I can't control my emotions. I hate that I'm so sensitive, even
around people I love whom I know love me. I hate this whole thing. Absolutely every single little thing about it. I want you to know that I don't always feel the way I felt on Sunday. It was a highly emotional, hormonal day. I don't support my attitude and definitely don't recommend my actions, but in those moments, it was real, and it was all I had to offer.
During a serious discussion over the weekend,
Brad confessed that he's not sure we can afford an IUI this coming month. We
may have to spend some time saving up for it, before we can go that new route. Just do the dye test (to confirm the health of my reproductive anatomy) this month
and keep taking the ovulation-inducing medication for a while longer until we can
afford the other procedures necessary to increase our chances of conceiving. I
hate that money will ultimately end up being the reason that we can't start our
family, which I so long to have.
Infertility. It is such a weird place. Such a
weird feeling. Such a weird situation and circumstance. I'm constantly fighting
with myself over being irrational and being reasonable. Of being overly sensitive
and being sensible. Of taking things personally and being realistic. Of being
overwhelmingly sad and trying not to give up hope.
I feel like every minute of my whole life I'm
desperately praying for three things: a miracle to happen in my womb; God's will to be
done; and that they can finally, finally,
be the same thing..........
I am blessed far beyond measure. I have the greatest husband in the world, the best dog in America, a wonderful family, and awesome friends. We’ve been trying to expand our family with children for a few years, and are anxiously awaiting God’s plan for our future to unfold. I'm just a girl trying to figure out how to be the Christian woman that I know I was created to be. This blog is my digital scrapbook of all the blessed events in my life. I hope you enjoy reading about it as much as I enjoy living it!
Bradley is the greatest guy in the world, and I am so blessed to be his wife. He's loving, caring, sweet, strong, and he showers me with affection. He is extremely passionate about his Lord and continually leads our family toward Heaven. He loves to be outdoors, and he also spends a lot of time being completely involved at church and hanging out with our wonderful friends.
My Love
Brad and I were high school sweethearts, and have been married for eight blessed years.
My Baby
Chester is our precious Havanese puppy. He was my birthday surprise from Brad the year we got married. He's very social, hypo-allergenic, doesn't shed, and incredibly smart; he even rings a bell to tell us he has to go potty. He's pretty much the greatest dog ever.
My Boys
I just adore this picture of my two favorites together.
To see complete photo albums, check out My Photo Site.
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