November 15, 2008

Did You Know It’s National Adoption Awareness Month?

Earlier this year my sister, Rachel, called me to talk about something important.  Her friend S had found out she was pregnant but she and the father were no longer together.  S and this guy already had one child together but their relationship was complicated to say the least.

Rachel wanted to know if Doug and I would consider adopting the baby.  I’ll be honest.  Before Rachel called me I had never considered adoption.  I really didn’t know how I felt about it.

One of my closest friends is adopted and for years I watched her struggle with not knowing who her biological parents were.  She wanted so desperately to know who she looked like and why her parents were unable to raise her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her adoptive parents, she does, it’s just that she often felt incomplete because there were so many unanswered questions about “where she came from.”  Eventually, she found her birth mother and they have established an amazing relationship.  Her birth father passed away several years ago, before she had the chance to meet him.  Amazingly she did discover that her biological father remarried and had another daughter.  My friend is so happy to have a sister.

After having Dawson and loving him so much it hurts, I can’t imagine the heartbreak a woman goes through when deciding to give up her child. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I wanted to consider adoption as a way to expand my family.

Struggling with infertility has taught me many valuable lessons.  I think knowing how difficult it is for me to conceive has made me realize that life doesn’t always happen the way we plan.  Sometimes our wishes don’t come true, at least not the way we want them to.  I know that sounds a little depressing, but what I mean is, maybe, our wishes come true in their own time.

A few months after my sister told me about her friend’s situation, a friend of my father’s called to ask if I’d like to work for her law office/title company part-time.  Since I’d lost my job a few months before, I agreed.  Turns out she practices family law and handles many adoptions.  It seemed like a funny coincidence, and I brushed aside the nagging idea that Doug and I should adopt a child.

Fast forward to a month ago when I attended a MOPs meeting.  One of my new friends and I were talking about children and she asked if I wanted to have any more.  She wasn’t aware of my fertility issues, so I confessed that Doug and I had been trying for another baby for quite a few months but weren’t having any luck.

“Have you considered adoption?” she asked.  “Both of my kids are adopted.  It’s the best decision I ever made.  Karl and I suffered with infertility for many long years.”

My friend and I commiserated about our reproductive challenges and kept thinking that God was trying to send me a message.  I mean, He was practically hitting me on the head with his “subtle” hints.

A few days ago I was doing some blog reading and I learned that November is National Adoption Awareness Month.

It’s just so coincidental.  All the signs.  I’m wondering if this is why I haven’t been able to get pregnant.  Maybe I have a higher purpose at this point in my life.  Maybe I’m supposed to adopt.

I’m still working through all the emotions and processing all the information I’ve acquired.   I’m not sure where to begin, or if adoption is right for Doug and me.  I just wanted to share my feelings with you and read your comments on the subject.  If you have an experience to share, please feel free to tell me about it.

October 16, 2008

It Happens Every Time (But This Day Is Different)

Before I continue with my planned post, I wanted to remind you that I’m over at The Imperfect Parent today. If you have a few moments, will you please visit me there, too?  Thank you, kindly!

The last few months have been miserable.  I’ve said it all before.  I don’t want to rehash all the emotions, but it’s constantly on my mind, this baby business.

Yesterday I stopped to count the months, the many long months, that my husband and I have been trying to conceive a second child.  Today marks the end of the eighteenth month of trying.  The end, because my period started this morning.

A few days ago, I thought for sure that I was pregnant.  I had all the “symptoms.”  Sore breasts, bloating, exhaustion, frequent urination, night sweats, nausea, headaches, stuffy nose, moodiness and irritability, heightened sense of smell, increased appetite.

However, I knew in my heart that it was just another phantom pregnancy, that I was just obsessing about it all and therefore my body was playing tricks on me.  Or it was all the beginning of monster PMS.

And still, I drove to the store and bought a pregnancy test.  I went so far as to say a prayer before peeing on the fucking thing, thinking a miracle could impact the results.  Even though I thought I was pregnant, I knew that yesterday’s HPT would turn out the way the last seventeen did.

Just like every month before, the negative line appears and 24 hours later my period begins.  It happens every time.

Then the devastation and disappointment set in.  The crying ensues.  The frustration and anger sweep in and take over.  The bitter jealousy follows closely behind.  The vicious cycle continues and I’m helpless to stop it.

I want more children so badly that it’s all I can think about, dream about, hope for.

I’ve been in a funk and it’s beginning to evolve into a depression.  I accused my husband of jinxing us because maybe he doesn’t want this as much as I do.  I’ve blamed myself for being reproductively broken.  I’ve even looked in the mirror and berated myself for being a failure.

I didn’t go to church last Sunday because I didn’t want to stare at all the adorable pregnant women and wonder why God has granted their wishes and not mine.

Instead, I read passages in the Bible and tried to swallow this jagged little pill.  I’ve tried to put these thoughts out of my head.  I’ve avoided speaking about it with my friends and family because I don’t think they understand, nor do I think they want to hear about my “problem” anymore.

Then today, something wonderful happened.  I attended my bimonthly MOPS meeting.

I must confess that I didn’t want to go.  At my first meeting two weeks ago, I struggled.  There were many mothers in the group who were expecting, and others who were nursing their babies during the focus groups.  It was hard to think happy thoughts and not be overcome by grief and jealousy, but I managed.

Knowing the wound would be opened again, I told myself last night that I wasn’t going.  I didn’t have faith that I could deal with my issues.  Then I dropped Dawson off at preschool this morning and one of the other MOPS moms has a child in Dawson’s class.

“On your way to the meeting?” she asked.

“Ummm…I dunno.  I’ve got a lot of work to do at home…”

“Come on,” she cut me off.  “You don’t want to miss today’s speaker.  She’s inspirational.”

Even though I told myself it would take more than some inspirational woman sharing her life story to shake me out of my depression, I agreed to attend.  I prayed silently in the car for God to grant me the strength to stifle whatever emotions decided to flow out of me upon seeing all the babies.

The meeting started and our speaker, Jessica, was introduced to our group.  Jessica told us she had been a featured speaker at many women’s groups and her message that day was about how to find hope when things don’t go our way.

I admit, I was skeptical.  It was oh so coincidental that things in my life were definitely not going my way.  How did Jessica think she was going to help me, I wondered.  Does she even know anything about me?  Does she know that I’m struggling?  Does she know about my history with PCOS?  Does she know it took three years to conceive Dawson, or that I had a miscarriage when Dawson was 11 months old?  Does she know that I’m losing faith that I’ll ever get pregnant again?

My bitterness was swallowing me whole, but no sooner than these thoughts flowed from my consciousness did I realize how wrong I was about Jessica.

She told us about her marriage to her husband, Gary, and how they celebrated their 27th wedding anniversary.  She told us that after she and Gary were married they had a honeymoon baby, a boy, and a daughter 18 months after that.  She always knew she wanted more than two children, but after her daughter was born she had many miscarriages.

One day she was driving home from picking her children up from school on a terrible winter’s day.  It had rained and the rain froze, then it snowed on top of that.  She hit a patch of ice and her car swerved into oncoming traffic.  She hit a semi head on.  Her son, her oldest child, was killed instantly.  She and her daughter suffered several injuries.  Her son was 7 years old.  Her daughter was 5 1/2.

Hearing Jessica’s words, I began to cry.  As tears streamed down my cheeks, Jessica continued.   She talked about how painful it was to lose her son, but she also told us she was 10 weeks pregnant during the accident but no one else knew but her husband.  After all the miscarriages she was afraid to tell anyone about the pregnancy because she figured she’d lose that baby, too.  Especially after the tragic accident resulting in her son’s death.

Jessica talked about how her daughter went from being the youngest child, to an only child and then to the oldest child all in a year’s time.  She never expected to have a seven year age gap between her daughter and the baby boy she had seven months after the car accident.  She went on to have three more children after that.

I began sobbing.   Sobbing because I realized I was meant to be at this meeting.  God wanted me to hear Jessica speak.  He enlisted the help of my friend to make sure I heard what Jessica had to say.

Jessica told us that she learned to rearrange her priorities after the accident.  She began renewing her faith in God and putting Him first in her life, before her husband and children.  She realized that while she loved Gary and their children so very much, without God she may never have been able to have more children.

In that moment, alarms went off in my head.  I realized that I’ve been dwelling on this baby thing for too long.  I’ve lost my faith in God and His plans for me.  I’ve been putting my husband and son and everything else in my life before God.

Even though I attend church and teach CCD and pray, I really wasn’t listening to God.  I wasn’t hearing His words and understanding His plan.  And He does have a plan.  He had a plan for Jessica, and she was smart enough to trust and follow Him.

After Jessica’s talk was over, I felt at peace.  All my harried thoughts disappeared.  Instead of worrying about my biological clock ticking, instead of thinking I have to get pregnant right now because I don’t want my children to be too far apart, my mind was quiet.  And my heart was open.

I realize this might sound crazy, but I honestly believe that God has intervened.  He’s trying to tell me that He’s listening.  He’s watching.  He has given me respite from all the worry and disappointment.

For the first time in so long, I feel at peace, and I’m so grateful.

October 7, 2008

I Give Up

Can’t do it.  Anymore.  Too painful.

Every month, I pee on ovulation predictor kits (OPKs).  I get the signal that ovulation is near.  Every month we “plan” baby making around those days.  Every month, period is not on time, I get that hopeful feeling.  Every month I pee on a home pregnancy test (HPT) and get that big fat negative (BFN).  Every month, I cry.

Every day I feel angry.  Angry because I know every acronym and abbreviation and all the vocabulary used in the world of infertility.

Every day I do what the doctor tells me.  I take the Metformin.  I eat healthy foods.  I don’t smoke.  I don’t drink.  I exercise.

Every week, I listen to someone tell me to “just relax.”  Every week I hear someone say, “It will happen, don’t fret.”

Every day I read a blog or twenty, about pregnancy and babies.  Every other day I read a new announcement of another blogger’s pregnancy or delivery of another blogger’s sweet baby.

Every day I try not to let it affect me, because it’s not about me, it’s not personal.

Every day, I feel resentment and jealousy.  Every day, I feel guilty for feeling the way I do.

Every night, I dream of babies and pregnancy and holding another child in my arms.

Every night, I cry just a little.

And every day and night, I pray.

But I can’t do it anymore.  Won’t do it anymore.  It hurts too much.

Every month I say that I’ll give up and I never do.  It’s a vicious cycle.

I won’t do this to myself any longer.  It hurts too much.

September 20, 2008

I Miss…

…that baby’s head of hair.

When I think back to the day that Dawson was born, I remember that he didn’t have much hair on his little head.  But, within a few short months, his baby hair was growing quite nicely and I swore I would never cut it.

It was his father who demanded that our boy get a haircut on his first birthday, and oh, how I cried.  Those soft wisps of baby fine hair; how I missed running my fingers through that little mop.

I loved the way his fine hair smelled after a bath, and the way it dried quickly so that I could spend hours just inhaling the scent of my baby.

As hard as I try to remember baby hair, I look at my little monster now, and only see his “grizzly” hair cut a la Daddy’s hair clippers.

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This post is in honor of Kristen of Motherhood Uncensored and Rebecca of Girl’s Gone Child who are expecting beautiful baby girl’s any day now.  We’re reminiscing about what we loved best about those new baby days with an online shower since we live all over the continent and beyond.  If you’d like to participate, click here for details!