Always

My period will never stop being a reminder of my infertility. 

Before I knew anything about anything I thought getting a period as often as I do (every 18-22 days) was a blessing because it meant more chances than the average person to get pregnant. It was a grounding realization to discover that such a frequent cycle actually made it much, much harder for me.   Having so many periods quickly became the bane of my existence. At least, I would reason with empty air, at least if you aren't going to let me be pregnant stop making me get a period all the damn time. 

Unfortunately, empty air gives no fucks for my logic so every 18-22 days all the planning, the medicines, the surgery, the prayers, and my body became once more obvious failures. Every 18-22 days I had to let K know that he still wasn't going to be a dad.  Every 18-22 days I had to decide if I was strong enough to do it all over again.  

It cut me to my core to bleed, and so frequently. I will never forget the deep sadness that came from having it confirmed that the cramping I felt wasn't from the implantation of a tiny embryo but my barren body shedding its useless tissue. 

I never stopped hoping otherwise, though, and that's how it got me, how it nearly destroyed me. I really thought each month that if I did this thing and that, if I prayed harder, tried harder, changed, added, or subtracted some certain thing maybe maybe maybe please please please it would work. Still  my period showed up as faithful as ever to destroy my hope and, as silly as this may sound to someone, it's something I'll never be able to forgive.

So, now, after everything and with my baby clinging to my side,  every 18-22 days I get the reminder that some things never change. 

Winnie the Pooh Life

Four years ago K and I stepped off a plane into the beauty that is the great Pacific North West. Our vacation was brief, nothing more than a long weekend, but we left promising ourselves that one day we'd find a way to live there.  As life home in the south picked up we began to think that maybe it wouldn't be possible, that maybe the PNW was only ever to be our preferred vacation destination.  We visited once more and talked fantastically about some far off time in the future when we'd retire and build a house on a hilltop with a breathtaking view. That was the most we dared to hope - an adventure 50 years away.

You'd think I would have learned by now that nothing goes according to plan.  In 2 weeks, it will no longer just be the PNW...it will be our home!

The Lord has been very kind to us this year.  I don't deserve it. I've, frankly, been a rebellious brat for plenty of years.  I've been confused, doubting, the chief among sinners.  My heart has been guarded and half asleep.  His Grace, though, is more than my rot and He has decided to take it easy on me, fulfilling my deepest desires.   I have my sweet daughter, a marriage that is strong and playful, and a new life awaiting me in one of the most beautiful places I've ever laid eyes on.   I'm excited to learn the lessons this God of Gifts is wanting to teach me in the kindest of ways.  It's a welcome reprieve.

I'd be lying, though, if I pretended this was not a bittersweet gift. I'm excited to embark on this journey but I'm grieved to leave behind all of those that I love.  The friends I have here are salve for my soul; they delight me - they love me deeply, flaws and all, and let me love them the same.  If I'm in need I can send one text and know that at least 3 people will be there to help me, not to mention the family that would give us almost whatever we could ask for.   I know they'll all still be here no matter the physical distance but I'll miss every hug and sweet smile that I've come to know and love.

Everything is beautiful

Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.  

It's a line in a Kurt Vonnegut book that seems to resonate with a lot of people.  My older brother related to it so much that he got it tattooed all across his back. As for me, well, I never understood it. For years I ached so deep and unending that I nearly drowned in the pain.  Nothing was beautiful and everything hurt...that was more like it.    I'm exaggerating, of course.  There was beauty, but there was always, always, always hurt to eclipse it.

Today though, folks and friends, today I get it.

My once shattered heart is healed in such a way that I can't believe it ever broke. I'm continually amazed that I have the privilege of knowing my dearest, darling P - that she is my baby, in my arms, and that I'm her mama.   I feel more whole and happier than I ever have in my entire life just because she is.

And, gracious me, this babe of mine is a total keeper. She's loud...like LOUD for real. Her cries are so sudden and attention grabbing that people think maybe they hurt her.   Her early morning giggles are more akin to screams and cackles. She's a babbler, a face grabber, a beard eater.  We like to joke that she's got her daddy's looks and her mama's personality.  We're as smitten as two people ever have been with anything.


I thank God* for this baby, for allowing her existence to help heal all the deep wounds I thought would never go away, and (a beg more than a prayer most days) for keeping her safe.






*I'll insert this disclaimer that I don't understand God, aside from a few things that I know to be absolute truths.  I don't know if it was God that kept me from becoming a mama for all of those years.  I can't imagine that my Father would do such a thing - watch me die and wither and die again for months on end - and yet, the story of Job tells me that He doesn't keep us from suffering if it advances His kingdom within ourselves or in the world.  Conversely, I struggle attributing P's existence as specifically from Him any further than acknowledging that He is the author and creator of all life.  So take whatever I say about the Lord with a grain of salt: it's just the ramblings of a woman who doesn't quite know the answer to much of anything.

My beloved K

     I often stop what I'm doing and stare at K.  I like to take notice of him in moments when he has no idea I'm intently studying him.  No matter if we've been connected or distanced, happy or angry, in those moments when I get to watch him my heart swells with such an immense amount of love that I usually have to reach out and touch him just to relieve the pressure. 

     I make special note of what he does. I see the way he bites his bottom lip in concentrated thought so that the patch of hair directly beneath it pokes out straight. I watch him absentmindedly stroke his beard over and over and over, so much that I wonder how his hand doesn't get a little numbed from the courseness of the feeling.  I watch the way he thins out his lips into a tight purse and sighs so deep that it still startles me. 

     He looks a little different, too, each time I do this.  The patch of gray on the right side of his beard has grown just a bit more.  His eyes, always alert, are the same wonderful brown ones I've always looked into except this time they look more tired, or frustrated, or excited.  Depending on the day, his shoulders are more slumped and his brow more furrowed...or else he stands tall, his looming presence full of vigor and cheer. 

    When he's doing a goofy dance to get my attention I notice the way his facial expression is asking me a question...will this make you smile...while he waits for my response.   The answer, as always, is yes.


I'm glad to live this life by his side.  

2015 in retrospect

So long 2015.  Thanks for everything. 

You welcomed me in January with music, games, dancing, a ton of friends, and my loving husband by my side. 

In March, you saw K and I through fertility treatments that led to my April pregnancy (just in time for our trip to California to attend an infertility and adoption conference). 

You greeted me in May with another cause for celebration as K completed his undergraduate degree in geophysics and so many of us gathered to acknowledge his accomplishment and eat barbecue together. 

Come July, you led me to my new career as an ER nurse. 

You watched as K and I vacationed to Colorado in early September and you got a bit melodramatic when you put me on bedrest just a couple of weeks later. 

By November you dragged me into my newest job as a telephone triage nurse. 

And the cherry on top of the delicious Sunday you so graciously served: you ushered in December with the arrival of our sweet P.  

2016...you've got some big shoes to fill. No pressure. 

Blanket Apology

I'm going to apply a very sincere blanket apology for my blog in the event that the influx of 'baby' posts hurt anyone.   I'm sorry.  I realize that baby posts may be just as or more painful than pregnancy posts for you wonderful, struggling sisters of mine.  I don't mean to hurt you.

Also, I'd like to explain: I don't ever want my daughter to think that I'm ashamed of/am apologizing for her.  I'm so proud to be her mom.  She was 3 years in the making.  She was my constant dream.  I would both destroy the world and lay down my life for her without a second thought.   Thus, I can't and won't censor my posts about her.   The lack of her is the reason for this blog, really.   Thankfully, luckily, blessedly, I journeyed to something else and along the way I found her.  

Our Miracle Baby

I knew my pregnancy was high risk because of my short cervix.  I just didn't know there was more to it than that...in fact, no one did until our babe was out of my body and safely in my arms.

K says that when my OB attempted to deliver my placenta, the cord snapped and came out alone.  He heard the OB mutter to herself that she "never does that" and watched as she intently studied the end of the cord to see what happened.  Suddenly, as he tells it, her face got serious and she told me I was about to hate her.  Cue a painful retrieval of my retained placenta.

About an hour later, once we were all cleaned and the shift had changed, the nurse informed us that our baby was a miracle.  We nodded and agreed.  "No, she really is", she insisted, and proceeded to tell us just how much someone "up there" had been watching out for us.  Unbeknownst to anyone, our baby had a really short umbilical cord and a condition called velamentous cord insertion (VCI).

A velamentous cord insertion is a dangerous condition for both mother and baby.  Our nurse told us that 50% of pregnancies with this condition don't carry to term.  If the problem is noticed, which is rare, and conditions are precarious enough, they will take the baby by c-section at 35 weeks.  A normal cord is attached safely and directly into the placenta.  With VCI, the cord is attached weakly and unprotected into the membrane.  You can google the rest of the details if you're interested.   I get emotional if I try to explain it more than that.

When my OB visited the next day she explained all about the short cord and VCI, providing a little more detailed information than the nurse from the previous day had.  She ended the conversation with a sweet, tight smile and said "she was meant to be here, that's all I can say".

Fertility treatments, a twin sac that didn't develop, high risk (and then some) pregnancy - our little girl arrived on 12/5/2015 after 38 weeks of my being pregnant. From start to finish, she's our miracle.