Adoption Ettiquette 101

Adoption ettiquette? Absolutely.

Touchy subject number 1: Congratulations? I'm sorry! ---What to say when someone announces they are adopting.

Imagine that you and your spouse have planned a vacation to Disney Land. You have carefully budgeted down to the cent costs for travel, food, and entertainment. You know what you are packing, and how you are going to spend each day. This was not a coin-tossed vacation; you have planned every aspect of it.You have chosen Disney Land because it fits perfectly into what your family wants in a vacation. You are and should be so excited! You announce to your friends and family that you are going to California and couldn't be happier. A well meaning relative smiles at you and turns their head to the side and says, "You know, the daughter of a girl I work with planned a trip to Disney Land and as soon as they booked the trip, they found out they were going to DISNEY WORLD!" You smile and nod. A co worker the next day, says the same thing: their cousin planned the same trip to Disney Land and as soon as they were boarding the plane, found out they were going to Disney WORLD." Ok at this point the vacation planner is probably getting irritated. So is the adoptive parent.

Let's apply the vacation scenario to adopting. If someone tells you that they are adopting...THEY ARE ADOPTING! Statistics show that only 5% of couples who have adopted because they cannot successfully produce biological children (me included) on their own end up EVER doing so. The reason "everyone has a someone that this has happened to" is because it is much like a happy fairy tale- those are the ones that everyone is talking about. It is not helpful, hopeful or supportive to the adoptive parent (especially if they can not have biological children) to hear this. Our minds and hearts have a trip booked. We are going to Disney Land and it is ok to be happy for us! WE are happy for us! When things are said along those lines; it is as if you are apologizing to us that we don't get to go on the same trip as you might have. I am that mother who is not settling for one place over another; God made my body and allowed for the abnormalities and defects that exist within it. God wants Curt and I to adopt. God has lead us to this place. Offering sympathy for the disease and the problems it causes is acceptable and appropriate, but feeling sorry for how we overcome this obstacle and become parents isn't. Please do not offer sympathy or false hope to those who could be fragile and afraid to hope for anything at all! It is appropriate to be happy for someone who announces adoption; just as much as it is for you to be happy for someone who announces a pregnancy. Announcing plans to adopt is as close as most adoptive parents get to annoucing that they are expecting a baby.

My response to those who tell me wonderful Disney WORLD stories, "I am not filling out adoption paper work to "trick" my body into thinking it's ok to be pregnant. This really is something we are going through with. And I am so glad that Disney WORLD worked out for whomever you are talking about. I know I will be as happy as they are when I become a parent too."

And I will be. I am going to Disney LAND and I am thrilled about the trip that God, Curt and I booked TOGETHER!

In love, princess very imperfect, mare

Dear Birth Mother,

Dear Birth Mother,

Every time I start to think about what I should write to you, the page seems to grow more blank and I freeze up. I usually have no trouble conveying what's on my mind or heart- but there was a mountain standing between you and me that I was not sure how to begin climbing. It is trite to say, " I can't imagine how you feel," because I really truly and genuinely can't. Why God has designed this house for my soul in such a way, I might not ever know. For weeks I resisted writing to you, and it's time I sit myself down and figure out what this mountain between you and I is built of, and maybe through the letter itself, some pieces will break away.

One of the most frustrating parts of the adoption process is being at the mercy of strangers. I am relying on God to work through people I have never met, who know very little about my heart to bring to me something I'm not sure I even have the right to ask for. Who am I to ask another woman for her child? Just like I can only imagine being pregnant, I can only imagine how strange it must feel to have me ask you to bless me with your baby. A baby knitted together inside your body, that you worried and prayed and cried over, that you now must experience surreal pain to bring into this world. And now you are making wonderfully complicated and frightening choices. Do you choose to parent, or trust God to lead you to someone else to? Who is good enough for your baby?

If I were in your shoes, the answer would be "no one" and it would be shot straight from my heart and off my lips without a thought. This would be a very hard mountain for me to learn to look over. I want to tell you a little about us, so we might not seem like such strangers. Let me tell you about my husband, Curt first and what kind of daddy he is going to be. Then, let me tell you about who I am as a pre-adoptive mother, and let me tell you about gifts that have been given to my husband and I that have paved the way for me to be where I am today, spiritually, mentally and emotionally.

My name is Mary Elizabeth Ivey, and I am married to Curtis Patrick Ivey. If there are princes really upon this earth, I married one. He is a gentle giant, with an incredibly strong heart. He has a unique relationship with God, and His son, and has the truest desire to be a daddy. I promise you, love, that he is a protector and is fiercely dedicated to the family we have now. My husband would sacrifice anything to keep harm far from our home and those within it. Your baby would sleep safe in his strong arms, and the baby would ride high on solid shoulders through parks and in the zoos so the baby could see everything- even the shyer more small animals behind fences. Curt would stand outside all day waiting for the baby's favorite animal to come out, no matter how long it took. Your baby would sit in amazing seats at Cardinals games with a baseball mitt, and if a ball came anywhere close to us, Curt would make sure that baby caught the ball- and would then make sure the camera crew put it on the big screen for all of St. Louis to see. Your baby will sit on a loving lap dunking Oreos in milk or sharing a piece of strawberry shortcake in the evenings with an adoring daddy who will read the bed time stories that we have already started saving. Curt will be the dad that makes Christmas so magical- he will somehow manage to have footsteps on our roof top every Christmas eve just to see the delight and excitement sparkle in little eyes. Then, he will stay awake until morning building the train set, or bicycle or doll house that will be waiting under the tree when the baby wakes up. Your baby will be a welcome face at so many football, wrestling, and track events watching and "helping" daddy coach the big kids. Your baby's voice will be one that is etched into his heart and mind instantly and one that he will always be listening for. Curt has been nurtured by so many wonderful male role models ready to support him and he is as ready as a potential dad could ever be to adore a baby.

What kind of momma will I be? There are a few images that play over and over in my mind when I think about having a baby to love. I want to sit in a sweet nursery next to an open window with white curtains in a rocking chair that has a little creak to it and rock a warm little body to sleep while singing lullabies that I've been saving up in my heart for so long. I want to bring lunch to sweaty little faces playing all day in a beautiful tree house (or super tough fort, whatever). I want to fuss over things like wearing jackets when it starts getting little colder and sniffly noses. I want to be that mom who takes 4, 000 pictures on the first day of kindergarten and cries hysterically when I have to drop them off. I want to comfort over splinters, skinned knees, and hopefully not very many disappointments. I want to take the baby to the pumpkin patch I went to as a little girl and all through growing up and taken their picture next to Halloween displays that say, "Please don't sit on the display", just like my dad did 25 years ago. I want to take the baby to the hundreds of people who already love him or her and have been praying for them for so long, and say, "Here...here is our baby!" I want the loving and antiquated hands of my grandfather to bless the baby in church, just as he blessed all of us- my sister, mother, and so many cousins. I don't know a stronger word than promise- if there is one, understand me, please, I more than promise that this child will be the joy of our hearts and the jewel of our home.

How have we arrived at adoption? God designed my body, so I hesitate to call it "broken", although I have in the past, but my body is unable to carry a baby for any length of time. I have a genetic blood condition that just won't allow it, not even with painful injections for months. We met a loving and genuine couple who have adopted through Bethany and we knew after we talked with them for the first time, that this was the direction we were to go. After prayer, and the gift of peace, we hit the ground running. It astounds me that He took a tragedy and something that could have destroyed my faith and hurt our marriage into such an amazing and interesting story. I feel that we are being CHOSEN to adopt- this is not a consolation price for us- we WANT this! Soon, I will tell you some of the most amazing testimonies that prove to us daily that this is the plan, and this is the path. We choose to trust in the Lord with all of our hearts, and lean not on our own understanding. We know that He will direct our paths and yours too.

You are brave, and giving beyond description. You remember that, regardless of whom you choose, or who might say differently. You have been chosen to deliver an unimaginably amazing gift to another family. God must be so proud of you!

Plan B: The Bakers, Bethany, and Vitamin B

Plan B begins with the Baker family.
We met Dr. and Mrs. Baker a few Fridays ago, through our mutual friend and bonus-mom, Kaye Sharp. The Bakers have just adopted their second baby and were glad to share their stories of adoption with us. Mrs. Baker has a blood disorder similar to mine, and has actually been on the same drugs and treatments as I have (Heparin included). They endured several incomplete pregnancies and years of heartache before adopting their daughter through Bethany Christian Services. Just a month ago, they adopted their son through the same agency. We sat at the Branson landing Starbucks and learned all about open adoption vs. closed, private vs. going through an agency, and the truth about the costs involved with this process. It was nice to hear success stories and see the actual product of the massive amounts of protocol and lengthy procedures linked with adoption. We decided this after our visit: We will continue with Heparin this summer, and start saving now to complete the paper work for adoption if and when we do venture down that route. We can't think of a "down" side to preparing for adoption. We have contacted Bethany and are now working our way towards the hundreds of dollars it takes to complete the paper work. It is our understanding that private adoption is less expensive, and so our eyes and ears are open for women who are pregnant and aren't wanting or aren't able to raise their babies.

To help us reach our $600.00 paper work goal, we are going to have a big garage sale in June. I'm working on a quilt as a raffle prize. The center block will have the scripture, "This is the day that the Lord hath made, I will rejoice and be glad in it!" embroidered on it. The rest of the quilt will be bright and colorful 9 patch blocks that some students have volunteered to help me make once school is out. We'll sell the tickets at our garage sale. I also have gone back to work at Chili's here in Branson waiting tables. I was so nervous to go back, scared to death I would mess up. Thanks be to God my few mistakes were minor and unnoticeable to anyone but me. It is like riding a bike! A bike that is very, very busy and smells like fajitas. My energy levels are from God above, and a Vitamin B pill before every shift. I like seeing my kids in the restaurant and I like the people I work with. I'm used to a higher volume store (Lees Summit, MO) so I'm not making exactly what I had anticipated, but every little bit helps and I'm so grateful for this opportunity.

We do so appreciate the support and the prayers. I know that God made my body and He can rearrange it, if that is what is best for us. We rely so much on your prayers, and interest; forgive us if our response to your inquiries isn't immediate (or even timely). We appreciate every ounce of care sent our way. We are in survival mode at school, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Summer should shape us back into our human forms, so bear with us as we wrap this school year up. Emotionally, we're taking it one hour at a time. We'll know June 2 if this last Heparin treatment was successful or not.

So, for now, Plan B includes the blessings of the Baker family, investigation of the Bethany Christian Adoption Services and Vitamin B to get me through those days where I teach during the day and serve at night. Thank you for praying for us! More on Plan B will surely follow.

Princess Pincushion and the Badge of Courage

            The first shot ended with me sobbing and my head between my knees in the nurse's office at school. Cary Jean (a good friend of mine who was subbing for another teacher in my building and for Curt who was at a track meet and therefore absent for Self Injections 101 from Nurse Debbie) filmed the event on my iPhone so I could have something to reference later on. We have a natural instinct to protect our bodies, and we have a similar one I believe, which drives us to improve (or at least maintain) them. I felt some smaller part of me becoming very upset and almost invaded at what just took place. I very much wanted to stay in the fetal position and apologize to my body for the injection, the thick tar-like medicine pushed into my abdomen and the bruise that would tattle-tale on where the needle punctured. It did hurt physically and I don’t care who knows it, but the realization of what I was actually doing hurt more. "This is real. Shots two times a day is going to be my reality until...when?” My specialist said until I get pregnant, and then throughout the first trimester, and to call in August if I'm not pregnant. Ok...so 7 months? That’s 420 syringes, 81 vials and a gallon of rubbing alcohol…and an end in sight (?).

            I have to remember that hope is necessary for anyone going through infertility treatments, while also remembering previous promises, "You'll be pregnant by summer....you'll be pregnant by Christmas...you'll be pregnant by the time school's over...never mind, something's wrong with you." When walking (kicking, screaming, being dragged) down any medical path, there is little to separate suggestion and solution. We’ve been given suggestions all along, and none of those have proven worth the weight of energy it took to profess them. My mind goes back to March 2009 when a doctor told me that taking my temperature every morning would result in getting pregnant…it seems so absolutely ignorant and like child’s play compared to what was really going on inside of me. I want to clarify I am grateful to try something new, pleased that insurance did not categorize the Rx as an infertility drug, and to have a diagnosis that might explain why we have not been able to sustain a pregnancy. But it is not wisdom to “see” any finish line or put a period at the end of the sentence that begins with, “I can’t stay pregnant because…”

            After the second shot, I called my mom crying. She tried to comfort me and tell me I was brave. I couldn’t have felt more like a silly little child, crying and carrying on after each shot. The next thing she said to me is something that I will carry on my heart for as long as I live (and this applies to you too). “You don’t think you’re brave?” she asked me, with genuine surprise in her voice. “You dared to leave the very presence of God to come to this earth knowing a little of the heartache and struggles you would face here. I can’t imagine any other word for you but brave.” My momma was right. We all were once in the very presence of God, all the time, every day! And as souls agreed to leave to experience this Earth and all that came with it. I am brave… and not because I have to give myself shots, but because I am me. And being me comes with its own unique set of circumstances that will be overcome. She would advise you just the same, and I encourage you with my whole heart to look in the mirror and appreciate what you see, what you have been through, what you will go through, and Who is cheering you on from above.

            A few more shots, many soggy sweatshirt sleeves and swollen eyes later, I made up my mind- I was going to have to do this myself. I took one syringe and one vial of medicine and put them into a super shiny gold make up bag. Curt was watching a movie in the living room, I sneaked passed him went into our bathroom. I whispered, “Ok someday baby, I’m going to be brave for you. I hope this makes you come here faster.” I meditated on Philippians 4:13 and I did it. And I could not have been more proud of myself. Shots 6, 7, and 8 came the same way. I am brave, and every trial makes me even more so.

I am a Mutant

While tempering the newly cultivated opinions and passions of my 7th graders learning about First Amendment rights while studying the shenanigans of the Westboro Baptist Church, Dr. Simckes called.

 "Cancel your surgery," he said. "You tested positive for the genetic mutation disorder I told you."

 trying to hush my kids, turning down the rantings of the crazy Phelps woman on the screen, where's my pen...how do you spell thrombophilia?

"Ok," I said. "What do we do?" and my throat tightened.

He went on to tell me that I have a genetic mutation disorder called Thrombophilia, more commonly known as Factor V Leiden, which is a blood clotting condition. He said that at any time when I was using birth control in the past I could have died, and that for every day for the rest of my life I need to take a baby aspirin. He wants me on folic acid and pre-natal vitamins every day. "And you're going to have to give yourself 2 shots of Heparin twice a day in the stomach." I'm sorry, what?!

"How long do I do this? How many months until I call you and say it doesn't work?"

"I believe you'll be pregnant in a few months." I have heard that before...when I was put on Clomid...when I was put on Metformin...when I was put on Femara...

Dr. Simckes called in the injections to our Walgreens. I asked our school nurse if she would teach Curt and I how to do this crazy thing. We should practice giving shots to oranges, so we know how deep to go.

 "That will be $580.00," says the pharmacist. Yes, of course, insurance wants a pre-authorization letter from the ordering doctor...except it can't be Simckes, he's connected with a Fertility Clinic. We stopped the pharmacist mid-phone call. I'll call my PCP on Monday, and beg him to do me another favor...order the same Rx that Simckes did, and leave off anything with the words "fertility", or "pregnancy". So the medicine I should have been on 2 years ago, after stopping the birth control that I never should have been on, will have to wait a few more days...

Crash Course in Factor V…

 All women carrying a gene for Factor V Leiden may need to wear special stockings to prevent clots during the last half of pregnancy. Sweet. "Special Stockings"...they better come in not stupid colors.

Only 5%, or 1 in 1 million women in North America have this disorder, and it's predominantly a Caucasian thing.

Considering that the risk of developing an abnormal blood clot averages about 1 in 1,000 per year in the general population, the presence of one copy of the factor V Leiden mutation increases that risk to 1 in 125 to 1 in 250. Having two copies of the mutation may raise the risk as high as 1 in 12. I have only 1 mutation. So I get the aspirin daily, not the Coumadin. Yaaaaaay.

"So I'm a mutant," I thought while chewing my orange flavored baby aspirin. "I wonder what my super powers are going to be."

The Lillies of the Field (did not hyperventalate)

Written on March 23, posted on March 31

Today is March 23. I have a devotion book that I received from my sister Sarah, and today's message touched me.

I am a God of both intricate detail and overflowing abundance. When you entrust the details of your life to Me, you are surprised by how thoroughly I answer your petitions.

Intricate detail...He designed this body, and knows why it isn't working. He knows every fiber of my being. And in abundance are His resources, His gifts of healing, and His attention. I need to trust that the details of this journey (right now the worry and fear of cost is dominating my thoughts).

I take pleasure in hearing your prayers, so feel free to being Me all your requests. The more you pray, the more answers you can receive.

I'm stuck at "all" of my requests. I almost want to say, "Are you sure?...Because I am super needy." Is it true that the more we pray, the more we will receive from Him?

Best of all, your faith is strengthened as you see how precisely I respond to your specific prayers.
Right now, I am running on empty in the faith department. I know I can't expect anything from Him if I don't believe with my whole heart.

Because I am infinite in all My ways, you need not fear that I will run out of resources.Abundance is at the very heart of who I am.
I know that God can't run out of anything, because He built and created everything. I need to remember the lillies of the field. None of them ever freaked out about anything, and neither did the birds. I have got to start believing that He loves me too and will provide just as abundantly for me.

Come to me in joyful expectation of receiving all that you need--and sometimes much more! I delight in showering blessings on my beloved children.
When I think of joyful expectation, I think of being a kid having a birthday party. I remember what it was like getting ready for that day, seeing your friends, and opening presents. God wants to give us presents. God wants to give me presents, too. Right? God wants to give me my heart's desire? What if children are not part of the plan he has for my little family? If it isn't, Lord, please help me realize that and accept it sooner rather than later.

Come to me with open hands and heart, ready to receive all that I have for you.
I'm going home this weekend to have my Poppa and my patriarch give us a special blessing and administration. I need to have joyful expectation like I am going to a birthday party. I hope that the Lord gives me a present that I understand.

The Princess' New Clothes...(didn't matter)

Three days before my appointment...

I received some _________(fill in the blank, I don't have a pleasant or polite take on this yet) news just a few days before my appointment that disoriented my courage and calm. Convulsing with disappointment, and ugh- the dreaded emotion I despise more than anything...envy, I cried and raged into my pillow. Another "unexpected, unplanned, accidental" pregnancy that wasn't exactly occurring on the peripheral was announced. My heart and mind immediately went to my grandparents whom I adore with my whole soul. What causes a significant portion of my grief and angst over this situation is that they might not ever hold my babies. But now they probably will hold this one. My Poppa might not be here to bless my babies...but will probably be blessing this one. My babies might not have their pictures taken with their great grandparents, but this one probably will. It's typical Mre-Proctocal to throw a raging fit and cry "why me?" or in this case, "why not me". I don't think these "special reactions" will ever completely stop, but their length is shortening as I continue to grow (up). After the sob-fest, I realize and remember that probablies and maybes are useless. I am reminded too, that God doesn't give people babies because they are nice people, who have good jobs, who are Christian or because they are educated. He doesn't give babies because people "deserve" them. They aren't rewards, and they aren't punishments. And this particular situation? I wouldn't have wanted this person's life over mine in another other circumstance, so why start now? So I won't. Thank you, mom for chasing me around the house with a Xanax, and to my sister Sarah for peeling me off the ceiling and turning my pillow over when it got soggy, my sister Autumn and cousin Jenny for talking with me on the phone.  

One day before...

Before the visit to the clinic, I caught myself in a familiar pattern that I'm having trouble labeling. It's either denial or stupidity, or a naive combination of both. As I've mentioned before, I convince myself that if something looks pretty, nothing bad can happen to it. So, the night before our consultation, my cousin Lydia and I made a ton of breakfast food: a sausage egg casserole, potatoes with green and red peppers, fresh fruit, orange juice and raspberry yogurt. I bought a new outfit from Maurice’s. New jeggings (highly recommended by the way) a white tank top that went under a springy green lace tank top and a little chocolate milk colored jacket. I felt confident and prepared.

The morning of...

I threw up before we got in the car, and my doctor could have cared less about my jeggings...he still conducted an ultra sound and took 13 tubes of blood. (I'm sure if he would have noticed my super cute earrings along with everything else, he would have thought, no this girl is too put together and she's SO NICE! I don't need to see anything here...right?!) It's always such a shock when this defense mechanism doesn't work, I honestly don't know why I continue to feed it.

During...

Dr. Simckes asked us questions. We asked him some too. Some of those were super fun for Curt to answer in front of my parents (I'm sure they will sleep better understanding the complexity incorporated with sperm count and motility as it pertains to their son in law) We all had put money on which "fertility phrase" was going to get my dad out of his chair and back into the waiting room. To their credit, both men stayed put and endured to the uncomfortable end. No one giggled either when Dr. Simckes waved a model of the female reproductive organs around like a flag while he explained how they worked. (Seriously, we filmed this whole thing- its classic.)

His first direction was to rule out 2 genetic factors; one was clotting and the other would account for multiple pregnancy loss, hence the 13 tubes of blood. The ultra sound was equally pleasant (Curt's first experience with that realm too) but showed no signs of abnormality to explain this (temporary!) infertility.

After...

We have been since told that my blood work was all normal. He would like to schedule an operative laparoscopy before June to address endometriosis. Where we go from there is dependent upon the results from that surgery and the tests related to it. If I do not have endometriosis, then it's back to the drawing board which points towards IVF. If I do, then hopefully the surgery will put everything back in its proper place and it will just be a matter of time.

Today...

I am not sure what today is quite yet...I am becoming myself, one day at a time.

Cradle of Stones and a Bluebonnet Story

This weekend I spent laughing and visiting with my friend Nikki from back home. There are certain places that I have to take those who visit us in Branson: Dicks 5 and 10 is among them. It is every ADHD child/adults dream. It is a cracker jack box of primary colors, it's a circus of pop culture icons from every decade since Elvis and in between the narrow aisles and merchandise stacked upon merchansise are tourists and little tiny old people handling tokens that remind them from the past. I foud Curt in the toy aisle lost in thought, running his fingers along a box of army guys. "When we have our kids," he said, "We're going to come here to buy them toys." This is how he talks about it, through slips of hope when he remembers something from his own childhood that he wants to see a little one do just like he did, specifically a pirate ship made of legos. This Christmas I found a pirate lego ship kit on line and ordered it for him. He sat alone at the kitchen table and built a ship that came with a shark and a treasure chest that had a hinge and four plastic diamonds you could set inside. I wasn't much for playing with toys as a child, but Sarah and I were into stories, art, plays, music, creating anything with paper and crayons (I loved the smell of crayons and couldn't stand for them to be dull or not in rainbow order...except when I was going through an alphabetical phase). I wandered around the store looking for something that I would want to pass on if we did have children of our own. In the very back corner of the store were some story books. Curt and I played with the ones that had puppets in them and we laughed as he experimented with giving barn animals different voices. He is going to be so great at this...on a shelf next to some Nancy Drew books was a picture book called, "The Legend of the Bluebonnets". Recognition and familiarity immediately rushed to my eyes and heart. This story was a story that we had heard all through growing up from "Claire tapes". Claire was a story teller in Texas who lived in a beautiful old barn made into a house in the middle of a big grassy field. She had an old paint horse. My Poppa and Granny would have her read Sarah and I stories and record them. We listened to them until they couldn't be listened to anymore. I bought the book with intentions to give it to my sister, Sarah (I haven't bought anything for "someday baby" in a year) who has been collecting Claire's story books. I read it before I went to sleep, and woke up thinking about it. I brought it to work with me this morning, the book having gained a new purpose overnight. Before the school day started, I found a particular student that had been placed on my heart. I called the child to my desk and asked him if he would do me a favor. He was very unsure of the situation and hesitant- he thought he was in trouble. I said, "You know how when y'all ask me if we are ever going to have kids, and I say no because we teach and that pretty much ruined it for us?" (side note: My kids KNOW that I am joking. It's a defense mechanism to ward off their questions. They think it's funny and say things like, "What about me, Mrs. Ivey? You can't mean me. I'm sure you want 10 just like me." And then we joke about this back and forth.) The boy at my desk says slowly, "Yesssss..." I can't look at him because I don't want to cry. "Because we don't have any of our own, we sometimes want to share things with other kids that we would have passed on to our own. You understand?" He nods again and says that yes he does understand. "You would be doing me a very big favor if you took this little book from me," I tell him. "I was read this story when I was a little girl. I think you'll like it to." He smiled a little and says, "Sure." And then he gave me a little hug before he went to his first hour. A little bit of mothering went a lovely long way for me today. I hope against hope that this little boy treasures that story, if even for just today.

On the way to work this morning, I asked God, "What can be worse than an empty cradle?" He said to me right away, "A cradle full of stones." He went on to tell me that every worry was a stone filling up a cradle and I keep carrying it around, setting it down only when it becomes unbearable, but then back up again in my arms. "You cherish those stones. You love them, you coddle them, you cry over them, you worship them and cradle them." If I never become a biological mother, may the Good Lord who created me send me thousands of little boys and girls who would honor me by taking a token of my own childhood, or sharing their childhood with me. I was a mother today, if only for a moment. And I am in love and in awe of how wonderful the experience was.

A Very Full Cup

I could not sleep at all last night. After I wrote last night, babies were on the brain and so were my worries about how people were going to react. I don’t know what I was expecting…hate mail? I guess I was waiting for condemnation, or even worse: someone thinking (then voicing) that we deserved this and this was all some sort of “come-uppance”. I couldn’t have underestimated my friends and family more… I have the most full cup ever! If I am ashamed of anything, it is that I painted myself into a corner and waited for judgments. Thank you for meeting me where I am and for offering such strong words of hope and courage.

I heard from parents of students past and present, colleagues, friends from high school and Chili’s- it has been overwhelming in the most wonderful, sweet way! I received emails all day long full of faith, hope, prayers, support- and not one person judged me.  I do not know how I managed to gather such loving and caring people throughout my life.

You and the time you took to read our story are beyond price.

Until March 15, may God repay you several times over for how sweet you’ve been to me.

Grieving Little Pieces

      

For the girl who plans everything and is rarely deterred...a roadblock such as this has taken some getting used to. It's something that I am somewhat ashamed of, but I'm working on that just as fast as I can. Which is really, very, very slow. We haven't quite grieved the whole situation, but little pieces as they surface. For instance, watching a movie where a wife surprises her husband with the fact that she is pregnant. It will probably never be a surprise for us… hearing from a friend who unexpectedly got pregnant for the fourth time. We will more than likely not ever have an unexpected pregnancy and certainly not a fourth. We have a little collection of "in-faith" gifts: hand-sewn leather infant moccasins from dear neighbors who are Native American, a tiny blue bathrobe with a turtle on it with matching turtle slippers that I bought as soon as we got married, a stuffed Pooh bear we bought last fall after hearing a testimony from my Nonna about faith. The few items are kept in a drawer that we don't open anymore. After 2 years of trying, one miscarriage, and months of medications, we have been told that having children "naturally" can not happen because my body doesn't make the right amount of hormones to sustain a pregnancy. Even with high doses of synthetic hormones, my levels were dangerously low and if pregnant, I would have a 10-20% success rate. The odds are definitely not in our favor. When we were referred for IVF (invitro fertilization), I almost fell off the doctor's table. I had never considered something so radical. I thought a baby would come if I took the right combination of pills…and waited. Patiently. Without stress. Calmly.

Now, we’ve referred to clinics all over the state. What a task…researching fertility clinics in the evenings, making calls on our plan hours, taking notes, comparing costs. Insurance doesn’t cover infertility or anything associated with it (they will, however, pay for Viagra and birth control). One clinic in Overland Park costs $800 just to walk in the door. The success rate is less than 60%. It might not work, there’s no guarantee it will work. My shoulders sank more every day. My futile planning and wasted months “just waiting for it to happen” literally mocked me as I started drowning in information and terminology and conversations with strangers about my ineffective reproductive system…so I took the typical Mare position and started organizing. I have a binder (it is pink), every clinic has a file, everything is color coded, there are pockets and print outs and notes from phone calls made. I’ve always had a knack for making a disaster look neat. Just ask my previous math teachers. The answers may have been wrong, but they looked good. My step-mom found an article about a clinic in St. Louis that operates the same technology and procedures as other clinics but for ½ the cost. We have a consultation there on March 15. I am hesitant to be excited. I am drawn to go without any hope, which feels so foreign to me and is not natural for my personality. I always am hoping for the best; but am genuinely afraid to do so this time.

What am I afraid of? I am afraid that people will judge us, thinking if God wanted us to have kids, he would have given them to us. I’m afraid that if we are blessed with children,  assisted by  technology and petri dishes that they won’t be seen as “real” or “natural”.  I’m afraid some people will look at this situation and somehow conclude that Curt and I deserve this disability. I fear that it won’t work. I fear that it will work. I am afraid of disappointing my family. It’s so nice pretending to be perfect…the world is about to know that I’m not. My life isn’t. My body isn’t (and by body I’m not suggesting I ever thought I was beautifully- perfect,  I’m referring to the fact that my system is broken; thus imperfect)  I fear the twinge of jealousy that takes away from the focus of being happy for other people’s good fortune and blessings will only grow and embitter what I think is a pretty kind and compassionate heart.

Emily Dahmer is a girl that I taught with at Ray-Pec. On one of our many snow days, while playing on facebook, I noticed that she had a blog. Reading further, I learned that Emily and her husband were on the same strange path that Curt and I were on. The Dahmers are a few giant steps ahead of us and have already tried IVF. Reconnecting with her has been the clichéd ray of sunshine in a dark room where I was bumbling around running into huge pieces of furniture, smashing my shins and running out of battery life on a very small flash light. I was afraid to tell anyone I couldn’t have a baby. She is teaching me that it’s all right to talk about. I need to learn that I didn’t do anything wrong, and I believe the heart of Emily knows that about herself.  I wish I could hug her every day.

Curt and I became a family when we married. We desire to come to a place where our souls accept that this little family might always be very little. We are already parents, in ways that most people aren’t. Between the two of us, we have 360 kids. Each and every day we pour some of our love out onto them, whether they want it or not. Who knows how many kids we will “have” by the end of our lives?

“What can we do? What do you need? How can we help?” Pray for us, and do not invite us to baby showers. We’ll send the present. No one wants to sit next to the weeping, un-pregnant girl pouting in the corner, anyway. I really should tattoo 1Thessalonians 5:16-18 to my wrist (Curt says no) “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

Until then...! Bear with me as I refuse to bottle things up...