What Is Normal, Anyway?

* This post was written roughly a week before it was posted, when I just completed 37 weeks.


It's as if I tried to live like everything's normal.

We have contenders for names, but haven't really chosen one or made great efforts toward choosing one.

I haven't yet packed a bag for the Birth Center.

We haven't focused on reading books to learn about parenting or even pregnancy and childbirth for that matter.

I didn't maintain my exercise routine like I imagined I would.

I haven't made many physical preparations for natural delivery as I originally expected and planned to do.

I haven't knit one single stitch for the baby.  Not one.  I always imagined that the minute I learned I was pregnant I would pick up my knitting needles and not put them down until I had completed a layette, a stuffed animal, booties, a hat, and a blanket for the baby.

Instead, I picked up the TV remote, slept a ton, or went out of the house as a distraction.

I have spent most of this pregnancy distracting myself from the abnormal...even while the abnormal is a type of normal for our family.

We decided to pursue IVF just before we moved into a house that was damaged by our previous tenants.  We scrambled to restore a sense of order to it while DH was away in California for a month of training and prior to him leaving for Iraq. 

He left for Iraq just after we learned the IVF was unsuccessful and we had lost and were grieving the loss of 14 of 15 embryos.  We count them in our hearts as 14 children we have yet to meet.

DH deployed and a few days later I started another round of hormones for the Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET).

A few weeks after the deployment began, we had the procedure to transfer our one frozen embryo into my uterus. DH was there via Skype.

DH and I learned we were pregnant "together" over the Internet...a new kind of "normal" for us.

I went through cravings, morning sickness, mood swings, and physical changes in my own house, by myself, without my support system/partner/best friend/husband.

I often forgot I was pregnant when I was at home because DH wasn't there to remind me by making sweet comments that expectant fathers make to their wives.  Even after I started showing and could feel the baby move, I would forget for large portions of the day that I was pregnant because it wasn't part of what was "normal" in my world.

Copyright 2012 Rebekah Lynn Photography

Only when the baby moved or when someone outside of the house commented on my appearance would I remember I was pregnant.  I didn't have a husband doting on me at home, putting his face to my belly and talking to the life growing inside of me.  Our baby didn't really hear her father's voice until well into the 8th month of pregnancy.

My battle buddy, the cat DH and I had learned to love in spite of all of it's awful habits and personality traits...the cat God had used to test our metal, to strengthen our resolve, and to prove our dedication, commitment, and loyalty...the cat that had provoked me to cuss on a regular basis but over which would rise up in me a fiercely loyal defensiveness if anyone spoke an ill word against it...the cat family members insisted we get rid of if we were to have children...the cat that we had FINALLY rehabilitated, FINALLY convinced it was safe and not in danger in the world, that could FINALLY be around children and behave almost as a normal cat...this cat we had poured our time, love, and money into for seven and a half years...died.

Normal was slipping even further away.

I became ill with what felt like, looked like, and yet wasn't the Flu.  There was no one there to bring me water when I needed a drink.  No one to bring me something to eat, much less prepare it.  I ran fever for six days, by myself, in my room, yet I still had the other cat to take care of.

I seldom get sick.  When I do, DH is usually there to care for me.  It's also usually normal for me to let my fever run its course and for me to sleep as long as I need to without worrying about eating.  With the baby on board, I HAD to eat and I NEEDED to keep the fever down.  But, because the baby was on board, a simple cold that wouldn't have phased me normally, knocked me on my rear and had me bedridden for days.  I praise God for my mom who was able to go out of her way to stop by my house twice during that time to bring me medicine and to do what she could to set up my room where I would have to get up as little as possible. 

For once, the baby was constantly on my mind as I feared I wasn't staying cool enough with my temperature spiking so frequently, and I feared I was starving the poor child as I was unable to prepare much to eat or even stomach much of anything.  

Normal was the farthest thing from my world at that time.

I recovered physically and then the holidays came.  Not only was DH not here for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the New Year, but my hormones were changing as I settled into a new trimester, my body was expanding as the baby grew, and I foolishly planned to spend every free moment of the holidays with family...first with DH's, and then with my own.  I don't even do that when DH is here to help me keep perspective.  I have no idea why I thought it would be a good idea in his absence.  Normal was non-existent.

The holidays were an emotional disaster for me personally and there were several casualties of my internal war who were deeply affected.  While I've recognized, repented, and done what I could to set things right again following the aftermath, there is still healing that will have to occur before any real sense of normal can be reestablished with some who were involved.  On a positive note, my relationship with my mother is stronger than it's ever been before and I'm excited for her to be involved with us as the baby arrives.  But there were deep wounds elsewhere that will require more than time for healing.

At some point in the midst of all of this, DH's unit said they were coming home.  Then they weren't.  Then they were, then they weren't again.  Meanwhile, my support group at church had the other unit's wives in it, rejoicing when I was sad and sad when I wanted to rejoice, as their husbands' unit was the counter-tug in our tug-of-war of who gets to come home and who has to stay.  When one woman whose husband is enlisted brought up the accusation that I couldn't understand something because my husband is an officer, I had to quit going to the group.  I had enough in my life working against me negatively to subject myself to such accusations and lack of support in the very place I was seeking support.

DH's unit was finally chosen to stay and I was finally able to rest in knowing when he would return.  There were some good days, but I was tired a lot and found it difficult to eat.  I learned I wasn't getting enough protein, so I found a new resolve to get more creative and was able to remedy the situation.  It's difficult to have the motivation to prepare ample, healthy food for just myself, especially when I'm already lacking energy.  Had DH been home, cooking would have seemed more necessary, and would have been easier because he would have helped either pick up groceries or taken care of the dishes...most likely both.  As it was, it was easier for me to eat the bare minimum after my pot of stew for the week ran out when I didn't even have the energy to clean the now-empty pot.


Word came that DH was coming home early and that we would be in another town for a couple of months just as the baby was due.  Hello, Normal!


I scrambled to get things in order, attended a birth class (sans husband) meanwhile dealing with the aforementioned aftermath of the holidays.  During this time, I learned of some very difficult news involving two of our closest friends.  DH and I were floored and longed to be there for them in any way possible, yet we were extremely limited in our options.  Fasting (from media, not from food) and prayer became the new normal for me.


Meanwhile, as my heart was aching for these dear friends, my life was suddenly a whirl of baby showers and last minute repairs and preparations on the house.  I attempted to get the nursery as ready as possible and make the house feel as put-together as possible, even though there was still much to do to restore what the renters had ruined.


Finally, DH was due to arrive!  Yet even that had its drama, requiring me to reschedule plans with the hotel at least three times.  And while I had trepidations of what it might be like for my husband to see me for the first time in 8 months and for us to be "reunited" (ahem) for the first time since becoming pregnant, at the 8th month mark, I didn't allow those concerns to overshadow his homecoming.  I looked forward to finally regaining a sense of normal.


But, as any good military wife knows, so much changes over a deployment.  Obviously my body had changed.  But the REASON behind my body's changes was going to be the biggest adjustment.
I was excited to have him home and couldn't wait for him to talk to the baby and help me feel pregnant, help me feel like being pregnant was normal.  Neither of us had had any idea how strangely difficult it would be to overcome seven and a half years of thinking of ourselves as incapable of being pregnant.  While embracing the fact that we were pregnant was not at all difficult, embracing the pregnancy and all that it involves as something WE were privileged to experience was beyond surreal and far, far from normal.

Copyright 2012 Rebekah Lynn Photography

So, here we are...in an RV my parents so graciously allowed us to borrow so our cat could stay with us, in a town three hours from my nurse-midwife and the hospital I originally expected to deliver at, three weeks a way from the 40 week mark, completely unprepared for what is to come.  As my friends who were due the same time as I am either have already given birth (prematurely) or are experiencing symptoms of labor, I am keenly aware of how much preparation for DH and me there is still to be done.  We have contingency plans in case our ideal plan of delivery doesn't pan out, and the baby will have all she needs when she arrives...but this is not where or how I imagined I would be at the nearing of our first child's arrival.


For me, it seems, "normal" is the lack of normalcy.  And trying to cling to my idea of normal only muddies the water and delays preparation for what is to come.


I am thankful to be expecting this child.
I am thankful DH is here to talk to her, to lead, support, and encourage me, and to physically represent God's continued faithfulness and steadfastness in my life.
Neither of us really knows what we will do when the time to birth this baby comes, but that's pretty much standard operation for our lives.  The plans we have set in advance often fall by the wayside and we usually have to adjust at the last minute to the way things actually pan out.  We are planning to prepare better for the delivery, in what little time we have remaining...at the very least, I will finally pack a bag ;-)  
But I've been reminded over these last nine months that, while normal is in no way overrated, it is not something that is always beneficial to cling to.  Part of why I love the life of being in the military, why I love marriage, and why I longed to experience pregnancy is because of the adventure of it all.  
"Normal" tames adventure, and let me tell you, this year has been one wild ride!

Copyright 2012 Rebekah Lynn Photography

I Was "That Girl"

Recently, my cousin, who has been aware of her infertility far longer than I have been of my own, had a small family gathering to celebrate her dad's birthday since he and his wife were in town from out of state.  My cousin only lives 45 minutes away from me and I couldn't justify missing the gathering, especially since I do not often see my uncle.  I was also under the impression that my sister, who is pregnant with her 5th child, would be there with her family, and possibly some of my other siblings.

So, the day arrived, and although I was very tired and had a long weekend ahead of me, I made the drive, looking forward to seeing family I don't often see.  My parents were there, my mom's other brother and his wife were there, another cousin of mine was there with her kids, and then there was me.  It was a small gathering, but it was nice for visiting.

I'm not yet used to this whole "being pregnant" thing, and I'll be honest, I'm not as big a fan of the attention I get now because of the pregnancy as many people tend to be.  I'm not sure if it's because I don't really feel pregnant, if it's some latent feeling of being undeserving of such attention, or if it's because my husband isn't here with me to enjoy it and be a part of it.  All I know is it's a strange thing to be the center and focus of pregnancy talk after so many years of standing on the outskirts of conversations about pregnancy.

Usually what's on my mind when I'm at a family gathering is: 1) What food is there here that I can eat without making the hostess feel the need to prepare something special, and 2) How can I keep from reliving awkward memories from the past and/or making new ones for the future.  Since I hadn't eaten in several hours, my mind was mostly on the food.

As I was standing in the kitchen, the cousin who was hosting was setting things out in preparation to eat, and one of my aunts and my other cousin came over to me to talk about the pregnancy.  I didn't think much of it.  It was nice to actually have something to talk about besides my food restrictions and the fact that I don't work or have children.  So I shared my observations about pregnancy, and had a great conversation with my aunt and cousin.  I didn't even feel awkward talking about being pregnant.

And then I looked up and saw my cousin, the hostess, standing on the outskirts of the conversation, listening but not participating, and I was immediately in her shoes in my mind.

I tried to convince myself that the conversation probably didn't bother her since she and her husband had decided to adopt rather than attempting to pursue any medical intervention.  I tried to believe that she probably wasn't feeling pain because her 9 year old son was running through the house, playing with his cousins.  I even tried to convince myself that maybe she didn't even hear what was being said because she's hard of hearing and with all the background noise her hearing aids might have missed the conversation.

But this is the same cousin that had once told me that even after adoption, the longing is still there...the hope still comes with every cycle and the disappointment on calendar day one.

I was torn.  I didn't want to be rude and abruptly end the conversation, but I didn't want to be insensitive and continue it, either.  I tried, and eventually succeeded, to change the subject to that of dietary needs and restrictions, but the damage had been done.

I, an infertile pregnant woman, had stood in the kitchen of another infertile woman and had a long conversation in front of her with other people about the joys of my own pregnancy.  I was "That Girl."  The one that didn't recognize the need for sensitivity.  The one that didn't shut up, but rather gushed on and on about the experience of being pregnant.  I caused a fellow infertile woman to be keenly reminded of her infertility, IN HER OWN HOME!

I immediately wished I hadn't come and even wondered why I had.  What did I really think I had to offer my uncle by being there?  His brothers and sisters, daughter and grandson were there, and that's really all he needed on his birthday.  I had come simply out of a felt need to show my cousin that she was important to me.  Then I went and did the very opposite thing by completely forgetting about her and running off at the mouth.

I approached her tentatively and apologized to her.  She was very gracious and responded that that's just the way things are at family gatherings when someone's pregnant and she's grown to expect it.  That did not make me feel any better, and it didn't convince me that she wasn't wounded.  But the damage had been done and there was nothing I could do to take it back.  Had my other pregnant sister been there, it might have been a bit different scenario, but she wasn't there.  I was the only walking reminder of my cousin's infertility.

I wish I could say that that incident is my one and only cringeworthy moment.  But I can't. I can't even say that it was my first.

Two weeks prior to that family gathering, I was shopping at a local Natural Grocer's when an acquaintance I hadn't seen in years, who happens to work at that store, recognized me and asked how my husband and I have been.

I was groggy from having had very little sleep and wasn't prepared for a conversation.  I told her we were fine and that my DH was deployed but should be returning early.  When there was an awkward pause, I thought, "What else is new with us that she'd want to know about?" and then I realized most people share news about their pregnancies, so I did.

Technically, there's nothing wrong with sharing that news with people when I haven't seen them in years, but there was something that flitted across her face in a fraction of a second.  But I was tired and wasn't sure I had really seen it.  We parted ways, I finished shopping, paid for the groceries and left the store.  As I drove away, a number of observations flooded my mind and I wondered if those observations were enough confirmation that perhaps she too was infertile.

I was kicking myself by the time I made it home, and praying that I had not wounded her or made her day difficult.  I called her at the store to ask for her e-mail address, and then sent her a long rambling apology e-mail asking her to forgive me if I had caused her pain, not knowing for sure she was even infertile.

She replied several days later, assuring me that all was well and that I hadn't wounded her.

But the fact that I had so easily spouted out the news of my pregnancy without even thinking weighed heavily on my heart.  And then to have followed that incident with the one I described at my cousin's house...I truly never thought that I would be "That Girl."

I have loathed and despised others who have filled that role, wondering how it was possible for someone to be so completely unaware and insensitive, vowing that I would NEVER be that way, if I were ever blessed with a pregnancy.  And yet, here I am.

I pray that God will grant me the grace and discernment to avoid filling that role again.  I pray that He will prevent me from causing others pain as they walk through this journey of infertility.  I pray that I will always be mindful of the pain others may be experiencing that I know all too well.  And may God keep me from ever being "That Girl" again.

An Update and a Rant

It's been a while since I've posted on here.  I haven't had a ton of things to say lately, but also, I've had a difficult time keeping thoughts in my head long enough to get them typed out.  Seriously, I was in the middle of posting a Facebook status, and lost the thought mid-sentence.  So, we'll see how this goes.  

After my last post, by God's grace, I was finally able to settle in with the idea that this pregnancy might actually stick.  I'm thankful I was still having blood work done weekly to monitor the placenta's progress because after my first sonogram with my OB, I have had to wait over a month before being seen again.  I have to admit, I got spoiled to having a sonogram at the RE's office every other week.  So it was comforting to have the numbers of my progesterone and estradiol levels go up so I could know things were progressing as they should.  Eventually I was even allowed to stop taking the progesterone and estradiol I had been prescribed and I have now officially graduated my RE.

I'm happy to be able to say that things are progressing well with the pregnancy and I am at 13 weeks 2 days today.  I was under the impression that the first trimester was officially over after I completed the 12th week, but then I read online today that I'm technically still in the first trimester until the end of the 13th week.  Either way, it's good to have a glimmer of hope that I may just get my energy back as I had two wonderful days this week with energy (until I got hit with a stomach bug).

Prior to this pregnancy, I had grown accustomed to hearing insensitive comments made by well-meaning people who know nothing about what it's like to deal with infertility yet feel compelled to speak on the subject.  I had developed responses (both to share with the speaker and also to keep to myself), and was becoming adept at looking at them with pity and sympathy because they just didn't "get it."  (I've had the blessing of having many fertile friends who were able to "get it" without having to walk through it because they could see past themselves and made every attempt to imagine themselves in my shoes.)

And I knew to expect the "pregnancy police" to come around once I started to show or when I spread the word that I was pregnant.  Those people that feel it is their duty to delineate to every pregnant woman they encounter the "do's" and "don'ts" of being pregnant.  I also expect to have certain family members become entirely too interested in every aspect of the pregnancy, feeling compelled to take on the role of "pregnancy police."  (If you're a family member reading this blog, you're not one I'm concerned about...otherwise you wouldn't have access to this blog ;-) )

I remember reading some responses on some blog posts about complaining after finally achieving the BFP (Big Fat Positive) after battling infertility.  Many people shared their thoughts that if anyone had the right to complain during pregnancy, that it was someone who could truly appreciate what they had.  I took that to heart and have allowed myself to have mini pity parties for a moment or two as needed, not sharing it with anyone other than myself or my husband, or occasionally my Tweeps.  But truly, I have found even the most unpleasant changes of pregnancy to be fascinating, so I haven't really been complaining much at all.

But THEN...as I was falling asleep one evening, blissfully singing a Bon Jovi tune a Facebook friend had planted in my brain, I was hit with a sudden headache and an intense desire to eat (and I had already brushed my teeth so I was NOT going to get up just to eat something and have to brush my teeth again).  I ignored both of them for a while, but sometimes, it just helps to share your pain with others to make it a bit more bearable.  So I grabbed my phone and posted the following on Facebook:

Well, hello there, Headache and Sudden-Hunger-Pangs :-/

I don't remember inviting either of you to join me.

And that was it.  I thought it was cute and clever, and that pride was probably my downfall.  Because later (I don't remember if it was that night that I saw it or the next day), I read a response from an acquaintance from one of my high schools.  This is what she wrote:

"as soon as you started creating life you invited

all kinds of cool feelings into your life."

Initially, I clicked "like" because that's my knee-jerk response when I don't know how to respond to someone I can tell means well, but actually offended me greatly.  But the more I thought about it, the more frustrated I became.  Here is a woman who has several children, and while I can't prove it, it APPEARED to my extremely defensive frame of mind at the time that she was looking down upon me in all of her "experienced motherly wisdom" as if to say, "oh, honey, welcome to the club, get used to it, parts of this sucks," but it's phrased in such a way that what I HEARD when I read it was, "Well, if you can't handle all of the "fun" and "exciting" changes your body will be going through then you should have considered that before you got pregnant!"

Now, let me interject here...I am already a mildly defensive person.  It comes from years of believing everything everyone told me, only to realize later in life that many people took advantage of my gullible nature either for fun or for malice (all of which were hurtful to me), so my Pollyanna mentality flew out the window when I became disillusioned.  Now, I protect my heart first and ask questions later.  Sometimes, coupling this defensive stance is the aggressive attitude that goes with it.  The one that has a constant retort with just the slightest intent to sting when spoken.  This feature is not always there.  It usually only rears it's head when I haven't had enough sleep or when I've already had it "up to here."  But since I became pregnant, both of those tendencies have been amplified exponentially and I barely have a filter on my mouth to speak of.  Pretty much whatever is in my head is going to come flying out of my mouth before I can consider the ramifications of what I'm saying.

The longer I pondered my acquaintance's response, the more steamed I became and the more I felt I had to defend myself.  (By the way, I truly admire those people who can say, even when angry, "I don't owe that person an explanation," and then follow through on not needing to give the explanation...I, however, am the explanation queen and offer them to anyone who will listen, as I always feel the need to defend myself.)

So, I later replied (rather than deleting her comment altogether, which is what I wanted to do) with this response:

"Trust me, I knew what I was signing up for.  Totally worth it.  Still, I'm allowed to have my moments."  (actually, I misspelled allowed and had to fix it, which didn't help my pride)

To which she responded how happy she was for me to be pregnant and that she knew I would love it, as if to say, "Whoa, Nelly!  I wasn't judging you!" ;-)  And I was fine with that response.  It is, after all, difficult to know what is being conveyed in writing when it's in real time and unedited.

But I bring up this story because what I DIDN'T expect was to be judged by FERTILE people for taking note of my discomfort during pregnancy.  And honestly, most of my friends are super supportive and are excited to be able to have conversations with me about all of these "cool feelings" I invited into my life.  One thought that kept swimming through my brain was, "Why is it perfectly acceptable for fertile people to complain throughout the entirety of their pregnancy, but the minute someone who paid tons of money and went through myriad painful procedures and years of disappointment in order to become pregnant starts complaining the 'let me remind you what you signed up for' police are beating down her door?"  Seriously, lady, I think I earned the privilege to have a complaint or two.  (And please understand that I do differentiate between complaining and being all "woe is me!" about pregnancy.)

I have complained very little about anything to do with being pregnant.  Truthfully, I have had very little to complain about.  I find everything fascinating and exciting and I'm storing it all up in my heart because this may be the only time I get to experience any of this.  What I find myself complaining the most about is other people.  Not just the regular complaints I would have about other people if I weren't pregnant, and not just the amplified complaints I have about people doing normal things that suddenly annoy me because of copious amounts of hormones coursing through my body, but these are complaints about people who are interested in my pregnancy in a non-loving way.  They may mean well, but they're not motivated by love as much as they are motivated by having the need to say something.

Case in point: I go to a weekly bible study.  I have known many of the women involved in this study for several years.  Before I became pregnant, all the questions I received from these women were about DH's deployment and how he was doing.  Now that I'm pregnant, I get bombarded with questions about the baby, how I'm feeling, how far along I am, and all that mess.  If these were perfect strangers just learning that I'm pregnant, or even people I only see once a month, I could completely understand and accept their questions.  But these are women I fellowship with WEEKLY, often more than once a week, and all they can think to talk about with me is the condition of my health?!?!  Seriously???  I have a real problem with that!  Take the time to get to know me if you're going to use the air you're expelling, don't just waste it with veiled "chit-chat" by pretending that you're asking legitimate questions.  Honestly, I shouldn't have to tell you each week how far along I am or when I'm due if you really paid attention to the answer in the first place!  Needless to say, I'm frustrated about this.

Last thing before I close this forever-long post.  My mother-in-law was a champ all throughout our pre-pregnancy infertility days.  She struggled for four years before finally being able to conceive DH, her first child.  So, she truly understood our pain.  I'm not sure what happened, but somehow the announcement that we are pregnant changed her from being very understanding and "minding her own business" to feeling the need to pass on information from either herself or others on her side of the family that would be better left unsaid.  I mean, seriously, just because a family member insists that you pass on instructions to your pregnant daughter-in-law doesn't mean you can't install your own filter and choose NOT to pass on information that isn't worth repeating.  Which leads me to believe that she too feels that I need to hear the information that her family insists I need to hear.

What kinds of things do they want me to know, you ask?  Well, let me tell you.  The first lovely bit of information I received all the way from Florida was that I needed to be careful to not wear tight pants while I'm pregnant because it's important that I not squish the baby.  Ummm...thanks.  Thanks for that wise and sound advice.  Especially since I make it a habit to wear skin-tight, uncomfortable clothes all the time to catch the stares from all the guys (please hear my sarcasm in that)!  I won't go into a discourse on the lifestyle of this side of the family.  I'll just say that they're the side of the family that often gets spoken of in hushed whispers, and leave it at that.

The next advice came about a week or two after the recent Lysteria outbreak was announced on Cantaloup crops in the country.  Granted, this information would have been useful, if it had been given the day the news announced it instead of two weeks later.  But the insistence with which they conveyed to my MIL the importance of giving me the message indicates that they were certain I was out buying all the cantaloup I could eat and feasting on it daily.  Maybe the news takes a while to get to that part of Florida?  I don't know.  But by the time I heard the word from them, I had already passed up cantaloup once at the grocery store and twice at a friend's house, because I don't live under a rock!

The final thing actually came from my MIL herself and kind of threw me for a loop.  I finally started showing just a bit last week, and I went to visit my in-laws for dinner.  While we're eating, not having conversation, just eating, my MIL busts out with this statement:

"No, you don't look fat at all.  You just look pregnant."

I was flabbergasted.  I thought, "Did I ask if I look fat?  Because I don't remember saying anything about feeling fat or about anyone commenting on whether I appear fat or not.   Did someone tell you I look fat?  Or do you actually think I look fat?"  But I didn't say any of that.  Instead, I swallowed my food, looked at her, and said, "Thanks."

There have been many challenges in dealing with people as DH and I have walked through Infertility, and I would have thought they would have prepared me for the challenges we will have of dealing with people while we are pregnant.  But truly, they have not.  People are people and will always be practicing opening their mouth wide enough to put their foot in it, but neglecting the important part of actually swallowing their foot (myself included).  Of the many challenges I will face during the pregnancy, and then afterward as a parent, the one that I think will be the most difficult for me personally will be dealing with all of the other people who have opinions about my life.

Thanks for reading.  Prayers for my attitude toward other people will be greatly appreciated.

Blessings!

~Julia

Waiting For the Other Shoe to Drop

If you follow me on Twitter, then you may be aware of how anxious I have been the past several days.

It all started when I woke up ravenously hungry, without that constant knot in my stomach keeping me from wanting to eat.  I thought it was strange, but fully expected the knot and the nausea to return sometime that day.  It didn't.

The next morning, after having stayed up well past midnight, I awoke bright and early to find that I was far from feeling exhausted (as I had felt every morning and all of every day for the past three weeks), instead, I felt refreshed and alert.  Not only that, but the morning sickness was still missing.

I began to panic a little, but when I took a spontaneous nap later that day, I felt a little reassured.  However, I still did not feel anywhere near as tired as I'd been feeling.

Everyone tried to find words of comfort to reassure me, and I learned from many people that apparently it's "normal" to not feel sick and tired all the time in the first trimester.  That was news to me, because all I'd ever heard about were those miraculous pregnancies where there was never nausea or exhaustion, or about how exhausting and sick-feeling the first four months of pregnancy are.  Never had I heard of this "vanishing at 8 weeks" mystery I was experiencing.

Needless to say, I wasn't so sure my symptoms were "normal."  Especially in light of all the recent tragedy I had watched so many of my friends go through.

By the time Sunday rolled around with still no nausea and no exhaustion, I was convinced the baby was no longer living.  After all, I had gone the entire morning, past noon, without eating anything other than a communion wafer and sip of grape-juice without feeling anything other than hunger pangs.  AND (when I finally did eat) I was able to cook without the smell making me want to hurl.

Never in my life have I longed so much to feel the waves of nausea and be overtaken by exhaustion!  I spent the majority of Sunday afternoon in tears, listening to a comforting song over and over on my iPhone.

This morning, I called the clinic to tell them of my lack of symptoms.  I asked if it was normal or if I needed to schedule my upcoming sonogram for earlier in the week.  Because it's Labor Day, they had a skeleton crew, so the lady put me on hold for a while and then came back on the line and suggested I go in today.  She said they could see me at 1:00.  She mentioned something about the possibility that it could be normal, but that I should come in anyway just to be sure.

I was relieved that I would be able to know one way or the other today, but I was a little nervous that there was enough concern on their part to show me that I wasn't overreacting.

I called my in-laws to ask them to go with me because I knew there was no way I could make the trip back from Austin alone safely if the news wasn't good.  I sent DH a text message to let him know what was up, and headed to Austin.

DH's internet had been down the day before, but was thankfully working today.  He chatted with me via Yahoo! chat the whole way to Austin and helped me stay calm.  Then I was able to have him on my computer via Skype during the sonogram.  I'm very thankful that even though he's not able to physically be in the room with me that he makes every effort to be with me every step of the way, especially when I need him the most.

When the doctor (who is amazing) came in, I expressed how deeply concerned I was.  Rather than belittling my concerns, he somehow managed to validate my concerns without making me feel more anxious.  Like I said, amazing.  

I cannot put into words how incredibly relieved I was to see the baby and it's heart beat, and then to get to hear it again!  (And the baby decided to show off and do a little dance for us, as if to say, "See, Mom!  I'm FINE!  Stop worrying!  It's cramping my style!")

I shared with my in-laws (who are also amazing) on the way home that it must seem to people that I'm overreacting and how thankful I am to have a doctor who understands my concerns.  I told them that it takes a special breed to be able to work with infertile couples because emotions are so much higher and shakier and what seems normal to most people seems so incredibly BIG and daunting to couples dealing with infertility.

My father-in-law made the comment then that it only makes sense with all that infertile couples go through that they are waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I told him that that was it exactly!  It's been nearly impossible these last few weeks for me to nestle in and enjoy this pregnancy, and I've been chastised reminded by people who have watched me walk this journey to relax and enjoy every minute of the pregnancy.  They are people who love me, who have rooted for me and cheered me along each step of the way, and they want to see me enjoy what's been given to me.  But all I could think was, "Yes, but how much has been given to me?  How far will I get to carry this baby?  God didn't promise us this child.  What if His plan is for us to go through more heartache as a result of this pregnancy?"

Now, don't get me wrong.  I don't see God as a merciless being sitting and watching, rubbing his hands together eagerly waiting for an opportunity to wreak havoc in someone's life.  I don't see him that way at all!  In contrast, I view Him as loving and merciful, hearing and responding to His children and bringing good things out of every difficult thing they face in life.  He has proven that to be true in my life (and I hope I've conveyed that clearly through this blog).

But I do know that amazing people that love the Lord with all their heart have been brought through facing the loss of a child.  I also know that God saw fit to bring us through years of longing for a child.  Never once in all of these treatments did God promise that this pregnancy was going to be completely fulfilled.  And I know better than to assume that I know His plan for me.

So, I did what any veteran Infertile would do, I braced for impact of the potential "other shoe." 

In the midst of all my "Chicken Little" antics over the last week, it occurred to me that I had begun to view this baby as mine, and I had begun to see God as a potential threat to the life of this child.  When I realized that, I came before the Lord and told him that I had begun to view this pregnancy that way and I told him I was scared he was going to take the baby from me.

But, from the VERY BEGINNING of trying to have a baby, my husband and I had acknowledged that any child we were blessed with truly belonged to God and we viewed ourselves as being privileged to be trusted to raise that child before Him.  (That's our belief.)  So, when I realized how I had begun to view things, I took a step back.  No wonder I was so worried!  I can't control God.  I can't control life.  And trying to do either generally doesn't work out very well, in my experience.

So, in my conversation with God, I gave the baby back to him.  I told him that it was his from the beginning and asked that if it was his plan to take the baby from us that he would prepare our hearts and help us through the grief.

I needed the reminder that all I have has been given to me by God.  I needed the reminder to enjoy this pregnancy.  I needed the reassurance that all was well with this baby.  And I needed the affirmation from my father-in-law that it makes sense that I would be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Knowing that that's what I've been doing, will make it easier to recognize and let go of that mentality.

Thank you to all who encouraged me through my "Chicken Little" moments.  Thank you for not berating me, but for being there for me when I needed you.  May we all find a day when we no longer feel the need to brace for impact from the proverbial "other shoe."

Blessings,

Julia

Hormones, Deployments, & Babies-Oh, My!

I'm sitting here in bed beside my sleeping husband.  Today is our last full day together.  He will not lay beside me again for a very long time.


We have done our best this past month to make memories that will give us boldness to face this time apart and to help bring us through the first few weeks while we settle in.


I think we've done a pretty good job.  Making memories.  We've had quite a bit of fun the last few days reliving the memories of this last month together.  While I'd love to hash through them all again here, I will instead focus on two moments that were not particularly comfortable, but will stick with me for quite some time.


Over the 4th of July holiday, my husband and I travelled a few hours North to spend time with my siblings and their families.  We were daily among a total of ten of the dearest children I have ever known.  We love being with all of them and were blessed to have had this opportunity to spend such quality time with them before my husband leaves.


The night before we left, our family asked if they could pray for us before we all went to bed since the two of us would be leaving before anyone else would be awake.  It was a blessing and I was reminded once again, as I listened to the prayers, what an amazing gift we have been given to have such a supportive family.


After the prayer time, we all said "goodnight" and "goodbye."  I found myself in a conversation with one of my nieces (age 5) and one of my nephews (age 8) that went something like this:


Niece: How old are you?
Me: I'm 33.
Nephew: WHOA!  You're older than my mom!
Me: Yes.  Yes, I am older than your mom :-)
Nephew: (gears turning in his head)  And you don't have any children.
Me: No. No, we don't have any children.
Niece: (interjecting while Nephew processes) When are you going to have children?
Me: Well, I don't know :-)  We're surely trying.
Nephew: (with a look of concern, spoken with pauses) Do you think, maybe, God made it, so that you and [your husband] can't have children? (the concerned look remained)
Me: Yes, Nephew, that's exactly what I think (I smiled, he nodded- still processing the thought)
Niece: But you're going to a doctor! (spoken with enthusiasm and a smile)
Me: Yes, we are.  We're going to a doctor to get help to have a baby.


And as quickly as the conversation started, the conversation ended.  I love how easy it is to have conversations with children!  There's no pretense,  just straightforward conversation.  
And what a precious conversation that was to me!  My 8-year-old nephew took a moment in a day to process the reality, the weight, of the fact that we don't have children.  There are few adults that can, or will, do that!  This is a memory I will treasure.


After we returned from our holiday trip, we felt obligated compelled to drop in on a gathering our small group was having so DH could say, "goodbye."  Also, a friend's husband was home for R&R and DH wanted to see him since they'd be moving before DH gets back.


It is extremely hot in Texas this time of year, so the gathering was actually a pool party.  We did not wear bathing suits as we only intended to stay long enough to say "goodbye" but I would have been much more comfortable in something other than blue-jeans.


However, the discomfort of wearing blue-jeans in the heat was nothing compared to the emotional discomfort I felt about ten minutes into our time there.


Let me set the stage: 

• DH and I had limited time together and I was keenly aware of that fact and did not want to share him with anyone, much less a bunch of people I'm still not fully comfortable with...
• We had just returned from a trip to Austin for a baseline ultrasound appointment at which DH had to sign papers to give me permission to transfer our frozen embryo and/or have a fresh IVF cycle using his sperm while he's away...
• I had worn my #hope t-shirt for the occasion, but was feeling pretty hopeless in light of the fact that my favorite person on the planet was about to be taken away from me for who-knows-how-long...
• And (just for good measure) I had been taking estrogen (you know, the hormone I often describe on twitter as "not a happy hormone"), so on top of being emotional about my husband leaving, I was also dealing with hormonal mood swings and hot flashes.

So, my friend (the woman who was the maid of honor in my wedding, whose husband we were there for my husband to see...the one woman in that group who actually knows the depths of who I am) came up to me holding her third child while her other two children swam in the pool.

My husband had gone off to visit with the guys and I was standing beside a tree trying to avoid getting sucked into any conversations, but I was glad my friend came to say hi.

We had a lovely chat in which we commiserated over the woes and angst of being apart from our husbands, and I was encouraged.

Yet in the midst of that conversation, it was as if in an instant, a world out of focus came into perfect clarity.  (It was like something out of a movie when a person's lost and in danger in a crowded place, disoriented, and all of a sudden they clearly see their enemy standing with their sights set on them.)

I was standing there in my #hope t-shirt, my friend beside me holding her infant, two women beside the pool with their new-borns laying in the shade, children FILLING the pool, pregnant bellies in bathing suits walking around the pool, a visiting grandmother cooing at a baby, toddlers walking past me to get food from their parents.

I am not kidding when I tell you that I looked around in a slight state of panic, desperately seeking one adult among the group who was not a parent!  

I was standing there beside a tree, my husband far from me, and the reality that THIS group of people is the group of people I'm supposed to fellowship with over the course of possibly a year or more WITHOUT MY HUSBAND, and I have NOTHING in common with them! (Now, of course, that is an exaggeration.  I do have things in common with them.  But at that moment, the two things that mattered most to me-my husband leaving and not having children-were the commonalities I was looking for.)

In our group, there are three couples besides us who do not have children.  One couple thinks they may be infertile (which is NO consolation), one couple is a blog post of it's own, and the other couple called us the day after this party to tell us we had missed the announcement at the party because we left early, but they wanted us to know they are pregnant.

Thankfully, we left very soon after my moment of panic.  Thankfully, we left before the big pregnancy announcement.  Thankfully, I have had time with my husband to myself since then.  Thankfully, we have a frozen embryo and the opportunity to transfer him/her in the near future.  Thankfully, we have frozen "swimmers" in case the FET is a bust.  Thankfully, even in my husband's absence, I am not truly alone.  And thankfully, I have this day ahead of me to spend with him.

The sun has finally risen and DH's alarm just went off (not to mention this blog post is forever-long), so I will close.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.  If you think of us this week (and are one who prays), please pray for us as I'm sure we'll need it.

Blessings,

Julia

An Anniversary Post

Three days ago, my husband and I celebrated our ninth anniversary.  And by celebrated, I mean we went out in T-shirts and jeans to a BJ's Restaurant, had a casual and early dinner, then went to spend the evening with friends.  Both of us have been so focused on this two week wait and the upcoming deployment that we basically forgot about our anniversary until the night before.

I awoke Wednesday morning as my husband was preparing for work.  He called out to me, "Happy Anniversary, Babe!"  I walked into the bathroom where he was getting ready to shave, kissed him on the cheek, and sleepily said, "Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart.  Even if we never have children, I'm thankful to have you as a husband.  I wouldn't want anyone else in the world."  

I turned and walked groggily back to bed and slept most of the morning away.

That moment in the bathroom was one of my favorite parts of that day.

Eleven years ago, my attitude was quite different.

I recall a day in which the subject of children came up between the two of us before we were even officially dating.  We both talked about how we wanted to have a large family and I was surprised that he wanted to have as large a family as I did, even though I had not told him how many kids I'd love to have.  When he busted out the number "12" in answer to my question of how many kids he wanted to have, I was blown away b/c that was the number in my heart.

I was so passionate in that discussion, and apparently in future discussions we had, about wanting to have many children that my Sweetheart (now my Dear Husband) felt compelled to ask me what I would do if we couldn't have children.  He asked if I would consider adoption.  

I told him that I certainly wanted to adopt, but that I wanted to have children biologically as well.  This was not answering his question completely, so he asked again, "What would you do if you found that you couldn't have children?" 

I am appalled today at what my answer was to him.  I remember telling him very sincerely, "I'm not sure, but I can tell you this: We better not find out whose fault it is, because if it was mine I'd be devastated and if it was his, I'd regret that I married him."

Wow!  What a little...UGH!  If I could go back in time and slap myself, I absolutely would!  There were so many occasions when I had such a pig-headed attitude (like the time I told someone that the day I dated my DH is the day pigs fly, or the time I told my DH that I'd be mad at God if I knew that God was going to make me like him in the future!  Ugh!  I don't even know the appropriate word to describe the person that I was).

Well, thankfully, God loves me too much to leave me the way I was, and he's done quite a number on my heart.  

You should know that my DH asked me that question in various ways at least a dozen times while we were dating.  So many times, in fact, that I actually asked him if he had some information about himself that I needed to know.

We had only been married a year and six months when we decided to stop using contraceptive.  The interesting thing is that I don't remember at all caring about who was to blame for our not being able to conceive.  I just remember being so disappointed and frustrated that it wasn't happening.

I remember, too, being concerned that we might get so consumed with getting pregnant that our marriage would suffer, so I communicated with my DH regularly on what I was thinking and how I felt, what my concerns were and what I thought we should do.  From the beginning, we were a team in dealing with Infertility.  And from the beginning, it was our goal to keep the desire for children from trumping our marriage.

So, we took breaks.  In seven years, we've only had five procedures (with one year of a holistic approach-which makes six "procedures," I suppose) to try to get pregnant.  I spent a year charting my cycle before we tried medical intervention.  But we only pursued the medical intervention because I was having so many issues with my cycle, and my options were to either take the birth control pill or get professional help.  By God's grace, we have been careful, thus far, not to let the desire for children consume our marriage. 

There was a time when I would have never considered having fertility treatments.  There was a time when I thought I wouldn't be able to love someone anymore if I were to find out they were the reason I wouldn't be able to have children.  I am so thankful for a husband who loves and fears God and who is able to love me when I'm at my worst, who is able to be so patient and tender as he trusts that I will not be at my worst forever.

I eventually came to a place where I realized several things:

• My marriage is more important to me than having children.
• My dream to have children is still alive in my heart, and will happen, someday, someway.
• God is the author of life, and it is his alone to give and take away.
• God has used every single time in my life that I have been angry with him to teach me more about how he loves me, his faithfulness, his forgiveness, and his grace.
• God has used every single trial I have faced in my life to strengthen me and to get rid of disgusting parts of who I am (like the attitudes I described above).
• I am blessed beyond measure to have the husband that I have been given and I treasure him more each day.

So, I am thankful to be able to say with my whole heart that regardless of when, if, or how we have children, I am THANKFUL to have been given the privilege of being married to my husband and I have NO REGRETS that I married him.  

I still sit in awe, sometimes, when I think of how he had seen me at my absolute worst on numerous occasions and was still willing, and even desired, to marry me.

Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart!  May this be only the beginning of a long and fruitful life together!

~Julia