Things I'll Miss

In an attempt to remind myself that this pregnancy really is nearing its end (whether I believe that truth right now or not), I'm going to try to list all the things I'll miss about being pregnant.

Here goes nothin'...

• My shelf. Hands down the best part of having a huge basketball shaped tummy is being able to rest my cereal bowl, water bottle, cup of coffee, whatever on my belly. DEFINITELY miss this convenience when I'm not pregnant! 

• The incredible sensation of feeling my baby squirm and twirl and roll. An honor bestowed on mothers--and I'm so glad I've had the two chances I've had so far to appreciate this miracle!

• Guilt-free donut holes at church. I really should stop, but they're just so yummy ... and nobody judges the 39 week pregnant woman with sugar crystals spattered on her belly shelf. 

• Joshua's child-like understanding of his sister and where she is. So. Adorable. 

• Solid reason for (and the time to) take naps. 

• I really do like some of my maternity clothes, and I get bummed to pack them up again!

• The lesser standard of working out that I can have for myself. A 30 minute walk is an awesome thing while pregnant! It's totally not enough when working off the pregnancy weight. 

• A natural, obvious talking point with strangers, new people at church, and friends. I guess the newborn easily fills that void though ... :)

• Rocking Joshua and Baby Boo at the same time, while still having half a lap and an arm free.

•  Freaking my brother out with my huge belly. He gets so shocked by it, even though he sees me weekly...

• Looking down at the Baby Boo bulge and remembering the pain and discouragement during the years where I wasn't pregnant, and felt like I was the only one who couldn't be pregnant. And the intense sweeping rush of gratitude and joy that follows as I thank God for answering my prayers with a "yes"--and a "yes" two times over at that!

I'm so ready to be done--at over 39 weeks pregnant, with my due date looming, I'm battling impatience. I know I know...I'm not even overdue yet! But since Joshua came two weeks early, it seems to me like Baby Boo is already one week late! I love being pregnant--I truly do. It is such an honor, and I'm so humbled and blessed to have now experienced it twice.

But, Baby Boo, come on out any time! We're ready to meet you!

25 Weeks: The Gift of Infertility

There I was, kissing my two year old angel goodbye, and struggling to climb semi gracefully out of the car. At 25 weeks pregnant, "graceful" is quickly becoming a thing of the past. I balanced a handful of trash, my water bottle and my purse, and walked quickly toward the park.

As I tried to contain the prego-waddle while shuffling toward the bridge, I saw the person I was meeting.

Today, I met with a young woman struggling with infertility.

 

Today, I met myself. 

As we walked the lake a few times, it was like looking in a mirror. The questions she asked, the emotions she expressed, the tears she shed ... It was like stepping into my own past.

It hasn't been that long, and yet it has. As infertility consumes and defines you, so does pregnancy and motherhood. 25 weeks into my second successful pregnancy, and I am surprised at how infrequently I remember the infertility. Even with a miscarriage less than a year ago, I am much more "mother of toddler" and "pregnancy guru" than I am the "infertility voice" that I was.

And yet, it's all still there. All I had to do was hear this young woman ask me questions like:

Were you able to still enjoy life in the midst of trying to conceive? 

How did you connect with your husband in the midst of the pain? 

Were there days you were just sad? 

Was there ever a time you just didn't think you could ever hope again?

Is there any way to not be consumed by it? 

I remember. I remember the darkness. I remember the pain. I remember the desperation, the inability to pray, the discouraging moments when you realize you might not have any more capacity for the disappointment that follows high hopes. I remember the tears. I remember the bitterness. I remember the guilt, the desire to show excitement for friends, the horrifying days when you recognize your lack of trust in the Lord.

I remember.

And as I told this young woman today, as we exchanged tissues and tears, I am so incredibly grateful that God has redeemed our pain. He has and continues to use our journey of infertility to minister to others. And not only does He use it now--He used it during the pain.

And that's my hope is that we can all realize that God doesn't wait for our pain to pass, for us to come up from under the darkness to use it all for good. If we allow Him to, He can and will start now. 

So if you are in the midst of pain, as many of us are--in some way or another--ask God to use it, redeem it, work through it NOW. Don't wait for later, when it's over and in the past. Might as well start using it for good.

What an incredible gift those almost three years were--those years of crying, beseeching, shouting, stonewalling, learning, grieving, growing, hoping, stretching. And now, 25 weeks pregnant with Baby Boo, God allowed me the incredible honor of reaching back into my not so distant past to help encourage another woman, desperate to be a mother, and aching with the pain of unfulfilled hopes.

I hope I never forget. Ever. The pain of infertility continues to shape my path, and makes me who I am--and I am so grateful for it.

Oh How Life Has Changed

Mother's Day in 2009 ... I purposefully scheduled a weekend getaway so as to not have to be at church.

(Granted, I mixed up my dates, and we actually had our getaway the weekend before Mother's Day, so I ended up still at church that morning. But you get the point--I did NOT want to be there.) 

2009 Blog

Mother's Day 2010 ... I had a 2 week old! Quite a change from the year before.

2010 Blog

Mother's Day 2011 ... I hardly remember. Our life had just been turned upside down, and that following weekend we were headed to Madison, WI to see what God had in store for us at Ezra Church. It's a blur to me! 

2011 Blog

Mother's Day 2012 ... I'm pregnant with Baby Girl, halfway done! I'm heads over heels in love with my little buddy, Joshua, and incredibly blessed to do life with a man who loves me as unconditionally as a human can. 

I feel like this is the first Mother's Day that I truly experienced as a mother. 2010 I was barely a mom--still sleep walking, and recovering from natural delivery. :) 2011 was, like I said, a blur. This year--this year--I really appreciated the day, and felt truly appreciated. By my husband, who let me take a nap, go shopping and eat pizza and by my son, who is old enough now to give me random hugs, say "I-ol-u, Mama!" (I love you, Mama!), and ask me to "cuddlecuddlecuddle" relentlessly.

Motherhood--what a long awaited, and incredibly cherished blessing.

Happy future Mother's Day to all of you out there who wish-hope-dream to be mothers someday. I've been there, and I know how this day can pierce a heart ... Claim Psalm 62:5 this morning .... Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him. And focus today on cherishing the mothers in your life!

Trusting in the Midst of Grief

These past two weeks have been a roller coaster.

We found out we were pregnant on January 5, much to our surprise considering our history of struggling to conceive. And thus we began the wonderful journey of early pregnancy--cautious hope, hesitant excitement, all with a dash of anxiety and a base of trust.

Unlike my three pregnancies that ended in miscarriage, I had an incredible sense of peace that this one was going to work. Even when I would wonder and slip into doubt, I could honestly say that it felt like we were definitely going to have a baby in September. I just had peace.

By the time I was 6 weeks along, we were feeling pretty good. And then we received some fun news that a friend was pregnant as well! How fun that she and I would get to experience this joy together.

Then I started bleeding. And I must say, I just lost it. I ignored the peace that I had, and I sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. I was so hurt, and scared, and confused. I just couldn't understand why God gives, and takes away. (Even though I recognize He doesn't necessarily cause miscarriages, in my sorrow, I was upset that He hadn't prevented it.) We began to prepare our hearts for the journey we know all too well--recovering from the grief and heartache of early miscarriage.

But I was still pregnant--what?! My hormone levels were rising, my symptoms weren't disappearing ... and lo and behold, a week and a day later, after spotting consistently, I saw a teeny tiny little heartbeat. The peace I had was accurate; in spite of all appearances, there's a little baby growing in there!

The same day, my friend experienced some spotting too. She got an ultrasound, saw a teenier-tinyer little embryo (no heartbeat yet) and felt great! We again were so excited.

But her spotting continued. While mine finally, slowly, went away (it was due to two small clots near the placenta), her's increased. Until, sadly, yesterday she lost the baby.

And thus the blog title: Trusting in the Midst of Grief.

In the midst of heartache and pain, what does it look like to trust? In the midst of the unknown and fear, how do we rest in God's peace? Does trusting mean the absence of all emotion? Does resting mean we never cry out in agony and pain?

NO.

If I learned anything in my journey to conceive Joshua, it's that God is big enough to handle my emotions. And boy am I glad He is, cuz I sure have a lot of them! I remember feeling some guilt after we realized I wasn't miscarrying. I recalled finding the bleeding, and turning my face to the ceiling, asking, "Really God? Really?" In hindsight, I of course felt bad that my first response was the blame Him.

But guess what--He's still God.

In the hours leading up to my ultrasound, where I would discover whether my baby was alive and growing, or about to miscarry, my battle against fear and anxiety was escalating. It took every ounce of my strength--Christ's strength in me--to surrender my fears and TRUST. And if you could have heard me in those moments, you would not have heard anything that sounded like peaceful trust. I was a little bit of a wreck. The unknown--the possibility of having to accept and slog through another miscarriage--was weighing on me like a ball and chain. Did this mean I didn't trust that God is good? Did this mean that I didn't know that His plan is best and miscarriage serves a natural purpose? Did this mean that I wasn't trying to surrender and rest in His peace?

NO.

Trusting in the Midst of Grief is hard. It sucks. It's a roller coaster.

My friend is there right now--and I'm there with her. My heart is breaking for the pain I know she is feeling. The pain I begged God to give me, instead of her, because I at least know from experience how to deal with it. I tear up constantly, my heart physically aches, my stomach just isn't right today. I am asking God "Why?" ... and yet, I trust. I trust that He is good. I trust that He can handle our grief. I trust that He saw that little baby, and He knew the journey my friend would take. And I trust that He will sustain her, and make her stronger, through it.

I remain confident of this:
   I will see the goodness of the LORD
   in the land of the living.
 Wait for the LORD;
   be strong and take heart
   and wait for the LORD. 

Psalm 27: 13-14

I Don't Want to Want It

"I just really don't want to want it again, until I get it, and then I want to want it fully. Make sense?"

I muttered this to my husband as we both attempted to drift to sleep, each battling our own never ending colds and rarely silent thoughts. Fortunately (or unfortunately) he totally understood what I meant.

It's starting. Well, really, it started to start in October, but now it's really starting.

The baby itch.

Sigh. I'm so not ready for this ....

I got great news from two good friends yesterday. One friend is having a girl, and the other is newly pregnant. I'm so excited for them both! And then it hit me .... I want to announce a pregnancy. But I don't want to start the process that is most likely inevitably our path to conception and pregnancy. I don't want to chart, I don't want to give myself shots, I don't want to "try" and "try" and "try" .... I don't want to want it, until I get it, and then I want to want it fully.

Make sense?

I'd like another child ... perhaps even another after that. But the memory that is not far from my mind and my heart of the yearning and longing and painful waiting makes my stomach twist in knots. The fear of more miscarriages, later term miscarriages, gobs and gobs of money, days and days of charting ... it's almost enough to make me not want to try.

The thought of wanting to be pregnant, longing for it, yearning for it--it drains me. It scares me.

I don't want to want it until I get it. If only we had the luxury of an "oops".

As I told a good friend this morning, our journey to Joshua has touched so many others who have had similar struggles. I guess I can get behind another tough journey if it means we can touch more lives. But sometimes, often times, in my most genuine moments, I just want to be "that woman" who gets pregnant just by looking at her husband and carries easily to term. Sometimes, often times, I don't want to be "that woman" who God works through in her pain and sadness to minister to others.

Of course, though, if this is our path--to struggle in this life to conceive our children and use that pain to touch others--then we are honored that God would redeem our pain, redeem our sadness, redeem our struggle for His good purpose.

It'd just be really great to not want it until we got it, but I'm guessing that's not how this is going to go .... So, let's get on with it!

The Luxury of an Oops

Ever since I miscarried last week, I've had this phrase rolling through my mind:

Luxury of an Oops

It has occurred to me that having an "oops" pregnancy, while unexpected and kinda stressful, is actually a luxury. At least from the point of view I'm coming from. See, I'll most likely, as confirmed by last week's miscarriage, never have the luxury of "Oops! We're unexpectedly pregnant! Well, haha---guess God decided it was time!" 

See, that won't be us because of my ridiculous genetic blood protein chromosome something something problem--the beautiful MTHFR. My problem is not necessarily in the conception--it's in the keeping of an embryo. I've conceived four times (to my knowledge), and I have one child. Bad odds. That's because my body doesn't seem to know how to sustain a pregnancy without lotsa blood thinner shots, baby aspirin and uber amounts of folic acid to help my own body combat, well, itself. In order to keep my child. Sheesh. What a mess! 

You may recall that Erik and I went a LONG time without conceiving before we struck gold with little Joshua. I truly believe God heard, and not only heard but answered our prayers. Our prayer was quite specific, and truly, I don't know if we really knew what we were actually asking for. We prayed:

"God please PLEASE don't let us miscarry again. Please don't let us conceive until it's going to stick and carry." 

Well, after miscarrying our second in September of 2007, I did not conceive again until August of 2009. Let me tell you--that's a LOT of trying and failing. A lot of praying and waiting. A lot of wishing and hoping. 

God does answer prayer. He knew we needed to find out about MTHFR. He knew I needed to be with the right, arrogant, aggressive doctor who would treat this contested disorder. He knew I needed to be on certain shots and drugs even preconception for little "Bubba" (now Joshua) to stick. 

He knew, He heard, and He answered. 

And after this quite unexpected pregnancy that ended not unexpectedly in miscarriage, I ask of my Lord again. Please, Please, don't let me have another oops if it's just going to end like this. I'd rather find the specialist, pay the money, do the shots that bruise my skin and turn me ugly shades of yellow, purple, black and blue. I'd rather take the horse-sized pills, cut the caffiene, endure the blood draws, and mess with my hormones. I'd rather do all this then be reminded again some time in the future that my body does not have the ability to--on it's own--sustain a tiny little embryo past 6 weeks. 

I won't ever experience the luxury of an oops.

TED talk: Glad I watched

Three weeks ago, my pastor sent me a link to a TED talk, saying that I might be interested.

Today I finally took the time to watch it.

He had said he was hooked by 8 minutes in.

At two minutes in, I was intrigued enough to keep watching.

At five minutes in, with a chart depicting love over time for offspring, I was hooked.

At nine minutes in, when Alisa shared about her miscarriage, I was bonded.

She speaks for the feeling a failure a woman feels, the fear for conceiving again, and the discovery of the "secret society of women" who had been there. She was speaking my language when she spoke of miscarriage as an "invisible loss" with no community support. If you walked with me through the journey of infertility, you know I've railed against this. I remember being so angry that the death of my child, albiet unborn and only a few weeks past conception, didn't warrant a day off from work. I was to use a "sick" day to grieve the life of my child. I'm sorry--is miscarriage a sickness? And inferitility itself--I wasn't "sick", so there was no need for delivered meals, or offers of help. I was still able, and available, and successful ... but was dying inside, month after month after month. I remember telling a friend how lonely the journey of infertility is. I remember it, and I pray to God never to have to walk that road again. But if I do, I resolve to continue to speak out, speak up and stop the silence surrounding the pain of waiting for a child.

I digress.

I started watching this TED talk this morning, purely because I don't like to say I'll do something and then not do it.

Today, I'm quite grateful for that trait in me that doesn't allow me to ignore another's suggestion.

So thanks, Steve, for sending it. It was refreshing to watch, fun to listen to, and thought provoking to blog about.

Let's talk parenting taboos: Rufus Griscom + Alisa Volkman | Video on TED.com

Mothers Day is great ... for Mothers

It's weird to be here.

Where is here? Mothers Day. I'm a mother--on Mothers Day. 

Last year, I was not a mother on Mothers Day, and that made me quite sad. And angry. And bitter.

It was not a good day, Mothers Day last year. 

In fact, I had attempted to plan a trip to San Francisco for Mothers Day weekend just so I wouldn't have to attend church on the dreaded day. I planned the whole trip, booked tickets, told a bunch of people that we were getting away from Mothers Day ... and then I realized I'd booked the wrong weekend. Our trip was the weekend before Mothers Day weekend.

I still ended up at church on Mothers Day. 

It was a rough day. See blog here.

This year I was at church on Mothers Day. 

It was a great day. 

It's amazing how much can change in a year.

Last Mothers Day, I was upset--very. Like I said, it was a rough day.

This Mothers Day, I am on the other side. I have my miracle boy; he's here, he's nursing, he's depriving me of sleep. It's beautiful, it's amazing, and I still pinch myself daily--I just can't believe how much has happened in a year. 

Today, on yet another Mothers Day at church, I witnessed a couple leave church early, with somber faces, and silent tears. My heart wrenched, because I have been there. I know exactly what it's like to think I'm strong enough to make it through the service, to smile through the tears ... but I wasn't.

Mothers Day is a wonderful day. It's important to remember our mothers, and grandmothers. It's good to honor them for all they do.

But I will always hurt for the women who long for motherhood every day of the year, but especially on Mothers Day. It's just a sucky day if you want to be a mother, but aren't. 

So to all the women out there who wish, hope, and pray for motherhood--you are not invisible. You are not alone. I know my remembering the pain I had a year ago doesn't take away your current pain, but I hope somehow, in someway, our journey can bring you hope. 

I'm so blessed to be a mother to a precious little boy named Joshua. One year ago, I never would have guessed that today I would finally attend church on Mothers Day as a mother.

Thank you Lord!

Quite the Journey Together

A week less than 9 months ago, my good friend and her husband sat with me on my guest bedroom floor. They had just flown in from Minnesota for a visit, and we were catching up. At one point, my friend’s husband said, “So, can please talk about how annoying it is that everyone’s getting pregnant?”

See, this friend and I had bonded over our struggle to conceive. Well, actually we bonded years before that when we voted together, and ran together—all in one day—but that’s another story. For the previous many months, we had walked side by side on a nasty infertility journey. And here her husband was joining the conversation.

Less than 2 weeks later, my friend and her husband joined the pregnant club, and two months after that conversation with friends on the guest room floor, Erik and I did as well. Absolutely incredible!

Last night, my friend texted me around 9:00pm that she was in the hospital, ready to have her baby! Is God good or what? We never would have guessed we’d actually be here. Well, I know we hoped and trusted, but to actually be here is truly incredible.

God is so faithful!

As overused as it is, this verse comes to mind:

“I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans to prosper and not to harm you. Plans to bring you a hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

It’s with many many tears and a very full heart that I welcome my dear friends’ little girl into this world.

And greatly anticipate the birth of my son!

They will be married, you know. :)

Week 32: I Didn't Plan This

It wasn't long into college before I realized that I naturally mentor. I naturally teach, guide and counsel. Do I do it well? Well, that's a whole other topic. But I realized quickly that I am a "developer of people," as one skill set test creatively put it.

So, I always assumed that I would mentor people. First I wanted to be a high school guidance counselor, then I did become a R.A., and that led me to setting my sights on some sort of role in Student Life on a college campus. I tutored a young girl in NE Minneapolis and pondered a non profit path. From there I moved on to academic advising, got involved in youth mentoring through youth group, and poof--

Here I am shepherding women who struggle with infertility.

What?! I didn't plan this ...

I figured I would develop life plans, help choose colleges, provide a listening ear through nasty break ups, help discover skill sets, encourage healthy habits ...

Never did I guess my ministry would veer sharply into the heart broken world of infertility. Neither did I guess that my life would veer sharply into this lonely, silent, hazy world. The world of questions, and no answers. Or questions, some answers, but not the right ones. The world of disappointing hope, endless cycles, and painful procedures.

It's a strange position to be in--especially now that I'm pregnant. I of all people could possibly cause a lot of pain for the women that reach out to me. Me with my rounded belly and excitement glowing in my eyes.

But oh wait--right now there's no excitement. My eyes are shadowed in pain and filled with tears. My heart is breaking. Why?

I am remembering.

Yet another friend of a friend has been pointed in my direction--Praise the Lord for His use of my pain and struggles--and I am suddenly in her shoes, asking those desperate questions, waiting, waiting, waiting and wondering. I am remembering the pain, the fading hope, the countless angry tears.

I didn't plan this, never would have planned this, never would have thought that a part of my ministry in life would be in the shadowed realm of infertility ...

I didn't plan this, but I'm glad God did.

Week 30: Didn't, Wasn't ... Did, Am.

For so many months, I didn't.

For so long, I wasn't.

Many months, others did.

Many times, others were.

And I didn't, and wasn't.

And yet, here I sit--I did, and I am.

I'm the lady breathing heavily while wandering around the grocery store. I'm the one seeing stars after bending over to pick something up. I'm the one hitting my belly on the corner counter because, even after so many weeks, I'm still not used to it being there.

There are still women out there who, month after month, don't. Who time after time, aren't.

For 881 days, I didn't and wasn't. Compared to some womens' waiting, that's not that long. I remember when I wasn't. I used to say that I actually worried about the day where I was the waddling one in the mall who caused pain in some flat stomached woman's life. And it pains me that my blessing of a bulging belly has and will continue to cause others stomachs to twist and jaws to clench. I don't judge them. I would never tell them to be happy for me. I know how it feels.

I wish I could wear a sign. The sign would say, "This did not come easily." "I do not take this miracle for granted." "I understand and shed tears over your pain." "I know the infertility journey."

Because of God's goodness, I did and I am. And I pray I never ever forget how it felt when I didn't, and wasn't.

Week 27: Did I Just Say That?!

It was during Week 27 that I first had this thought, "I don't want to be pregnant anymore."

GASP! What?? Did I just have that thought? How DARE I?

I even voiced this thought to Erik one night. And I even guiltily told my closest friends ... "This is the first week I've felt 'inconvenienced'." And I feel such a burden of guilt for even thinking, let alone saying that.

When I was in the midst of struggling to conceive, the most hurtful, frustrating thing, of many hurtful frustrating things, was when a beautifully pregnant woman would openly complain about her growing body, whine about the pregnancy ... I remember trying to understand, trying to sympathize (knowing I could never truly understand) but it was so difficult for me, since I so badly wished I could swap places. I remember declaring to Erik that I would never wish for my pregnancy to be over, that I would never complain about whatever aches and pains would come.

So now that I'm here, and my understanding is more clear, I feel such guilt when I whine even a little bit.

It's incredible to me that A) Something I wanted for so long really is here, and is truly so amazing. B) My body can do this miraculous thing and C) That even in pregnancy, I find something to feel guilty about.

So let's talk about the truth:

The truth is, I am so grateful to be pregnant. Rarely a day goes by where I don't shake my head in wonder, and thank Jesus for this gift that I do not deserve!

The truth is, Infertility was so hard--obviously. And I don't fault myself for struggling when pregnant women complained; it's where I was at, and it was real.

The truth is, Pregnancy can be hard. For me, not much of it has been. But there are moments, now hitting third trimester and really feeling the burden of my growing body, that I just want to be done.

However, the real truth is, I love being pregnant. I wouldn't trade it for the world--aches, pains, heartburn, loss of bladder control, fatigue and all--this is the greatest experience of my life!

So even if I voice a little complaint, or heave a sigh and wish for May, it's okay. God who blessed me with this little boy understands--it's not for lack of gratitude. It's just real life ... and there's no need to feel guilt. :)

Week 26: Finally My Turn

I was cleaning out old documents when I found this. Written March 3, 2008--it's so weird to hear my voice from the past. These emotions seem so recent, and yet, so long ago. It's weird how things change so quickly ... But it's good to be reminded from where I've come. From where God has brought me. During a week where I was continually amazed at the experiences of pregnant, it was so good to remember how badly I wished for this. Why would anyone complain about being pregnant?? I'm so blessed to get to experience this miracle. Former me would be so happy ....

I have a headache. My legs hurt. I feel like I need to stretch but don’t have the energy to do so. I hate that I know that the energy would come if I would just get up and move around. But that takes effort. I feel like effort is not something I can put forth right now. Because I have a headache.

I want to be done with school. I want to not feel guilty about not being heavily involved in a ministry. I feel like I’m tired and slightly burned out, which is dumb because I just got back from vacation.

I feel that it’s unfair that all these women in my life can all have babies and I can’t. I feel that it has been long enough—how much longer until it’s my turn? Do I get a turn? Maybe I won’t!?

That feeling scares me. I feel like it’s not going to happen. That I’m not going to be blessed with my own baby.

I want to experience pregnancy. I want to feel my baby kick inside of me. I want to have horrible heartburn, I want to puke every morning, I want to have swollen feet and I want to have to buy a fake cheap wedding band at Wal-Mart because my fingers are too big to wear my real one.

I want to have beautiful hair and strong nails. I want my pants to be tight. I want to be able to sleep only on one side and have to hug a body pillow just to be comfortable. I want to fight with Erik over names.

I want to avoid coffee and deli meats for 9 whole months, just because they ­­­might harm my baby. I want to feel fat. I want to waddle. I want to wonder if I’ll ever see my toes again. I want to have to ask for help to tie my shoes. I want to not have to clean the litter box. I want people telling me that I’m the cutest pregnant woman they’ve ever seen. I want to not be able to travel.

I want to be pregnant. And it’s my turn.

GOD!! I just keep plodding along, but I’m tired Lord. I’m tired. I want to be a mom. Is that too much to ask? For me? For Jenni? For Erin? For Heather? Why not us, God? Why are we the statistics? What did we do to deserve the loss of our CHILDREN?! Not matter how big, or how miniscule, those are our babies. And it hurts to lose them. It’s devastating.

So when is it our turn God? When do we get to hold our babies in our arms? To see their little eyes looking up at us with such love and trust?

When do we get to watch our sons learn to play baseball, and our daughters dress cabbage patch dolls?

When is it our turn to clean up spaghetti stains and organize millions of toys?

When do we get the privilege of getting no sleep and making multiple runs to Target for diapers and formula?

When, God, is it my turn to feel a baby kicking, to deal with hiccups at 2am, to feel the pain of Braxton Hicks?

When God? How much longer? Where are You in this???? You could snap Your fingers, and I could be pregnant. Is this not what You have for me? When in the world IS Your timing? Soon….please God soon.

I feel so obligated to write something about how I know it’s Your timing, I know You are here, I know this is for my own good…

but I just sometimes want to ask the questions. I want them hanging out there, unanswered, because it feels good to let them hang. Good in an extremely empty, desperate way. Good in a strangely depressing way.

After so long, it feels good to question—to honestly vent, question and not feel obligated to remind myself and others reading that I know His words on waiting, growing, challenging, disciplining. Sometimes, I just don’t care. I want to be sad. I want to play the victim; I want to whine.

When is it my turn??

Dear Former Me--it's my turn!!!!! Bubba's strong and healthy and coming very very soon! The Lord is good--no matter how I'm feeling.

Innocence Lost

Pregnancy is an amazing gift. A joyous surprise. A wonderful piece of news to share.

But it’s different when you’ve miscarried.

There’s hesitancy, a lack of excitement. Doubt rules, and fears overwhelm. Where jumping and screaming should occur, looks of concern mixed with tiny bits of hope appear instead.

Once I experienced the innocent bliss of announcing a pregnancy. Just once. And probably never again. That one time will always stick in my mind; I hold it close to my heart. That baby never came to be, but for one precious month, one short, short month, we were excited. We were unconcerned. We did not fear. We got to do the “we’re pregnant!” excited phase.

Sure, we’ve now reached that phase with this pregnancy, and of course, the excitement is bubbling and the joy is inexplicable. But the day I took that test, the moment I saw the plus sign, the “pregnant” reading, the double line, I didn’t jump for joy. I hyperventilated. I collapsed in fear. I froze in doubt. Miscarriage steals the initial joy from pregnancy.

When I told my family, they weren’t sure how to respond. I’m pretty sure my Mom’s words were, “Okaaaay…and how do we feel about this?” It wasn’t an incorrect response on her part—it was a response based out of months and months of hoping and crying and wanting and waiting. It was a response based out of, not blissful, innocent joy, but out of fear of more hurt, more pain, more disappointment.

I’m so excited to be pregnant—Lord knows I’ve waited for a very long time. But my heart literally hurts when I see friends get to announce their pregnancies to screams of joy and astonishment, instead of smiles and hugs laced with concern and memories of pain.

Please don’t pity me, or think I’m pitying myself. This is my journey; this is the path I was led on. It’s just how my life is, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Sin and brokenness muck up this world, and this is one way it has affected mine. The discovery of pregnancy, in this household, was terrifying, even though we were trying so hard and wanting it so much. The memory of loss was too fresh, in spite of the time that had passed.

If you are a woman who is able to embrace the news of pregnancy with blissful joy, cherish it. Not all of us have that experience, and I’m so glad you do.

I Lied.

Written July 8, 2009 ...

My devotionals for the past few days have been on Ecclesiastes 3 “A Season for Everything”. Good chapter, good reminders … I kept thinking maybe my season of waiting would end soon. I kept wondering what season would end next, knowing that it wouldn’t necessarily be my “infertile” season.

And then she called. Terri called. Terri, my friend that God blessed me with on this infertile crappy journey called. She called to say, “I’m so sorry—but I’m pregnant!”

That’s it. The season’s over. I’m back to it just being me. Me, all alone. Me, “That Girl.” Me, the infertile one. Me, the non-pregnant one. Me. Just me. Not me and Terri anymore. Just me.

It never occurred to me that the next season to end would be the season of having a friend to slog through this with.

And I fully understand that Terri is still with me. It’s not like, now pregnant, she gets carted off to some other planet where pregnant ladies go to prepare for their children.

Or is it? They seriously are in another world. Going through things I can’t understand, experiencing things I haven’t experienced, sensing some deep need to bond only with each other…it really does put up a small wall when one of my friends gets pregnant. Course, I’m used to it now. I realized yesterday that every single one of my best, closest, “doing life together on a regular basis” friends are pregnant. Or just were. Seriously God? Really? When is it my turn?!

Terri and I have asked that question together now for almost exactly one year. Almost a year ago today we were commiserating over the fertility drugs we were about to start. We were joking about how cool it would be if we got pregnant together, on the same month’s cycle. We were venting about the side effects and imperfect processes of fertility drugs and procedures.

We have walked this journey, side by side for a year. 12 months. (Actually, more than that in all reality, but my email trails that I’ve saved go back to only a certain date.) And Terri has been with me on this path long before she started struggling herself. She has been a great friend, and I know she’ll continue to be. It’s just, this season is over. She’s pregnant; I’m not. I’m back to being alone.

The Friend who is Infertile.

I remember struggling with excited yet guilty feelings when I realized Terri was going to walk this journey with me. They’re still there. Now, I’m so relieved and happy for my friend—God has answered her (and my) prayers. She knows her answer now. I’ve always said how good it will feel to look back and be able to say, “Ah yes, this is the journey.” When Terri told me she was pregnant, she said, “I just wasn’t supposed to be pregnant before now. This is the right time.” Well, I hate to say it, but DUH! It’s such a relief to know her timing … and yet, I’m so jealous. So jealous of the answer, the timing, the wait that is now over. The excitement that will begin to grow as the reality settles in. I’m jealous of the morning sickness, the cravings, the sleepless nights. And the guilt is still there too. I feel guilty when I think why her and not me? I’ve been waiting longer! I’ve lost two! I feel guilty when I consider selfishly the change in our friendship. The non-similar experiences. The inevitable awkwardness, since she is and I’m not. I feel guilty. And happy. And jealous. And sorrowful. And so so so tired of crying my eyes out over a friend’s joyous news.

I told Terri that her getting pregnant gives me hope.

I lied.

My Almost Rebellion: Part One

The past few days have been some of the hardest of my life. Nothing big has happened, I didn’t lose anyone, or anything. But I feel like I almost lost God. Or, well, He almost lost me. Well, wait, that still doesn’t work … I feel like I almost attempted to give up on God. I don’t know if I would have gone through with it. Actually, I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t have. God is so good about putting people in my life when I’m in these tough spots. People who speak truth to me, and who are willing to help me work through my emotions. People who don’t get scared when I question God, and question everyone’s perfect little theologies of Him. People like my friend Terri, my husband Erik, my friend Kelly and, most importantly in this little discussion, my Mom.

Here’s where I was at on August 26^th. I was sitting in my favorite leather chair in our living room, scouring my well-worn Bible, that’s engraved with Kristin Miller—it was a high school graduation gift—and I’m looking for verses that speak to prayer. I found all the normal ones and wrote them in my journal. And after them I wrote a huge I DON’T GET IT. Because in that moment, I was so pissed. I was so confused. I was so done. Erik came home in the midst of this, and I started ranting, in a teary way, about how none of this makes sense to me. I handed him my journal and said, “I don’t get these verses.” And he kinda laughed, and said, “And you want me to explain them to you?” I could see the teasing in his eyes, because he didn’t yet get the personal torture I was putting myself through, and he was just seeing this as another way to prove that his Bible schooling is superior to my Bible schooling. I said yes, and watched his eyes drop to the page. The teasing left his eyes as he scanned the verses that I had listed. I had also underlined certain specific phrases.

1 John 5:14-15

This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us. And if we know that He hears us—whatever we ask—we know that we have what we asked of him.

Matthew 7:7-8

Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find … For everyone who asks receives …

Luke 18:1

Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up.

Matthew 26:39b

Yet not as I will, but as you will.

John 15:7

If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you.

He dropped the journal and admitted he didn’t know. Neither of us spoke; we just looked at each other, and I of course, got teary. Because here’s where I was at in that moment:

I was remembering high school me, content to believe “Everything happens for a reason!”

I was recalling college me, content to believe “God has a perfect plan that He is working out even as we speak.”

I was recognizing that this was where I was currently:

To high school me: If everything happens for a reason, then why is this happening to me? Show me the reason, and I’ll deem whether or not it’s worth the pain.

To college me: If God has a perfect plan, and His plan involves me suffering like this and giving up on prayer, and doubting His close presence in my life, then what kind of perfect plan is that?

To all the other “me’s” that have been, and to those who think they have the answers:

If God is in control of everything and plans everything out, well, then, He’s being pretty mean allowing everyone in my life to be pregnant except for me.

If God is not in control and has chosen to limit His power in this broken, fallen world, and is sitting back, just as sad as I am about this suffering, well, then, He’s just not all that powerful is He?

If God really does operate like the book of Job suggests, allowing Satan to harm us to prove that we can be faithful to Him, well, then, where was my choice in the matter? Because today, I don’t feel like being the one that proves faithfulness.

If God is choosing to allow suffering in my life to reveal His glory in me, for some odd reason, well, then, sorry to yet again sound selfish, but I’d rather not play that role, thank you very much.

If God is changed by our prayers, and prayers are worth praying, well, then, has anyone been giving Him my messages? Because not just me, but probably hundreds of people have sent up prayers about this and nada.

And the biggy—if everything is set in motion, and God isn’t affected by our prayers, well, then, I’m out. I’m done. Because the prayers are just disappointing at this point.

Please know that I am very aware—nauseatingly aware—of how incredibly selfish, and bitter, and angry, and well, human all of this ranting sounds. But hey—guess what? I’m HUMAN! And I refuse to stuff my real, true emotions with some platitudes designed to make me sound like a good Christian girl.

I voiced this all to Erik, who is struggling with the same hurt and deep sadness and so obviously didn’t have any answers, and went about my day. My Mom called at one point, and I sobbed my eyes out over the phone. It had been a while since we’d talked, and I was in quite the turmoil, so my conversation with her was full of anger and bitterness and doubt and questions … and the overarching desire to quit. To give up. To latch onto my anger and run. Though I’m not sure how far one can actually run from God, when He’s ingrained into your very being and etched on the walls of your heart, but I sure thought that maybe I was going to try. I didn’t get very far with that idea though, because I had to get ready for a business trip. And off to Kansas I went. . .

(for the sake of length, the rest of this will be posted tomorrow-ish.)

I might Be ... I might be Not

The two week wait (lovingly referred to as the TWW by TTC [trying to conceive] couples) is hellish enough on it's own.

For those who aren't familiar, because I know I wouldn't be if I hadn't had all these troubles, it's the 14 day stretch from ovulation to menstruation. It's the excruciating time between "trying" and either discovering a conception, or, well, not.

This almost unbearable waiting period during which I grow increasingly anxious and hopeless is horrible enough without adding injected hormones that create drug-induced pregnancy symptoms. I've come to the conclusion that the most inhumane thing to do to a TTC woman is to inject HCG (the pregnancy hormone) into her system, which causes her to feel pregnant, and then tell her to "just wait". I understand the medical reasons for doing so, but here I am on my second round of drugs, feeling pregnant, dealing with fatigue, increased appetite, heartburn, swelling, bloating and headaches ... all while knowing that inevitably, the drugs will wear off, the symptoms will fade, my little dream world of pretending I'm actually pregnant will float away, and I'll be left with my period, a flat belly, and another round of treatments.

Happy Birthday

My soul aches within me.

My mind is dull with depression,

The numbness spreads to my heart; at least for this moment, I've lost the ability to hope.

I sit heavily and stare blankly.

My limbs feel detached and my face seems to sag.

There is no hope in my heart, no bounce in my step, no smile on my lips.

Infertility.

Infertility is a lonely journey. For most, it's a quiet, private one and others never know. I look healthy, and successful. I'm helpful, and articulate. I'm young and in shape. People don't see that I'm operating with a broken heart, that gets re broken every month. I run on forced energy with an often fake smile pasted on my face. A hug here and there, an email of encouragement, but basically, a lonely journey. People don't rally, churches don't pray, no one brings meals, they don't lay hands. Because there are no symptoms. It's not obvious. There's no disease, no life-threatening illness, I'm not in the hospital. I appear just fine.

For almost three years now, I've been coping with trauma. It is life-threatening. Not physically, but mentally, emotionally, relationally ... and definitely spiritually. The only symptoms for those who look closely are a new bitterness in my heart, deep pain in my eyes, two tattoos on my wrists, and the absence of a child who would now be two.

Happy Birthday, unknown, unseen but loved little baby. Mommy still grieves you ... and always will.

Quietly, silently, with a smile on my face and loneliness in my soul. Because I'm not sick--just infertile.

My Will? Thy Will?

I just can't wrap my head around the truth that Christ knows my pain. He doesn't just know of it--He knows it. He has felt it. He has asked the same question: "Really? This is the way?" and concluded with the same phrase: "Okay ... Thy Will Be Done."

The phrase "Thy Will Be Done" has been a common one in my life lately. I've heard a podcast and a sermon on it. It keeps coming to mind. I find myself praying it--often. It's kinda freaking me out cuz I'm not quite sure what it is that I'm praying for. See, it's easier to pray for what I want because I know what that is. I want to be pregnant, I want to be pregnant now, and I want to deliver a healthy baby. And I want this all to happen before my friends are all onto their second and third children. Apparently, this is not coinciding with the whole "Thy Will Be Done" idea. As the tell tale signs once again assault my body (i.e. cramps) I am again reminded that I have no control over this desire of mine. I have no control, no matter how well timed, how well planned, how well prayed for ... I have no control. I can wish, and pray, and hope and (ashamedly) beg, and still ... the answer is no.

To pray "Thy Will Be Done" is to pray for unclear, vague and uncertain. I don't know what His Will is. I know my will. I know my desires. I know my wants, and perceived needs. It's much safer and easier and normal to pray for what I know. It's very difficult to pray for what I don't know--and I don't know His Will. It's hard to understand why He would grant the prayer of pregnancy to so many women around me, but withhold it from me. What is the answer to "Thy Will Be Done?" It's hard to pray something so intangible. It's hard to pray something that I'm afraid I'll disagree with. What is His Will?

Christ prayed this prayer. He prayed "Thy Will Be Done." When I'm upset and questioning, I forget that Christ doesn't just know about, but He knows my pain. He has asked the question. He has resigned Himself to the answer. I forget this when I'm kicking and screaming. I forget this when I'm bawling and shaking. I seem to only think that Christ is the one with "The Will" and I am the one with the pain. I now remember that He doesn't just know about my pain, He doesn't just know the answer to the prayer "Okay, Thy Will Be Done"--He knows my pain. And though, honestly, that doesn't necessarily make the pain easier to deal with, it does make the praying of the "Thy Will Be Done" prayer a little bit easier. I can pray this prayer, even though I don't know what I'm praying, and even though I might disagree with the answer, because I believe the truth--that He is Good, He is Loving, and He is Faithful. His will, then, must be best. Even if it doesn't make sense to me.

Since Jesus went through everything you're going through and more, learn to think like him. Think of your sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way. Then you'll be able to live out your days free to pursue what God wants instead of being tyrannized by what you want. 1 Peter 4:1-2 (MSG)

Droopy Bikinis

I don’t fail. I just don’t. I honestly cannot remember a time in my life where I failed at something. I'm not trying to sound prideful. It's just, well, it’s foreign to me. I rise to every challenge, I take on lots, and I do it well. Or at least sufficiently.

A few days ago, I was at the pool, like any normal working adult, at 3:00pm—on a Thursday. (I love my job!) The only other people in sight were two tween-aged girls. We entered at the same time, and I must say that I sensed they were not happy to have another person at the pool, much less an adult-type person.

I purposefully went to the south end of the pool and angled my chair toward the sun. They headed north. The shallow end with the stairs was on my end though, so after slathering on lotion and wiggling out of their cover ups, the girls headed toward me. I slyly watched them over the top of my sunglasses and chuckled at what I saw. Ah, junior high. These two girls were a caricature of the stage in life. One prettier than the other; the other one cute. Long spindly legs, knobby knees. Tan lines indicative of shin guards and soccer jerseys. One very tall, the other fairly average. Scraggly no-color hair, hastily thrown into a pony-bun. Swimsuits that attempt to look grown up, on bodies that aren’t grown up. Triangle top bikinis covering … well, nothing! Droopy bikini bottoms limply sagging off their someday-to-be-but-currently-non-existent curvy hips. Little girls trying to look so grown up. I’ve been there. Heck, most times I’m still there. Especially at the pool. But I digress.

The girls wade into the pool and go to the deep end. Splashing around a little (proving yet again they’re not­ ­­­real
teenagers yet) they start to chit chat. They talk a little about their summers, one asks the other to spend the night, the other asks the one if she’s at her dad’s or mom’s for the weekend. The prettier one says to the (possibly younger?) cute one, “When I first met you, I didn’t think I’d like you.” I almost laughed out loud; the innocence and honesty of children. The conversation turned to grades and school. The cute one said to the prettier one, “Oh I worked so hard to get a B in that class.”And went on to describe how she worked hard, and how somehow this all related to a boy she thought was cute.

For some reason that struck me. Working hard to get a B? I know that statement makes sense to so many people … it just doesn’t to me. I didn’t ever work hard for grades. Maybe once or twice I thought, “Oh shoot, I need to step it up a bit to insure I get an ‘A’ not an ‘A-’” Obviously I know getting a ‘B’ isn’t failing, but in my world, it kinda was. Simply because, well, I didn’t get them. I got ‘As’. I excel. I succeed. I accomplish. I am a ‘doer’. I don’t fail.

And yet, I’m failing. I am failing at the most natural thing a woman does—conceive. Create. Carry. I am failing. Do you know how awful it is to fail? To excel in anything you set your mind to, but fail at the one thing that would make you feel so complete?

Now don’t get all, “Oh but Kristin, you should only look to find your ‘completeness’ in the Lord!” I know. I get that. But, the Lord, who I do find my worth, value, and 'completeness' in, created me with the desire to conceive, create and carry. He created me with an undying burning need to be a mother. And right now, He’s allowing me to fail at it. I am not accomplishing. Not succeeding. Not doing. I am failing.

So yes, ultimately, my worth and my completeness is from Him. But today, at this moment, I’m pretty much thinking that conceiving, creating and carrying, when I finally succeed at that … when God allows me to succeed at that … I will feel complete in a way that I never dreamed. Because I will have succeeded at doing what I’m naturally created to do.

I don’t fail. And that’s why this sucks so much.