It happened today.  I have been waiting for this moment, and it finally arrived. You know, that feeling of utter helplessness, as if time has stopped right in front of you while the world around you keeps swirling and twirling? And no matter how hard you try you cannot make it stop? I thought I might not feel it this time. Not with this friend’s baby. Not with this experience. Not this time.

But it did come, and caught me completely off guard. It happened at Little League. Adam “got the text.” Finally, baby arrived safe and sound, mama too. Great! I sent a quick text and went back to reading. As I read, it hit me. My mind started reeling. I thought of my dear friends welcoming their long-awaited son into the world. I remembered all the times I had pictured that moment for us, and all the times it never actualized. I saw husband looking on wife, as if she had given him the world. I envisioned the bonding that moment affords, and it was almost more than I could bear. I felt myself fading. I thought for sure I was going to pass out.

I am glad that I had the ninos’ interest to motivate me to the hospital that night. I did not want to miss it, but after the experience earlier in the evening, I would not have gone otherwise. It was unbelievably hard for me…..harder than I expected. Of course, there was no pretense on my part that it would be a walk in the park, but I also did not expect the good old feelings of loss and grief to surface so quickly. The tears started as soon as I hugged Robert, although I did keep it together while at the hospital. Unfortunately, the 40 minute drive home allowed much time to think and to cry.

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Well, it has been a week now and I have realized where my jealousies lie, and why. The good news…I am not jealous of Baby. I am not jealous of Jaime. I am certainly not jealous of the pregnancy or the labor or the breastfeeding. The bad news…I am so very jealous of The Husband factor. As I think about it, this has been the only source of true jealousy with any of my sisters’ and friends’ pregnancies.

I am jealous of how he holds the baby with gentleness and reverence. How he carries him around the house not letting him out of his sight not even when he showers. How he now looks differently at his wife, and always will. How he smiles with that knowing smile that “He’s The Dad.” I am most jealous of the apparent and incredible joy that this tiny little life has brought to my friend’s husband! Since Adam and Robert are close friends, I see it and feel it more clearly. What do I see? I see with Robert what could have been with Adam. And even today, it breaks my heart into a thousand tiny pieces to know that I might never get to see my husband in that light. To give him that joyful gift.

My loving husband offered his shoulder after our hospital visit. He sweetly reminded me that he felt more bonded and closer to me during our first two weeks in Bogota. I appreciated his meager attempt. But he, of all people, knows it is not the same, not by a long shot. Our  “bonding time” has taken place in the midst of tough love, language barriers and paperwork. For some crazy reason, I think that bonding with, and over, a baby is a little different. If I did not love Adam so much, maybe I would not feel this loss so intently.

Shouldn’t I be grateful for what I have? I mean the ninos are now woven into our lives, our families, our legacy. We wouldn’t trade them for 100 billion dollars (give or take:). And yet, I still–and probably always will–mourn our losses when times like these arise. There are no conclusions or resolutions here, just feelings. Honest emotion.

Zackary has blessed his parents’ lives, and I am so grateful to be a part of the experience.

Fall is my most favorite time of year…sipping hot chocolate, crunching leaves beneath my feet, the feel of brisk air on my face. (I know, I live in Las Vegas–but a girl can live in her memory, right?) It is a truly glorious time of year, in my opinion. November, however, is difficult for me. This November is the third anniversary of my very first due date. In other words, it is the third “birthday” of our first miscarriage. I don’t really remember due dates and the like of other pregnancies. But the first one, I do. And, as both a good friend and sister have boys that turn three within a month of my first due date, I will always be reminded. 

This November has been especially hard. Now, I’m not talking about the crying every day, not able to function, sinking into a black hole kind of hard. :) It is just that last Thanksgiving weekend we conceived our fourth and most recent unborn baby. (kudos to Brianhead, UT–tmi, I know) It was a wonderfully relaxing weekend with friends–full of hot chocolate, fireplaces, and games–a favorite memory of ours. And since it is a favorite memory, I think of it often. So this November I not only thought of our first little guy, but also our fourth. What else happened this November? Umm, best friend #1 finally ”announced” and started to “show” (for which I am very grateful–you know I am). Best friend #2 lost two more potential adoption referrals–reminding me once again how unfair this world really is. And, on the very day that I happened to unpack a box, which housed a few items that I actually saved from the nursery (a blessing blanket, little “I love daddy” booties, and a giraffe picture that I can’t seem to part with) I got a phone call from another friend with “the news.” Actually, Adam had to come home early and rescue my sanity after that one. I was in a puddle of tears with no end in sight.

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Phew! I am really glad this November is over. I am so grateful for Danny, Ezzy, Nikki, and Wompy. They bring me much joy. I know I posted these pics on the family site, but I can’t resist their adorableness. And as Marisa’s daughter, Lainey, said–they really are starting to look like us, don’t you think?

Adoption is not the same. It is not the same as creating life. I know there are many people who disagree with that statement. But for me, it is truth. My belief system holds that I was put here on this earth to gain a body, find joy, and have children. Okay, that is really oversimplified, but still true. I never thought this adoption would fill the hole inside of me that longs to bring forth life. I never once thought that when we finally brought our kids home my fertility woes would somehow disappear…that the past 4-1/2 years of disappointment and loss would “be healed.” I always knew there would be an emptiness inside of me regardless of the adoption miracle of which we are a part.

And even still, I hoped. I hoped that our four children would fill my empty arms. I hoped that somehow I would no longer be jealous of my friends’ growing bellies. I hoped that my intentions of grace and goodness would overshadow the loneliness and isolation infertility inevitably brings.

But to be painfully honest, that has not happened. In fact, just the opposite has occurred. I find myself a bit sullen when I hear friends talking about their pregnancy plans. Because, you see, they can do that. They can decide if and when and how they will have a baby. They can decide when to “start trying” so that it fits in perfectly with their summer vacation or their debt payment plan or any other topic they decide to plan around. And sure, there is risk involved with every pregnancy. Miscarriage is a very sad and unfortunate side-effect of our imperfect mortal bodies. But the risk is much less for them.

A well-meaning adoptive mother wrote a beautiful letter to me outlining her experiences with pregnancy and adoption just before we left for Bogota. I thank her for sharing so openly. She wrote, “…The thing that (name removed) really taught me is that pregnancy is not that big of a deal. That you love your bio kids the same as you love your adopted kids. That color or blood- ties really do not matter. Pregnancy, nursing, babies, are soooooo temporary, they are gone in a blink, but motherhood is eternal. Being a mother is what matters…………………….The hope that once your children are home and settled and healed, that you will love them so much that you would not want to be a mother any other way. You will actually be glad that you had infertility because it gave you your children. You will be glad that it cost so much and took so long because it helped you appreciate them all the more….”

Unfortunately, I do not feel the same way. I believe that pregnancy is a VERY big deal. If God gave me the power to procreate, how can it not be? If this world ran as it should, there would be no orphans. There would be no need for adoption. There would be no need of rescue. So I disagree. I wish desperately that I had given birth to these four angels that bless our home. I wish that I had been with them since birth. I wish that they did not endure the things they did while waiting for someone to love them. I will always wish that they had come to me another way. And I find no shame in admitting that. I will never be grateful for the $45,000 we just spent to adopt. The suffering of infertility is enough for me to appreciate them. And being a mother is what matters. That much is true. But for me, as the person I am, I will always wish for the experience of bringing life into this world.

I believe my trial will always be to find joy and light in the suffering of infertility. I was sitting in church yesterday thinking of a couple of friends who are on their way to being pregnant, and I got “that feeling.” You know, the feeling that screams out…”I won’t like her baby, I don’t think I can look at her belly in five or six months, I can’t visit her in the hospital–it’s just too painful.” And then I pulled myself back into reality. The thought came to me that Jesus Christ loves me more than the pain he felt during his sacrifice. He could have said, “Oh, it’s too painful. I’m going to stop now.” We all know he wanted to. He cried out for his Father’s help. But he continued on and followed through because he loves me. Well, I love my friends and my sisters. And their joy is more important to me than my pain. People ask me how I do it sometimes. And that is how. Sometimes I lose focus. But I am trying to be better. And focusing on the Savior’s example helps remind me that I have so much to be grateful for. I have four really awesome kids now. I hope that they will someday help heal my heart. But it is not yet.

To go or not to go? That is the question.

My first Mother’s Day as a married woman was spent sobbing at church as I had just completed my first miscarriage. Not recommended!

My second was spent leading the music on the stand, I cried so hard that my sweet husband had to lead the last song and then took me straight home to bed. So much for trying to be strong and graceful. 

My third childless Mother’s Day I planned ahead. I retained a substitute for my mia maid class and played hookie with my hubby. This option is highly recommended. I didn’t have to be strong in front of a dozen growing bellies. I didn’t have to endure talks that were meant to honor current mothers and inspire those whom they serve, but which left me in tears. And, let’s be honest, I didn’t have to feel like the fraud I always do when the bishop asks all the mothers in the audience to stand up and recieve a token of gratitude. If I stand, I’m a liar. If I don’t stand, I have people around me telling me to stand because I am a mother “in spirit”, which makes me feel like a big baby. Gag me, please!

So, what do I do this year? I am kind of a mom or at least I’m hoping to officially gain the title in a few short weeks. But Mother’s Day for me is not so much about the future. It’s about the past. When this time of year rolls around my thoughts return to my lost babies. I feel a deep sense of sadness for what could’ve or should’ve been.

I think I can say that I’ve moved past the self-centered stage, which I was in for a couple of years–I’ll admit it. The last few years I cried because I wasn’t a mom and others were. But now, as I have the beautiful blessing of four children on the way. I have so much to be grateful for.

No, no. When I cry this year, it will be in rememberence. And the tears that flow when I think of my lost babies are not pretty. They are tears that remember the pain of wanting and the pain of loss. They remember the physical pain of miscarriage and the sorrow of being told that our baby is dying, AGAIN.

The tears are also for my best friends who are in the midst of their own losses and sorrow. They are for my sister who gave birth and lost her twin sons all in the month of Mother’s Day. They are for my mom and friends’ moms who I know shed thousands of tears on our behalves just because they are our moms! And they are grandmas to our losses.

Just because I’ll soon be a mom doesn’t mean the memories and disappointment of pregnancy somehow disappear. And I hope they never do. My life’s experience has made me who I am and so much of that is tied up in the past four years. Although this weekend kind of sucks, I’m grateful for the yearly reminder.

And gone is the mormon guilt of a few years ago. I probably won’t attend church tomorrow, and I’m okay with that.

I hate it. It is not fair. It is not okay.

I do not think any miscarriage or baby loss is more emotionally painful than another. I do think, however, that miscarriage is especially painful for those who do not have any children. This is not because the loss of a child is buffered by the existing children. It is because the childless woman grieves not only for the actual physical loss, but also for the plan of being a mom soon. The emptiness of the home is exacerbated by this loss, making it all the more real and painful. This is especially true for those of us who have had multiple losses. It seems endless and it seems hopeless.

The suckiest part of baby loss isn’t the grieving. The introspection catapulted by loss can be quite therapuetic. The suckiest part is the ‘What Nows’. After miscarriage one no longer has an end-date for work, a reason to start on the nursery, the desire to thrust themself into the world of child speak with other mothers in their social circle.

Unfortunately, I still have no “I’m so grateful for this experience because” advice. I’ve tried to come up with some over the past few months as my latest miscarriage has seemed endless and pointless. I’m always thinking if I can find some good in an experience then maybe I can help someone else in the future. I’m always thinking that way, but this time nothing has come. I suppose the empathy from having gone through it is enough. But I want something brilliant, something deep. I suppose my understanding will have to do.

I am at peace with my latest experience. My hcg levels finally tested below 2 this past week and I’ve finally stopped spotting. Phew!!! It’s been over 12 weeks so I was getting a little worried. Looking back, I might have done a d&c, but then again maybe not. For me, there was fullfillment is completing this naturally. I think if I had seen a heartbeat and baby outline I might have felt differently. I am just glad it’s over!

So, I guess to sum it up, the most brilliant thing I can come up with is that miscarriage sucks!!!

One of my closest friends and most trusted confidants announced to me last week that she is expecting. Shock, amazement, joy, wariness, concern, and gratefulness are all thoughts that traveled through my mind. I am grateful for her trust in me. I am concerned for her well-being and for that of the tiny little baby trying to grow. I am overjoyed that I will hopefully be an “aunt” again soon. I am amazed at her calm steady approach to the situation.

As I continue to pass my latest miscarriage, I find it ironic that she is exactly where I was just two short months ago, waiting ‘for the other shoe to drop’ as they say…for her quant levels to stop rising…for her ultrasound to report no visible sac or heartbeat…for her doctor to say ‘just kidding, you’re really not pregnant’. And all the while still secretly hoping that this time will be different!

Like many readers out there (me included), babies have not come easily, or at all, to this family. There has been struggle and strain. There has been confusion on which fertlilty path, if any, to choose. It hasn’t been easy. It hasn’t been fair. And above all, it hasn’t been joyous. At times we feel slighted a bit in our path toward motherhood. As I mentioned in a previous post…the question isn’t “why me?”, but simply just “why?” Why is it that the most basic and fundamental part of womanhood–the ability to bear children–is so difficult for some? Creating life should be joyful. Whether we choose the path of motherhood or not, we are still anatomically made to do so. “Fertility Options” seem counterintuitive in regard to our womanly biology.

I would be a big fat liar if I professed that all my friends’ pregnancies were/are easy for me to deal with. They unequivocally are Not. My joy and excitement for them is equal to my personal sadness. There is one thought that sustains me though…I would not and could not ever ever ever wish my personal experience and grief on anyone else. I want those close to create as much joy for themselves as possible. That joy seeps into my heart and my family. It is a childish and inexperienced person that wishes for others to endure sorrow or pain so they can feel better, or simply not alone, themselves. I am so grateful that I have risen above this very human trait. I am not perfect, but I am perfectly happy for my friend.

I know that she experienced these same feelings of sadness when I found out I was pregnant, and I am forever humbled by her compassion and ability to think of my joy before her pain. And more than that, I am grateful for her sadness and grief on my behalf when I began to miscarry. That is the time when silence from friends and family is the most brutal. They don’t know what to say, or are afraid to intrude. I get that. But my friend wasn’t silent. She was honest and brilliant. She called, texted, and emailed many times to check on me. She reminded me that it’s okay to cry and to say that life isn’t fair. This to me is the mark of true friend.

Friend, I am praying for you. I am hoping for you. I am thinking of you and your baby. Whatever the outcome, this is a reminder that miracles can happen…that life is precious. Please celebrate every second that you carry this child. This pregnancy is a gift. Maybe, just maybe, you will still be pregnant when we bring our little ones home from Colombia. What a triumph that would be. I love you! We really are much ‘more than our fertility.’

Yesterday, Adam and I attended an “adoption education” lecture in Layton, which meant a 1.5 hour drive each way plus 3 hours of lecture time. Needless to say, it was a full day of sitting. I knew I would be uncomfortable, bloated, and running to the bathroom. Plus, I wasn’t really sure I wanted to jump back into adoption prep for a couple of weeks. Against my better judgment I joined my husband for the day. I figured if I was going to be miserable, I’d like to be miserable next to him!!! Plus, I had that pesky feeling that I should just go.

I am sooooooooo glad I went. As I sat and listened, it felt as though I was home….like I hadn’t missed a beat or been away. It felt natural. It felt good. It felt right. I walked out of the seminar feeling invigorated about what we are doing. I know this is something we’re supposed to do. The best part is that I’m excited about it, even through the miscarriage. And I’m not sure I would be if I hadn’t followed my instincts yesterday. Adam, most likely would’ve found me drowning my sorrows in a gallon of sinfully chocolatey ice creamy goodness. The entire experience made the figurative and literal pain of the miscarriage pale in comparison to the hope we have  of a future family.

Don’t worry–we’re still human. We had our Cryfest tonight, together. I knew it would come sooner or later. It’s part of the beautiful mourning process. I’m just glad that this time it was sooner than later. We are so grateful to have each other. I am especially grateful for the sensitivity and thoughtfulness of my wonderful husband.

We lost our fourth baby this week. That’s the short of it. Part of me is numb, and part of me aches. I told Adam yesterday to give me a few days of ice cream and doing nothing, and I would be better. Three years ago I could not say that. But now, I know the drill! I’m a little older, and a little wiser. I know my part in the grieving process. And surprisingly, I feel pretty good about it all. I think I even feel up to getting back to my diet on Monday. I was doing so good before the pregnancy.

The best part about myself, the part I am MOST proud of is that I Choose to see hope in my future as a mother. I Choose to move on with the adoption w/o hesitation. I Choose to have a magnificent marriage. I Choose to wade through the frustrations of fertility with a sense of humor. I Choose to be strong–knowing that I am worth more than the ability to have a child.  

If I don’t move forward, I fall backward…and I choose not to do that. Adam and I have invested too much of ourselves to get mired in the “what-ifs.” I’m not sure if we’ll be able to have a biological child in this lifetime, but I know we’ll be parents. I take comfort in knowing that none of our lives are exactly how we planned, but if we do the best we can, it is the perfect life for each of us. We each teeter between justice and mercy, and with Christ’s help we are perfectly balanced. How I choose to handle my trials is what keeps me balanced, not the trials themselves. I consider this persective a gift–and I am grateful for the brilliance of it all.

Tomorrow is always better than today!!!!!!!!!!!

I had another check-up yesterday. And once again, we have ambiguous answers. The good news is that there is a sac in the uterus, which means no ectopic pregnancy. Phew! This is the first time EVER that we’ve been able to see anything on an ultrasound. The bad news is that my quant numbers are low and I’m measuring at five weeks instead of seven. I’ve also had some spotting, cramping and bleeding. All of these factors together have my doctor and I leaning toward an eventual miscarriage.

However, the miscarriage is not imminent, and we are hopeful. Even if I do miscarry, I’ve made it further than ever before, which is awesome. And having seen something inside the uterus means implantation is possible–Amazing. My doctor also said that sometimes with a mishap-en uterus, which I have, it takes a few implantations and miscarriages to stretch out the uterus enough to carry a fetus past 20 weeks. I never knew that before! She is amazing. I wish I was staying in Washington so that she could be my full-time doctor.