Consumed

For the past 6 months, my posting here has been spotty at best. It's not really that I am so busy that I forget that I have a blog. And it's definitely not that I don't care. I want to write but the moment I sit down in front of the blank white box, the words escape me. I remember years ago how my thoughts would just pour out of me onto the page. I could succinctly express myself in some profound, poetic way without even really trying. But that was when I was struggling. When I'm in pain, it's so easy for me to write. Subtracting infertility from the equation has seemingly deducted my writing skills.

I've debated putting an end to this blog. Moving on. Telling myself that I just don't have the time or the talent anymore. But my heart won't let me give up. I don't want to just accept my current state as fact. So, here I am, in the midst of Infertility Awareness Week, committing myself to Bloggy Rehab so I can get back my groove back. I may have lost my way but I'm going to dig deep for that compass so I can get back on track.
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The best word I can use to describe my current state of mind is: consumed.

Not so much with our day-to-day routine. After our first year of mass confusion, we finally have that down pat. Wake up at 7am. Breakfast at 8am. Morning Snack at 11am. Nap at noon. Lunch at 2pm. Playtime/errands until 6pm. Dinner at 7pm. Bath at 7:30pm. Bedtime at 8pm. (Betcha wanted to know all about our monotony, am I right?!) There is little deviation from this schedule. No surprises. Moreso, I'm consumed with a sense of tremendous guilt.

I know I'm not the only mom on the planet who feels this emotion and I realize it is normal to an extent. I've always been one to hold myself to a high standard. And it was okay because if I failed, I was only affecting myself. With parenting, I have so much more at stake. My screw-ups now could affect my son for the rest of his life. So, I am acutely more aware of my mistakes. And well, those are aplenty.

At 21 months, Nate is still pretty much a mute. Don't get me wrong - he babbles incessantly. But it's a foreign language that only he seems to be able to comprehend. He's only said about 15-20 "real" words. And even those aren't consistent. He's perfectly content to point and grunt rather than enunciate his wants and needs. MIL assures me that DH was a late talker and that Nate will eventually gain vocabulary - probably after the age of 2. But naturally, I am concerned for his development. His comprehension is perfectly fine and he can follow simple commands like "brush your teeth", "brush your hair", "grab your shoes", "where's the ball?", etc. That's the only reason I haven't yet consulted a speech therapist. However, children younger than him are speaking in 2-3 word sentences. I'm trying not to do the whole comparison thing because I know there is a HUGE range of "normal" amongst toddlers. But I can't help but feel as if this is somehow my fault. Have I not communicated with him enough? Is he watching too much TV? Is he not socialized enough since he is an only child and I'm a SAHM? Guilt, guilt and more guilt.

And then there's the issue of TTC #2. We've been trying nonchalantly for almost 8 months now. Of course, I haven't ovulated once in that time. Par for the course. I didn't start charting until January but I've yet to see anything close to a temp shift during my 70+ day cycles. I can't say I was surprised but my OB/GYN wanted me to come in for some bloodwork, just to make sure my thyroid wasn't to blame. Come to find out, I do indeed have PCOS. As in polycystic ovaries. Why my RE didn't catch or disclose this in the year that I was her patient, I haven't the foggiest. I suspect I've had this problem all along, even though I am not technically overweight and I don't display all of the symptoms (unfortunately, skin tags and facial hair are ones that I happen to exhibit. Jackpot!) But this pretty much means I am unlikely to get - and stay - pregnant without some sort of medical intervention. So, here I am, back on wonder-drug, Clomid. Yesterday was my last pill and I'm hoping to release a magic eggie in the next week. There is hope. But I am still plagued by the what-ifs.

I am excited at the prospect of another baby. I feel ready to add to our family. But yet I question myself. Is this really the best timing? Do I really want to push my luck again and risk miscarriage? How in the hell would I deal with a loss when I have to care for a toddler? What if I have a high-risk pregnancy? There's no way I could do bedrest. Are we just being greedy? Shouldn't we just be thankful for what we have? After struggling with primary infertility, I feel guilty admitting that my family doesn't feel complete with just one child.

Last but not least, there's the SAHM guilt. I felt guilty working through the first 8 months of Nate's life, walking in the door as the clock ticked to witching hour. I thought putting my career in the backseat to invest my time in raising my son would mean zero guilt. Not the case. DH is working much longer hours (almost 80 hours a week between his 9-5 and running his business). He's under more stress. All because he's the sole provider now. I'm no spendthrift but I feel bad if I spend so much as $4 on a latte. I purchase toys and clothes from consignment and outlet sales. I knew that choosing this lifestyle would mean sacrifices. And luckily, we haven't had to give up much. I don't regret the transition. But I'd be lying if I said I never longed for a time when I could whip out my credit card and spend $150 on a salon visit. Or have the means to afford Mommy groups and summer camps and swim lessons.

I'm bombarded with so many decisions on a daily basis. I just hope I'm making the right ones.

Wordless Wednesday: Back In The Saddle Again

Local Celebrity

On Sunday, I had the pleasure of attending our esteemed infertility advocate, Mel's first book reading in D.C. at Politics and Prose. It had been well over a year since I'd met up with my girls of OOTPU fame and I couldn't think of a better reason to make my long-anticipated resurgence.

When I first stepped into the bookstore, I saw Mel's book front and center on display. I smiled smugly to myself. That's right. Infertility should not be hidden away in the depths of the Health or Self-Help aisles. It should be out in the open for all to see. After all, 1 out of every 6-8 patrons will likely have need for the material.

As I greeted Mel (and her hubby!) and waited for her to take the podium, I admit I got a little vaclempt. This little project, this dream that began way back in 2006 had now suddenly come to life. It was all coming full circle. Here she was. Our Mel. A local celebrity, shining light on the topic of which we've all become passionate. Albeit against our will. But the one good thing that has come of our inhabitance on the Land of IF is that we found each other. We built our community from the ground up. I was so proud. I had butterflies as Mel spoke of "peace of heart" and described scenarios that brought back so many memories of my journey.

After the reading and Q&A (which Mel has shared on her blog), I was able to converse with new and old faces. Some, like myself, had come a long way in a year - culminating with the pitter patter of little feet. Others were still waiting in limbo. But yet we all stood hand in virtual hand. It was empowering and in an ironic way, uplifting.

I even got an autograph from the author herself. So, years in the future when this book takes its rightful place on the throne shelf as the IF Bible, I can flaunt it and say I was there from its inception. I was an apostle.

M Day Revamped

So, most of us know yesterday as M_ _ _ _ _' s Day. You can fill in the blanks here. A day of appreciation and tribute to the women who have birthed and raised children. Flowers. Candy. Cards. Sappy, sentimental commercials. Reminders plastered on every street corner. Reminders to forget a gift at your own peril. Reminders to some of what they long to have - long to be - but haven't attained.

If infertility has taught me anything, it is just how painful this holiday can be. As if the rest of society hadn't excluded us due to our childless status, there was now a special day in history each year during which we were extra specially antagonized.

Please understand me. I'm not suggesting that mothers shouldn't be recognized for all they do. Not at all. I am one of the fortunate ones that understands how our efforts - no matter how tiny or large - are often overlooked or expected. I just happen to believe it should be more of a softly spoken year-round thing as opposed to one obnoxiously in-your-face event a year. Perhaps I'm low-key like that. I would personally rather have someone do something thoughtful for me out of the blue than because a holiday obligates them with the showering of gifts.

And while this year is the first year that I could officially celebrate the day for myself, I still found myself waking yesterday morning with a tear in my eye. For those of us who still haven't reached the Holy Grail of IF. As my husband rolled over and said "Happy M_ _ _ _ _'s Day", my mind flashed back to the days when I was the outsider. When I watched everyone else accept their handmade gifts with the glimmer of unconditional love in their eye and kiss their squealing, rosy-cheeked children.

I longed to be a part of this elite club for so long and now that I had been inducted, it honestly just felt like any other day. Complete with nosebleed (this makes #3 this week), vomit and poop. I'm grateful every single day for my blessings so it wasn't the magical epiphany I thought it'd be.

I did receive some lovely flowers from Nate (can you believe that at a mere 9.5 months old, he can already log into FTD.com and place an order? The eloquency of his notecard was easily on a 7th grade level.) and DH cooked me breakfast. We visited the in-laws and had dinner while the cousins played. But my mind wandered, as it tends to do. When people look at me, they see me and DH and now Nate. They have no idea of the scars and wounds I carry or the cross I bear from IF. The two angels I've lost, whose only tangible memories reside in the gemstone bracelet that gingerly caressed my wrist throughout the day.
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The lovely, talented Liv came up with the most faboosh idea to stick it to IF and take back the day. To transform the feelings of dread to anticipation. And so OMG You Rock Day was born. I just had to participate and give back to the community that helped me work through all those rotten times.

I received the most lovely goodies from Stacie, whose blog I just recently discovered and lurve. I can't believe I've been missing out on her story. I must have been living under a rock. Her gifts were way too awesome not to share for Show & Tell:

The hilarious card, which Nate ripped from my hand and mangled before I even got the chance to open it



The sweet message inside



Opening my box of treats



Aren't the wrapping paper and bows so cute?



The Willow Tree Angel's Embrace ornament. The interpretation reads "Hold close that which we hold dear." PERFECT.



All of my loot, including new reading material



Does this girl rock or WHAT?! Thank you, Stacie, for your generous and thoughful gifts. I love them and will definitely be putting them to good use.

Memories in the Making

DH had to work on-site yesterday, which meant a late night return home. Instead of fixing dinner or performing any obligatory - albeit mundane - tasks, I decided to take advantage of the solo time with Nate and do what we do best: goof off.

I was crawling around on my hands and knees, snarling like a beast and chasing him frantically as he giggled and sped away. I snuck up behind him to grab his chubby little leg and he turned around to smile the most angelic smile I've ever witnessed. My heart melted like wax. His expression was effervescent, making my ovaries ache. It was then I had a "moment".

Pray tell, you say?

I'm sure any mom short of the likes of Andrea Yates can relate to this "moment". This epiphany. My entire soul - my whole being - felt such immense joy and enchantment that I wept. Tears streamed down my face as I thought about how incredibly blessed and lucky I was to have my miracle. I am no more deserving of motherhood than any other woman on the planet. As a matter of fact, I can think of many women off the top of my head who have been waiting in line much longer than I ever did to get the parenthood membership card. Yet somehow I get to share my days and nights with this little boy who brings so much sunshine into my life.

I felt guilty for all the times I may have lost my patience or been short with him for something as simple as wanting to be held as I used the bathroom. For all the times I was less than perfect, having struggled to meet his intrinsic needs. For any time that I may have inadvertently taken him for granted. This sense of awe enveloped me as I drew him near.

I held him extra close as I rocked him to sleep and recalled nights in the not-so-distant past when I curled up in a ball, wondering if I would ever feel a child suckle from my breast or grasp my finger in his/her tiny hand. I kissed him on the forehead before I placed him in his crib and as I watched him drift off to sleep, I studied his face intently. Every day he changes. Every day he is another day older. He'll never be this young or this innocent again. I never want to forget the way he looked at me this night.

I realized all we have are these moments. They become memories so quickly.

So this must be unconditional love.

Flutters and A Finale

There is only one word that can describe 2008.

Change.

Exhilarating change. (Okay, that was two words. So sue me.)

Not unlike the anticipation and apprehension as you wait for a rollercoaster ride to descend into its cyclonic whirlwind. The butterflies that playfully swirl around in your abdomen as you await what is to come. And then once you are released, it all happens so fast that can hardly catch your breath. In a flash, it's over and you have this stupified grin plastered across your face.

It was like that to the infinitieth power.

2008 began with a glimmer of hope. I had just handed in my ticket and boarded the p-word rollercoaster. I was excited yet fearful. Uncertain of what to expect - if anything at all. Would the ride stop before it had even started? Would I ultimately be disappointed and leave empty-handed as I had in the past? Or could it be the ride of a lifetime that I would never forget?

I had so much at stake emotionally. Having been burned twice before, it was hard to put my chips on the table. To let go and find the strength from within to believe. To not expect another setback. I knew there were no guarantees. The fear and anticipation escalated the further along I went. I just had that much more to lose. And I was that much more attached to those butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

But somewhere along the way, I did find sweet release from the pressure. I did shed layers of angst to find unadulterated happiness. I'm not sure at what point this happened because before I realized it, the joyride was over.

My son was born. And I'm still trying to process everything 5 months later. The day I gave birth was the greatest day of my life hands down. I can't wipe the smile from my face. Each day is a new learning experience. A new memory. Not that everything is always sunshine, wine and roses. Quite the contrary. But I must admit - even in the toughest times - I have the greatest reward I could ever dream of.

2009 is beginning with great promise. Although I'm unsure of what the future holds, I feel like we have much opportunity and much to look forward to.

Sadly, I know not everyone is starting the new year with the same outlook. There are people out there - possibly even some of my readers - who also bet big. But instead of hitting the jackpot, they may have lost their fortune. Some who are still waiting in line to board the rollercoaster, watching others repeatedly cut in front of them.

My greatest wish for 2009 is that you may depart the free-falling drop tower of IF and board the p-word rollercoaster without fear of loss.

I wish everyone could feel those butterflies free of consequence.

The Two R's

My dear blogmate, R&R, just wrote the most fabulous post and inspired my cheap, unoriginal self to do a spin-off.

In a popular film that you may very well know, one villain asks another how she feels now that her arch nemesis is dead. Multiple choice. 2 R's. Relief? Or regret?

When I look back at my pregnancy and subsequent defeat of my enemy, IF, I feel a bit of both. Relief that I made it through alive. That I have this sweet, healthy baby as a reward for all of the misery I endured. Relief that I no longer have to dread holidays, baby showers or family gatherings. That I no longer have to ponder if I'll ever be a mother to a living child. Because I am. That worry dissipated that magical moment I heard his first cry.

But more so, I feel regret.

Throughout the agony of TTC, I wished I could be a superhero. A caped crusader who could fast forward time. I lived my life in two-week increments. Waiting to ovulate. Waiting to test. Waiting and hoping, waiting and hoping. Wash, rinse, repeat. It felt as if I was confined in this cyclical trap. When AF would arrive, I would plot my temperatures on my chart, pop pills and vitamins and tap my foot as CD14 drew near. Each RE appointment was one step closer. As I saw the greatly anticipated temperature shift, I would stare at the calendar, anxiously awaiting test day. Every BFN made me that much more desperate and impatient.

Only it didn't end there. With my BFP, I again wished the time away. If I could only see a heartbeat. If I could only hear the heartbeat on doppler. If I could only get to the second trimester. If I could only get to my Level II and find out the gender. If I could only feel flutters of movement. If I could only make it to viability. If I could only make it to the third trimester. If I could only make it to term.

Against all odds, we made it through each milestone. Relatively easily. Before I knew it, Nate was here.

I look back and regret selling time short. I know it was a self-preservation mechanism and that my mini-milestones were a way to mentally challenge myself to trust in hope. It was too hard to see myself reaching the holy grail so I had to start small. I had to have faith that we could climb those stairsteps until we reached the top. But in doing so, I made it impossible to live in the moment. I wished so hard for the future that I failed to rest and feel the contentment of the present.

I did find joy with each milestone I met. But it was never enough. I only relished in happiness enough to push myself to the next hurdle. I couldn't let myself get too excited. So, when I look back on my pregnancy, it's a blur. Splashes of happiness amongst a foundation of angst.

The unfairness of it all is that now I wish I could slow time down. Now that I am no longer sullen, weeping over the seemingly unattainable. Now that my marriage isn't close to collapsing in shambles. Now that I can truly smile and mean it. Just when I want to live in the here and now, time speeds up. I'd give anything to go back to feeling like each day was infinity.

Nate is going to be 12 weeks old tomorrow and I find that incredibly fascinating. I love that he is less of a blob and more of a little human these days. He can coo and babble. He can blow spit bubbles and smile. He can suck on his hand and drool like an English Bulldog. With each new day, he changes before my very eyes. I wish I could trick time. Stall it so I don't miss any detail, no matter how minute it may be.

I think this is part of the reason we are still co-sleeping. DH has been urging me to transition Nate to the crib for weeks but I can't bring myself to do it yet. I've been procrastinating. Hardcore. Co-sleeping has its obvious advantages but the main reason I haven't attempted to move him is the most selfish of all. It's my shallow attempt to resist change and stop time in his tracks.

I hold my pint-sized cutie close, his faint breath tickling my chest. I inhale deeply, allowing his lavender scent to encompass my nostrils. The moonlight flows through our bedroom window. I take one more loving glance before I close my eyes. I know I must but I feel like I never want to let go.

In Remembrance

In honor of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day

The two larger candles are for my babies who sleep in the arms of Jesus: Angel (born at 5 weeks gestation on August 27, 2005) and Snowflake (born at 11.5 weeks gestation on July 9, 2007). They watch over and protect the third candle which represents my Sunshine. My gift from above. My "third time's a Prince Charming". My Nate.

I lit the candles and brought Nate over to pay his respects. His eyes were fixated on the flames as they flickered to and fro. The shadows danced on the wall, as if his brother and sister were enticing him to join. He was captivated for one minute. One minute that felt like an eternity, as I observed my past and my present collide. I know it's most likely wishful thinking but I choose to believe he was spiritually connected to his siblings for that brief period.

When people look at me, they see I have a living child. A beautiful boy. They see I'm fairly young. They may even wonder if he was an "accident", unexpected. Or if he came easily to us. They do not see the emotional scars I carry along with the baby on my hip. They cannot see the wounds from my IF crusade. I guess I keep them hidden quite well.

They do not see the other children I held in my womb. The children who were born too soon. Their memories live on through bittersweet anniversaries that only I recall.

Tonight, I remember the babies we can't hold in our arms. But we forever hold them in our hearts.

Transition

I never thought the old adage "hope for the best but prepare for the worst" would ever apply to conceiving a baby. After 2.5 years of heartache and loss, there were times I honestly believed I may never be a mother. Times that I never thought I'd have a blog devoted purely to parenthood. That I was destined to write about my wonky ovaries forever. I began to wonder if the hope I held so much stock in was nothing but a falsity.

And here I am.

Here we are.

I've made the transition from infertile girl to infertility grad. Since July 26, 2008, I am officially a mommy. A boy mommy. And now I attempt to become a mommy blogger.

Much like when I started my old blog, I'm not sure where this will lead. I'm not sure I'll have anything interesting to post or new to share that another mom hasn't already discussed in greater detail or with more wit. But it will be a learning experience. Possibly for those who stumble across my path as well as for me. A way to document these precious moments before they fade. And maybe - just maybe - it can be entertaining as well.

We'll have to see what the future has in store.