Category Archives: The Emotions of Infertility

Infertility, Adoption: It’s Official?

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photoThose of you out there who are part of my tribe, the tribe of women for whom the path to motherhood is more crooked than straight, know that this journey is not for the faint of heart. You know that as the years pass by the tough scales over our hearts get tougher; our skin gets thicker.

Years ago, yes it’s been years now, I wrote a post about Myrtle the turtle (a pet from my youth who took flying leaps off the second floor balcony). I wrote about the hard shells that we carry around as infertility takes it’s painful blows against a once pliable and soft heart.

The last nine months of my life have shown me that if infertility will harden a shell, adoption will give a woman a steel encased cover.

It’s tough; I’m tough.

And so this week when, after nine months of paperwork and interviews, plus 3 1/2 years of unfulfilled dreams of motherhood, we became “officially” approved and available as adoptive parents, I cringe to say that I really didn’t feel much of anything.

It’s official; the battle is not over, is it ever really over?

It’s official; more peaks and valleys will follow as we wait for the phone to ring, pray that she won’t change her mind, try to figure out how to change our life overnight in a world that doesn’t really get how this all works (and admittedly neither do we).

It’s official; the shell is so hard that the only way to survive the threat of skyscraper falls is to spend more time tucked inside that shell than basking in the sun.

And so I must admit what I hate to admit, it’s official that I’m more terrified than perhaps I have ever been on this journey.

Why?

Because now the fall truly could crush me. Because now for the first time in 3 1/2 years it really could be official. And now, for the first time in 3 1/2 years , someone could come and take it all away an instant after it arrives.

Yet life must go on; I must go on. Because deep down inside I really do believe that when our child, the one who is meant to be with us forever, cuddles into the crevice of my arms and makes a home forever in the crevices of my heart, the shell will crack and the steel case will fall away.

And that is the magic that heals us all. That is the magic that makes a broken heart whole. And that is the magic that keeps me going until the day when that magic is officially mine forever.

Infertility: may it be soon, and may it be forever

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be_here_now_by_mivthevampire-d39u6ybRecently one of my most dear friends relayed to me her every day prayer for my husband and me “may it be soon, and may it be forever.”

No matter where you are on your fertility journey this one prayer is the one silently uttered in the hearts of each person, and so eloquently expressed by my friend. The difficult part however is the relative nature of it all. When is soon, and how will I know it’s forever?

And so for me, and for all of the “we” who make up those journeying through IF, seeking what’s on the other side, whether motherhood or a content life with a key role in the “Auntie Tribe,” I share one thought, just one simple thought, from one of my favorite songs by Ray LaMontagne:

“Be here now, be here now
Be, be here now, be here now”

Don’t let this day pass you by. Don’t let this moment slip from your grips without you savoring its sweetness. Don’t let tomorrow steal one glance, one smile, one hug. Be here now.

Trip over joy because you do not have a thousand more serious moves, you only have to surrender to today, and to trust that all the rest will be here soon, and forever.

“Tripping Over Joy”

What is the difference
Between your Existence
And that of a Saint?

The Saint knows
That the spiritual path
Is a sublime chess game with God
And that the Beloved
Has just made such a Fantastic Move
That the Saint is now continually
Tripping over joy
And Bursting out in Laughter
And saying, “I Surrender!”

Whereas, my dear,
I am afraid you still think
You have a thousand serious moves.

-Hafiz-

Infertility: I am here, but I am not

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labor-diagramAnyone who has been journeying down the life experience of infertility knows there are stages.

There are stages of shock, stages of grief, stages of hope, stages of despair, stages of defeat, stages of acceptance, and in the end, there is a stage of joy and moving on.

We all live for that last stage in one way or another. I live for that last stage.

Over the last three years I have sat captive on this roller coaster ride. I have experienced the ups and the downs and held close a flickering flame waiting to ignite a future where someone calls me “mama.”

And over the last six months I have had my life dissected, my privacy invaded, and every major decision I ever made questioned, during the process of being approved for adoption. For those who believe that physical labor is the most excruciating experience a woman can go through, give this experience a shot.

So here I am, in 2013, maybe just maybe the year my child is born.

Am I excited? Yes. Am I terrified? Yes. Am I scared to believe that it’s even possible. Oh yes. Yet am I ready for all of these years of labor pains to end. YES!

When I am at work I am there, but I am not. When I am with friends, I am there, but I am not. When I am enjoying date night with my husband, I am there but I am not.

Where I am is with my child. I suppose where a part of every woman who desires to mother always resides is with her child, it’s just that for those of us who labor for years and years to bring our child into our world, as the years move on the contractions of the heart get stronger and stronger, and closer and closer, drowning out the rest of the world.

I am not sure if I was ready before. I mean I thought I was ready, I could have convinced any single person, close friend or stranger, that I was ready, yet I’m not sure that I really was strong enough to push through these contractions. But now, I am ready.

The unfortunate part for women who labor in this way, in my way, is that there is no epidural to numb the pain, there is no room full of supportive professionals coaching us through the pain, telling us what to expect at every turn, and holding our hand. And there is no definitive marker of just when the contractions will usher forth our child.

And so, for me, these days feel the most difficult.

In a week or two we will be “fully approved” and then the waiting does not begin, it continues: the waiting for the call, the waiting for the meeting, the waiting for the words “she picked you,” and the waiting to hear our child’s first self righteous cry.

And so until that moment, I am here, but really I am not.