Tag Archives: adoption paperwork

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.

Infertility is hard, family can be insensitive, yet in life there’s always a “Cherry” on top

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Here are three things that I know: (1) Marriage, mixed with infertility–like a dangerously exotic drink at a seedy roadside bar–is not for the faint of heart; (2) Family, never having experienced infertility, can be unintentionally hurtful and insensitive; and (3) Life often feels too busy and too full with the years whirling by in a home where the nursery sits empty. And here is one important lesson that a three-and-five-year-old and their four-month-old sister taught me; at the end of the day none of those matters and there’s always a “Cherry” on top.

As part of our adoption process we had to spend the afternoon/evening with a newborn. A dear friend of mine was generous enough to offer her little one up, and we insisted on watching their other two so that they could get a romantic evening out alone together.

By the end of the night I was in love.

I was in love with the way their three-year-old had to first take his shirt off so that he could “box” his brother on the x-box. I was in love with the way their five-year-old soaked in every ounce of me rubbing his back–inquiring into whether we could spend the night–while my husband read bedtime stories. And I was in love with how their four-month-old laughed hysterically at her brothers, and then cuddled in and fell asleep on my shoulder.

I was also however in love with the “Cherry” on top–my husband. Of course I always love him, however the sweetness of this tiny person smiling away as he held her made me only love him more. And so, dubbed “Cherry” by the three-year-old, who was unable to pronounce his name, I found my “Cherry” on top.

Yes, there have been times when infertility felt like just too much to bear. There have been times when I was ready to throw all of the adoption paperwork into the trash–overwhelmed by all that we need to do and all we that we have to share with complete strangers to be dubbed “acceptable parents.” And there have been times when family members have unknowingly deeply hurt me, so immersed in their own joys and never considering how I might feel. Those things are like heavy weights at the bottom of lead boots. They have made me angry, tearful, and exasperated.

Yet in the end, there really is a “Cherry” on top and soon where there was two, there will be three, and nothing else will matter.

Infertility and fear, oh the fear: Are there Thundershirts for humans?

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My dog Sophie hates the thunder, she shudders from the lightening, and she crawls under the covers and as close to me as possible when a storm rolls in.

And so she now has her very own Thundershirt, and it actually does work. Go figure!

This miracle of calm in the midst of a storm makes me wonder: Are there Thundershirts for humans?

Infertility is a scary passageway. The doctors appointments. The long waits for test results. The array of options before us. The choices, so many choices.

And even when we decide to try the procedure, to begin the process of adopting, or to embrace our life as beautiful just the way it is, it’s down right scary!

As my husband and I complete our gigantic stack of adoption paperwork, as we de-wallpaper, prime, and paint the room that will be our nursery, as we navigate the always unchartered waters of marital disagreement, I’m scared and I need a Thundershirt!

What will I do if the adoption is disrupted? What will I do when the baby won’t stop crying and I (quite clearly to her/him not their mother) can do nothing to soothe them? How will we handle an argument when there are little ears listening? What if I fall so in love that the thought of returning to work becomes unthinkable? And what if I don’t?

And so the thunder of infertility gets louder and louder, and the lightening strikes come closer. And unfortunately, they don’t make Thundershirts for humans.

Unlike my dog Sophie, we must crawl out from under the covers, throw open the blackout shades, and face the storm outside. Because when we stand firm in ourselves in the midst of the storm, we soon find that the pounding rain is letting up, and the ominous skies are turning blue.

When we gather our courage to face the storm, we will one day find that we have survived the darkest night and that our rainbow looms just around the corner. But only if we are brave enough to look out–otherwise we will always remained tucked in under the cover of our fear.