Grace for the Mom of Many

So, I understand being pissed off at moms who don't seem to care about their kids, angry rants about mothers who always complain, annoyance at new pregnancy announcements, frustration about those who seem to just keep having babies no trouble whatsoever, and utter rage at those who mistreat, harm, or even kill the children they've been given. I get that.
I get how unfair it is to be going through the heartache of infertility and loss and to look around to see so many others having babies as though it's a walk in the park. I know it's difficult to strive so hard for something that others just seem to take for granted, or even don't have any appreciation for at all. I know this and I understand all related rants that I hear.
What I don't understand is the occasional hatred, venom, or insult directed at moms for just having multiple children. I know it can be hard to see when you wish you could just have one, but does it really make them worthy of insult? I don't think so. They are just women, moms, building their families with the freedom we all wish we had. Their ability to have children easily is not related to our inability to have children. The number of children they have does not decrease the number we can have. Their small, medium, large, extra large family is a freedom that has been taken away from us, but not by anything they've done.
We love babies. We think think babies are wonderful, and everyone who wants one and will love one should be able to have one. Don't we? Or is it just the women who don't already have babies who should be able to have one?
Most of these women are just moms, like we want to be. Loving their family, trying to be the best mom they can for them. They are women with emotions and feelings just like us. They are women who want and love all of their children. They are women of whom many have also experienced the loss of a child they were waiting to hold.
I know many mothers of large families and I can imagine how they would feel if they heard some of the comments I read about them, sometimes comments that I know they have heard in person. How do I know? Because I remember my mom, a mother of five, telling me about the "joking" words that were sent her way from people at out church when our family was growing larger, comments about "rabbits" and "do you know how that happens?" And I can still remember the pain on her face even though those comments were well over a decade old.
So rant about how it's unfair that they can and we can't, how it hurts to see others do it so easily, how you wish you could just have one and how much you would appreciate that one, but maybe we can skip the name calling and mean comments, eh?

Unexpectedly Hard

I didn't expect this. I was all prepared to deal with another light pink line indicating another miscarriage, potentially even a few of them before we would be successful or decided to stop all together. I wasn't looking forward to it, but I knew what it would be like, and in a way, how to handle it. I knew I would survive and keep on, because I'd done it before. I was as ready as I could be to go through the loss.
I wasn't ready for two months of negative tests. Ha! I know how ridiculous that sounds. Even in the world of fertile people, two months is nothing. Nothing. In the infertile world, it's entirely laughable. So I understand if my words get under your skin, but bear with me please - I know that you do understand what it's like to stare at the empty space that would radiate pink if wishes, hopes, and dreams could force our bodies to bend to our will, and feel utterly disappointed. "Disappointed." It's not nearly a strong enough word to describe that feeling really. That moment when your soul seems to cave into yourself and the grief adds another layer to your already burdened heart.
So I know many of you have been through months and months of negative tests, and then following that months of painful procedures and meds that screwed with your body and mind - and then stared for the zillionth time at that empty space while your heart broke again. I know this doesn't compare, but I know at the same time that many of you have learned compassion for those going through different journeys experiencing pain in different ways, maybe even if it sounds ridiculous to you, so I'm bringing my courage and sharing with you still.

In some ways, I feel like we've experienced a strange mix of hyper-fertility and infertility. Remember that article that was going around a few months ago about recurrent loss possibly being caused by hyper-fertility - a woman's body accepting any fertilized egg, even if it wasn't a healthy one? Yeah. That made so much sense to me, because honestly, we've never had trouble getting pregnant before. I remember one time that it took us two months. That's it. But of course, six out of seven didn't stick around, and most of them were gone before the five week mark was reached.
So ridiculous as it sounds, this is new territory for me, and I really wasn't prepared for it. This has all hit me harder than I ever would have expected. I mean, shouldn't not being pregnant be better than going through another miscarriage? You'd think, right?
They do say that we seek the comfort of the familiar, even if that familiar is not really comforting. So I guess that's what I'm going through. As painful as the miscarriages are, they're familiar now. Two months of negative tests in a row - not familiar. Unfamiliar is scary to me. This is weird, new territory, and I'm not sure what to do about it. The very first time we decided to ttc, I knew that it could take a few months, or even several months before we were pregnant - I actually expected that. But then it only took one and has been that way ever since. I've dealt with the occasional negative during times we were trying to avoid pregnancy, but thought we might have slipped up; I've dealt with strong pink lines that led to weeks of utter fear, and for one, high hope brought crashing down to "no heartbeat;" I've dealt with staring at lightly positive tests knowing that I was staring another miscarriage in the face. I've never dealt with repeated negatives.

Seeing each negative test is bringing all this grief that I didn't expect and I find myself struggling to move past this cycle. Why is this so hard?! It's only two months of trying. Why am I still so incredibly sad about this? Three days ago, I knew that I really, really wasn't pregnant (although it took me another day to completely 100% believe it), and today I still woke up dragging through a deep sadness that doesn't want to let go. I need to get my life back into balance, to get a flow of normal, productive, giving-my-son-the-time-he-deserves kind of days, before we head back into going through all of this again in a few weeks. I need to be ok for just a little while.
I knew this year of ttc was going to have its difficulty and its hard times. I apparently just had no idea what it would actually be like.

Wait, Pray, Hope

I finally did it. I stood in front of my entire church and told them (very briefly) my story. (Our story really - I'm not alone in this.) I totally freaked out the day before, trying to figure out what I would say and realizing that I was about to share intimate details with not just friends, but strangers and acquaintances. The verse "bear one another's burdens" came to mind, and I knew it was confirmation that I really needed to do this. No one can bear my burden with me if I don't share it.
The anxiety followed me Sunday morning as the church service got closer, but sitting in the worship and listening to the songs brought my focus back to Him and with it enough peace to steady me. I know that my voice wavered as I told them about losing JJ before we had Dune, the year we lost Anastasios, Sayuri, Tacey, Aliento, and then finally, Nima last summer.  I heard it crack as I asked them to pray that we would be granted just one more baby to keep. I felt the hope and the sadness that flowed as I spoke of my desire to come to the end of this story with heart whole, faith strong, and spirit resting in Him whether we were granted a baby or not.
They surrounded us and covered us in prayer. I felt blessed, loved, and tiny part of me healed.

Since I ovulated the night before this, it kind of felt like the perfect timing, and certainly my hopes have raised considerably. But, you know what happens with higher hopes - the harder the fall is when it happens. So with my hopes, my fears are high. I'm struggling to find a continuing measure of peace each and every day. The anxiety attacks aren't frequent, but there is a consistent background anxiety that I recognize through feeling often on edge and somewhat testy with my family. I briefly found myself frustrated with going from a place where I was ready to accept a short time with my next baby and going through another miscarriage, to a place where I was thinking about/hoping for a full term pregnancy and healthy baby and the idea of loss was shooting a bolt of terror through me. I don't need or want that terror.
Now, I'm working on seeking peace for today. One day at a time trusting in God's love, reminding myself to that I can trust that love through each day, whatever that day ends up holding. I really haven't got this down. Several times a day I have to take a deep breath and focus on his love, to bring myself back to today, to let "tomorrow worry about itself." I don't know how I will hold up through this week. I'm hoping this gets easier instead of harder, but it doesn't usually work that way. So pray for me that I won't fall apart by the end of this wait.

Physically, I feel like this cycle is different, that I'm likely pregnant, and while my husband will tell you that I've said that several times when I wasn't pregnant, the getting pregnant part has not been difficult for us historically, so there is indeed a decent chance. Of course, I'm also having the low backache that seems to have become a regular part of pms and was always a sign of an impending miscarriage when I was pregnant. But then that has also recently started coming before I've even ovulated, so maybe it's become something that I will experience no matter what the state of my uterus happens to be. There are no answers! I'm trying (and trying and trying) to not think about it all very much until the end of the week when I will actually have some idea of what's happening.

Wait with me, pray with me, hope with me, won't you?

The Fight for Rest

Figuring out all of this "rest" stuff is turning out to be way harder than I thought. I knew I needed to stop holding myself to these standards that I wasn't sure I could ever reach, but what exactly should my standards be? I mean, I need some, right? I can't just sit around all day, call it rest, and be happy with that life, as appealing as that sounds a lot of the time.
As I'm trying to figure out how to make a restful life without simultaneously feeling like a lazy ass who never does anything, it occurs to me that it's not truly rest if you haven't worked, if you have nothing to rest from. I know! Epiphany! So after I get past feeling slightly ridiculous that this is just occurring to me, I can process the fact that I need to work at my life, to live with purpose, to put in effort, and then rest will be truly restful.
Figuring out my current purpose is not too difficult. I'm at home with my son, which I believe is exactly where I'm supposed to be. Teaching, guiding, and building that relationship is possibly (probably) the most important thing I'll ever do. The difficult part is figuring out how to do that. What is this supposed to look like? I have this idea in my head, but it's the one that stresses me out, making me feel like I'm just never going to get this right, this life style that I'm just not sure I have the ability to accomplish. You know, the shiny family in the shiny house, where the mom has done her prayer time, her run, her shower, and gotten everyone fed and dressed by nine when they all sit down for a morning of school work, with an afternoon of  "fun" stuff like science experiments and all the children (it's always multiple kids, you know) playing nicely together outside to look forward to. She also does all the cooking and makes most things from scratch.
Even though I'm trying to get our mornings trim and smooth, it still takes me until around eleven to get all of that done, and my kid doesn't even get dressed. Our days don't have a schedule, or routine, or even a decent rhythm really. Bug spends 50-75% of his day on the computer watching things like toy reviews and Power Rangers on YouTube. Some days that number is more like 90%. I often get to the end of the day and wonder where my time has gone and how I didn't manage to get anything accomplished or spend any real time with my son.
So, I need a new frame work, a new picture. I want more than we've got, more than this feeling of skimming the surface of every day, floating through them never really getting anywhere, and I can't keep putting that "perfect" ideal on myself. It's only real result is to make me feel like I can't get it right, and emphasize the "I'm a failure" days that come occasionally.  I know that I need something that works for me, for us; a flow and structure that suits our personalities, that plays to our strengths. I need to find our ideal life. And this is where I'm finding some of the difficulty.
I used to have a pretty good idea of who I was and what I was good at, and of course some of that stays with me and continues to be true, but that was before I was into this role of mother. I don't know who I am as a mother. I don't really know where my strengths are, how to use my personality and spirit to our best advantage. I don't know what kind of lifestyle is ideal for our family, or what will help us flourish and bring purpose to our days. I know with just one four year old, I'm a relative newbie to mothering, but you'd think I'd have some idea at this point.
So I'm struggling to figure this out, to take tiny baby steps forward. I'm wrestling every day with trying to identify myself, to see where we are doing ok, where we need work, which step of change I can make today. I'm nervous, scared really, because often change isn't lasting around here, and what if it all falls apart in a week, and I just feel like a failure again? What if I never really figure this out, and we end up wasting every day, letting it slip through our fingers, until I look back and realize years of our lives have gone by simply vanishing into nothingness? I'm definitely a little bit lost (and freaking myself out right now), but I'm still in the fighting stage, and all I can do is pray that I will keep fighting until I find some solid ground to pull us up onto. I have a lot to figure out, to learn, discern, and I feel like I'm wading through muck and fog searching for light and dry ground. But over the fear I have strength, perseverance, and hope.

Both Resting and Trying

I've never been big on new year's resolutions. They always struck me as a bit ridiculous and I've never seen anyone actually carry them out. I never had any desire to set myself some vague or impossible goal that would leave me feeling like a failure in a few weeks. A few years ago I started to see a few bloggers post about "one word." They chose one word to focus on for the year, a word to pursue or try to incorporate in their lives.
This idea is so much more appealing to me, so last year I decided to try it and chose the word "joy." I can't come out and say that it was amazingly life changing for me, but I do feel that it had a positive impact on my year and life. Especially through the season of Advent and Christmas, I felt as though my spirit was working it's way to a more present and consistent joy in my life.
This year as I took some time to think and figure out what word would fit for this year, the first one that came to mind was "peace." Seemed like a good word, but not quite the right one. So I'm sitting there, reading my bible, and the word "rest" occurs to me. In many ways, it's not that different, but somehow it just seemed like I had found the word that fit. A focus on making our home and family a place of rest, a time of trying to stop holding myself to my perfectionist standards and never feeling like what I'm doing is good enough, and consciously working on letting go of worry and letting myself rest in God's hands. Rest.

My quiet spot

I know there is a lot in my life that will intertwine and weave through this word, but I think it is going to be especially fitting as Boy and I have decided to dive back into trying to conceive. We've decided to give it our all, to "actively" try to have a baby. We know that this will likely bring more miscarriage and loss into our lives, and I feel somewhat sad about that, but strangely not anxious. I feel like I can handle it, and I'm "resting" in allowing God to plan our family even though that may mean that our family expands only through children we won't get to hold for a long time. But this year, this year is it. Even if I manage to be restful and non-anxious about this, we know that ttc will bring a certain amount of stress and turmoil to our lives. Boy and I agreed that one full of year of all in is where it's time for us to stop. Unless something big changes between now and then, we don't feel it would be fair to keep doing this any longer than that. If there is no baby/on the way at the end of the year, we figure out how to grieve the loss of a bigger family and simply enjoy the family we have already been blessed with.
So, here we go. One year of learning how to rest in God, to create rest, to enjoy rest, to pursue a restful spirit, and to try, hope, and pray for a baby.

To My Tweeps

I'm thankful to all of you who replied to me this morning, especially those who said they would miss me or would like me to stay around. I will directly reply to some of you, but all that I'm feeling right now is just too much for Twitter, so I figured this was the best way to get it out there.

In the really horrible times, whether tragedy, loss, or just a day when I can't get on my feet is when Twitter shines. You are always there for me in those times. Always. And for that, I'm hugely grateful. You've gotten me through some seriously rough patches and kept me from feeling alone and lost. I know I can always count on encouraging words, sympathy, empathy, and a little extra strength when I'm really down and out, and I'm sure I won't ever give that up.
But I've been struggling with Twitter on and off since summer. I was offline for a couple of weeks and it felt like no one noticed. When I came on and mentioned how I felt, you were there to welcome me and send me love, and I climbed back into the twittersphere. But I'm not sure that my interaction level has ever really come back up since then. Part of it was conscious decision since I'd seen how much extra time I had and I knew I wanted to get some priorities straight regarding my family, and then I think part of it wasn't conscious. I just had a bit more trouble connecting, and I'd read, but often feel like I just didn't have anything to add anymore and the connections I had seemed to not be as strong as I thought they were, so I was a bit discouraged and not sure how much effort to put in. When I'm not on continuously and constantly engaging and replying, the few times I do tweet get little to no response. Natural maybe, but still lonely feeling.
I look around me on Twitter and I see people with relationships that go beyond Twitter - text, email, phone, lovely packages in the mail, and honestly, I want that. I want to make friends. I want to be needed, I want someone who checks up on me, who thinks of me during their day, sends me a link because they think I'll find it funny, someone who I can call on, and who knows they can call on me whenever they need something. There were a few relationships that I thought were moving in that direction, but as I go along, it seems the gap is widening, not closing, and I fear that, at most, I'm a second tier friend for these people. Now, realize, this is not blame placing, I'm not angry or feeling betrayed, I don't think this is "their" fault. I'm just seeing that things are not the way I thought or hoped for them to be. And, really I'm not sure how to get there. I've put a lot of effort into engaging others and offering support and help even when it wasn't easy, trying to show that I intend to be a friend (you know -"you've got to be  a friend to have a friend" and all that), but it didn't lead where I'd hoped. Again, no blame or anger, just noticing that I'm still not really connecting.
I'm also finding myself in a weird place in life that is making it difficult to connect. I want another baby, but I have no idea how or when to pursue it. It's all on pause, but at the same time it's not, because I'm sort of mentally working towards it, placing my foot tentatively around me trying to figure out where the safest ground is. I'm also trying to learn to be content with my life as it is now, and give my current family the attention and acceptance they deserve. So many of you are having babies now, and while I'm not upset about that (quite happy you are), I'm kind of numb in that area most of the time, just disconnected with it. Most of you who aren't there yet are pursuing it actively and while I've gained a huge education since meeting you all, I'm still a little confused about all process and procedures you are going through on that road. So there are two major groups where I often feel that I have very little to offer and I'm just kind of in this no-man's land occasionally bumping into someone on the edges that I manage to exchange pleasantries with.
As I read replies, it seems like this isn't unusual, and many find Twitter to be a bit of an ebb and flow of friendship, and some decide to take breaks when the connection ebbs away for a period. I can understand this, but if I'm finding greater distance in my relationships when I'm not constantly interacting, what will happen if I disappear entirely? Plus, that obviously won't fill the desire I have to find and build friendships.
I'm not really sure where I'll go from here. I've certainly considered taking a break from Twitter entirely, but my great desire to connect at least a little might not let me. I tried making a list of a few I'd like to continue making a concentrated effort on building relationships with, but my phone won't let me read a feed from it. Maybe I'll make a whole new Twitter account? I have no idea. I know I've been grateful to you time and again, and I'm sure I will be in the future also. In the meantime, anyone who wants to connect on Facebook, just let me know.
Much love to you all.

Making My Goal

Over the winter, I ran on the treadmill. Fairly regularly, although I know I took a few two week breaks here and there. By the time spring came around, I'd managed to do a 5k treadmill run. My first 5k ever! It was awesome, adrenaline pumping, and emotional. I definitely cried.
Come warm weather, I was anxious to be outside, to run in the sun and feel the wind. The first time I got out, I could barely run one kilometer. I was so incredibly discouraged. I cried here, too, but they were not happy tears. I kept running, and had a lot of discouraging runs. I didn't realize how much harder it would be to run outside. Harder, yes, but not that much. I made it a goal to run be able to do 5k outside by the end of the summer, and if possible, I really wanted to enter a 5k race somewhere.

Not me, but those are the shoes I run in.

All of that fell by the wayside when I got pregnant, and then even further away when I miscarried. It took me months of saying, "I really need to run," before I finally got back out there. Boy and I even bought a jogging stroller so we could run together and it still took us several weeks before we used it.
When we finally got our act together and got on the road, I was discouraged. Again. I practically passed out from lack of oxygen trying to get to one kilometer, while Boy was jogging beside me, talking as normally as if he was standing still. Ohmygosh, I felt so demoralized. It sucked.
We did another run or two before falling off the wagon again for a week or so. When we started up again it was all a bit easier, and I kept significantly increasing the amount I could do with each run, filling our 3k with more and more running and less walking.  It was nice to feel like I was finally getting somewhere, but the days have been getting significantly colder here and so many of them are rainy. The nice days for running outside may be coming to an end soon and then I would be back on the treadmill inside.
This morning it was chilly, but the weather was nice, so Boy and I headed out. I hadn't run in four days, and felt tired. I knew I was going slower than usual. On my last run I'd done 2k before walking and I wasn't sure I was going to make it that far today. I got to 1.5 and wanted to stop, but realized I didn't need to, so I just kept going. Two kilometers ends just before a big hill, but I decided I wanted to try to keep going up it, and then I knew I really wanted to do the 3k straight through, instead of with a walk break in the middle like I'd done last time. So I kept going. And I did it. My legs felt wobbly and I knew that old people with walkers could easily outpace me at the speed I was going, but I was running.
Boy decided that we were going go to 4k instead of that being enough for today. I could walk for a while, but then we were running again. Um, no thanks. I felt kind of pissed at how he just decided that for me. Um, I did good today, thankyouverymuch. But then I walked. And realized that I could run again. Probably to four, so why not?
We're going and I'm doing ok, and suddenly I think, "F**k this. If I'm going to do keep going, than I'm going to keep going. I'm going to run 5k today."
I knew it might be the last day we'd be outside running, at the very least for a while, since it's supposed to cold and rainy all week. Maybe it wouldn't be straight through, since I needed a 350m walk break, but when I got to the end, I was going to be able to say I ran five kilometers on the road.
And I did.

It wasn't exactly my goal since I'd been hoping for one continuous run, but today I ran 3k, walked, and than ran another 2k. And I sure as heck am going to count it. I made my goal to run 5k outside by the end of summer! Well, close enough.

Mama of Seven

I wrote this post and first shared it on The Frugal Foodie Mama's blog, but I wanted to post it here as  part of my story as well. The Frugal Foodie Mama has a great blog that is about, well frugal fantastic food, and being a mama. She also shares her story of the two babies she lost in early pregnancy. I invite you to check out her blog and share some love.


Whenever I meet someone new, I harbor a tiny feeling of dread for the moment I get asked that question, especially when that someone is a parent. What do parents like to talk about the most? Their kids. Somewhere in that initial conversation, you're bound to get some variation of the question, "How many kids do you have?" Doesn't really sound like such a horrible question does it? An innocent conversation maker. How do I always answer?
"Just one."
Just one. Except I don't have just one. I have seven children. Seven. There's just only one on earth with me. I hate answering that question. I always feel a little bit of guilt, a small feeling of betraying my other children, because they all deserve to be recognized, to be known, acknowledged. I love them all, I miss them all, they are all part of my life, of what makes me, me. Part of me longs to answer, "Seven," or, "One on earth." I want people to know I have all these wonderful, amazing children, but except for the very, very rare time, I can't bring myself to do it. It opens me up to questions I don't always want to answer, things I don't necessarily want to share with relative strangers. It would make people feel sorry for me, or just sorry they asked the question in the first place, because "Woah. That's far deeper water than I was intending to get into," and then the conversation becomes all awkward and stilted. I don't want to be the one to bring a dampener to a casual conversation.
I think that if I could just say it casually, a simple statement of fact, that maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but then I'm afraid that I'll appear callous, making little of miscarriage and related losses, the permanent mark left on my soul. Or be reinforcing the idea that miscarriage is not a big deal, sad, but you get over it, you know? But it is a big deal. It's huge. It's heartbreaking and life changing. And you don't really get over it, you just learn (or try to anyways) to accept it as part of your life. The losses become part of who you are.
I also have trouble answering this question as honestly as I want to, because I don't want to be known as the women who had six miscarriages. I don't want this to be my identity. I have had six miscarriages, but more than that, I am Mother to seven children. Seven children who I love dearly, six who I miss daily. One amazing boy that I get to cuddle, hug, and put to bed every night, and six that I love from a distance. I call them by name, I tell them how much I love them and I miss them. I tell them how glad I am that they are happy and that they have each other. I remind them to look out for one another, even though they really don't need to do that there (the mother in me can't help it). I ask Jesus to give them the hugs I so long to give to them myself. I can see them, how beautiful and strong they are. I see how kind they are and how full of love and joy, and I'm so incredibly proud to be their Mama.
Despite my guilt at not acknowledging them, at not sharing with the world that I have six more wonderful children, I know they hold nothing against me. They love me without hesitance, despite my hesitance to bring them up in casual conversation. They have no needs from me, they simply love me as I am, as I love them. They know how proud I am of them, and with this post I will find a way to begin telling everyone else how proud I am of them too.

- Vanessa, Mama to JJ, Dunadan, Anastasios, Sayuri, Tacey, Aliento, and Nima

It's Break Time

So I was gone from Twitter for a few weeks. I didn't really intend to do that, it just worked out that way. And honestly, it was good for me, because as much as I love Twitter, it can be kind of consuming and energy draining. I wasn't being tossed by the waves of ups and downs of two hundred other lives - although I know I missed some big events that I feel sad not being there for - there was enough waves in my life to deal with. I wasn't filling every spare second with catching up - although I'm so totally out of the loop now - and I had time to read several books, and spent my evenings with my husband instead of with him and a long list of people, many of whom I don't even know their first names.
Don't get me wrong - I love Twitter. These people have been there for me when there was no one else. They've understood me in a way that my "in real life" friends and family can't. And they allow a certain anonymity that grants the ability to share some of the dark spots and hidden parts of my spirit that few others get to see. They're a safe place.
So I love Twitter and the freedom I had from Twitter. Somehow I need to find a new balance, to keep the connections without letting it rule my life.
And I do have connections. At least a few. Part of the reason my absence was this long was feeling like no one missed me, and what was the point of coming back, if no one even noticed I was gone? But apparently at least a few did, so - here is why I took a break and what was going on with me while I was gone.

The why -
First, my phone broke over four weeks ago, the screen shattering when it was knocked out of my hand onto a concrete patio stone. We sent it to be fixed, but they keep having to wait for parts, so I've been completely without a phone since then. When we made a getaway to the cottage for a few days, there was basically only Boy's phone, so it just made sense to completely disconnect for a little bit. It was good and I just keep on extending the break, especially since my days seemed to be extra full. There were a few extra things on my schedule and we spent some time preparing for a visit with friends we hadn't seen in six years, and then, enjoying that visit! It was so fantastic to spend time with them again and meet their children that had been born since they moved away.

The what -
Before I left I shared that my older sister found out she was pregnant, which meant both my sisters were, building their families as they wished, and now, doing it at the same time, sharing something I might not be able to do again. I didn't think about the possibility of it being worse, but it was when she miscarried the next week. My heart was totally crushed to hear her pain, to know what she was going through, and especially to be so far away and not able to come and take care of her. And it was weird to feel this tiny bit of relief that my best friend and supporter now knew what I'd been through, even though I would have done anything in my power to keep her from experiencing that.

Next - I had realized that my timing had been off in this past cycle and there was a chance I could have gotten pregnant. I'd love to be excited about that possibility, but really I was just terrified. I'm so not ready to handle another miscarriage yet. And as an aside, I was worried about how to tell my sister after her just going through a loss. It's hard enough months later - the week after? OW.
So, I was in that place where everything is interpreted as a pregnancy symptom, and I was having trouble not freaking out on a daily basis as I got closer and closer to the time when I would find out. After having a big break down the day before my period was due, Boy decided we were going to test. I was so grateful to him. I couldn't bring myself to "give in," feeling like I was wasting a test, wasting money, being weak not able to wait until the next day when my body should tell me for sure. I needed that permission he gave to just do it and find out what the answer was.
When the test was absolutely, completely, unmistakably negative, I broke into tears. Sadness? Nope. Just relief. So much relief. I HATE that. Hate it. I hate that I'm relieved not to be pregnant. Not even a slight hint of sadness over it. I want to have a baby, to carry to term, to give birth. So so much. But far more times than not, pregnancy is only the beginning of a miscarriage for me. Being pregnant just means pain, heartache, grief. So, relief. I can't handle it again right now.

A few days later, my younger sister had her ultrasound and found out that she was having a girl. Her first daughter, the second granddaughter. So now both of my sisters have their boys and a baby girl. It made my heart hurt. I wouldn't trade my son for a whole handful of daughters, and I'm not sure if I can explain, but I've been waiting for my daughter since my first pregnancy. We've had two girls name picked out almost since we got married nine years ago. I'm not going to be able to use them both, and maybe I won't ever use either of them. I may never have a baby girl that I get to keep and hold. But there is nothing to do but say congratulations and try to be happy for her. So I did.
She made her Facebook pregnancy announcement that night with an album of bump and ultrasound pictures, each one an ache in my heart. One ultrasound picture was the announcement of the baby's name as well. Middle name is our older sister's first name. Dang, it still hurts. I mean, my older sister is fantastic, she deserves the honor, but it's just this permanent reminder that my younger sister picks her over me. That our relationship isn't awesome and she will probably never think me worthy of such honor. Even knowing she wouldn't likely ever use my name for a child, this conversation was probably the worst part of it all - Me: Congrats, again. It's a pretty name. [what else am I supposed to say, right?] Her: Thanks. I couldn't decide and I was worried I may never have another girl HA, [boys run in her husband's family] so we just used all of our favorites!
Ow ow ow ow. To give her credit, I don't think that she has any idea how hurtful and insulting that was. None of this is intentionally trying to hurt me. She's just kind of self-absorbed sometimes. Which isn't really that much better, but she's not mean, just thoughtless occasionally.

So. Normally, I'd have Twitter to share all of that with, but I just couldn't bring myself to piecemeal it the way I would need to to share it there, or to go over it multiple times, or even just the energy to write it out at that time. But life has been emotionally challenging, and there is more that I'm working through now which I'm not quite ready to put out there yet. Some time later this week maybe.

I'm so ready for a break. From emotional upheaval this time, instead of from Twitter.

My Treasures

Feels like I should be writing a new post. I mean, I've been telling myself for months now that I should write, because it's been so long. I've only written four posts this year, and the last one was May and it wasn't even a real post. And of course, now I've got something really truly to write about, but somehow the drive just isn't there. The emotion that usually pushes me to put something into words is missing right now. I'm just kind of, well numb isn't really the right word for it... cold. Like I'm shutting it off. I don't want to get into right now. Or maybe I really am calloused to it at this point. Except I know that's not true. I guess I'm just temporarily hardening myself.
But for some reason, I'm sitting here writing and I know it's going to come out sooner or later. I'm not sure that anyone who reads this blog doesn't actually know already, because I think all my readers are on Twitter, but somehow it feels like I still need to keep things up to date. For my own sense of order I suppose.
And crap, I just thought of their name, "Nima" and the shell is starting to crack and the tears are filing my eyes for the dozenth time today.
I think it was a girl. Boy thinks it was a boy. Neither of us will ever know for sure in this life. Whoever they are, they are now safely with their brothers and sisters. I know that Nima probably knows more about them than I do at this point, but I'm glad I took the time to tell "her" about them while her life was still with me. I know JJ looks out for them all, not that's there's anything to look out for over there, but he's a good big brother, a true, gentle leader's spirit. Anastasios and Aliento are good brothers, too. One strong, quiet and deep, like a warrior, and one full of giggles taking delight butterflies that land nearby and energetic puppies that cover your face in slobber. Sayuri is full of energy with a strong spirit and a great mothering instinct, just like her aunt, who I'm sure she looks like. Tacey - gentler, a bit dreamy, but with a heart overflowing with love. My children who I've never had a chance to meet, but about whom I feel I've received tiny glimpses of who they are. 
And now there is Nima. I don't know much about you yet, but oh how I love you. From the moment I knew of you, I was your mama. I will always be your mama and I will always love you. I'm sorry that I didn't get to meet you, to see what you look like, to learn all about your personality, to kiss you, teach you, cheer you on, hold you when you cry. I know that now you are full of life, of love, of happiness. You will dance and play with your brothers and sisters, pick flowers, chase shadows, climb trees, all the wonderful things childhood should be made of. You will never know any pain or sorrow and your life will be truly perfect because you will never know any barrier keeping you from the pure, undiluted love of Jesus. There will never be anything that will come between you and him, no reason that will ever make you doubt or question him, nothing that keeps you from truly knowing who he is or how very much he loves you.
I'm so sad that I never got to meet you all, that you were gone before your bodies even finished forming, but when I think of you together, in that perfect place, I can't help but smile at how happy, how free, you all  are and I'm so glad you have each other. You are truly my treasures in heaven.