My Happy Place

I'm sprawled out on the couch in Max's nursery, thinking. 

One week ago tonight I was thinking about this nursery I'd cleaned and prepared the day before, which I then knew I'd never bring Max home to. 

One week ago tonight we were saying our goodbyes to our son. 

Last Monday, Tyler and I had spent the morning at home putting Max's nursery together, in hopes that we would bring him home in a week or two. The plan was to attempt extubation the next day. Max had been consistently breathing over the ventilator for days, and we hoped he could continue to do so without his breathing tube. We were nervous, but hopeful. So, in trying to remain positive, we'd let my parents stay with Max that morning while we set up his furniture and put all the clothes away in the dresser. Then we rushed down to Primary's to see our boy.

We got to the hospital, and my dad came out of the NICU looking worried. He told us that Max had been having trouble breathing and they had sent for an Xray. When we got back to Max's bedside, the nurse looked relieved to finally see us and said that the Nurse Practioner really needed to speak with us. My stomach felt like someone filled it with lead. I knew this wasn't good. Max had slept all day Sunday, and today he looked gray and even more lethargic. I knew that look... infection. Before she could even speak, the tears in the Nurse Practitioner's eyes confirmed all my fears. It was all about to end.

Max would never see the nursery we spent all morning preparing for him.

Many times over between Monday afternoon and Wednesday morning, I thought to myself what a waste that morning had been. I was angry with myself for spending my time away from Max, and for something that was now pointless. I wished so much I'd left it alone and just gone straight to the hospital that morning. 

Wednesday morning came, and we left the hospital for the last time. We drove home brokenhearted, on no sleep, in a blizzard. Before I could get downstairs, Tyler hurried and shut the door to the nursery. We thought it would be a painful reminder that Max was gone. 

When we woke up a few hours later, we made our way down the hall and slowly opened the door. We stood there in the doorway for a minute, taking a deep breath before we could step in. At last, we walked hand-in-hand into the room and sat down on the couch. We were quiet for a long time, tears streaming down our cheeks. I kept waiting for the inevitable ache, the pain that would surely take hold of my heart within this room. But it didn't come. Instead, peace washed over me. I looked over into Tyler's eyes and he smiled. We were not alone. 

Suddenly, I felt so grateful we'd stayed home to prepare this space for ourselves, and for Max. We may not have brought him home in a baby carrier or laid him to sleep in this crib, but he was here in this room with us. This beautiful, peaceful place was a room for his spirit to reside in our home. He was here. He was with us. And he's been here every day since.

So, here I sit, like I do at some point each day. I sit on the couch and I hum him a song, read him a story and tell him how much I miss him. I sit and I think about him, talk to him and feel the peace of his presence. All throughout my days I miss him and long for him, but here in this room I know he's here. Here, in this room, is my happy place.

Desperately Pursuing Peace

No matter what trial you are facing, infertility or not, the end goal always seems to boil down to, ultimately, finding peace.

Am I right?

Life is full of trials. This earth life is a roller coaster of slow, tough climbs and exhilarating free-falls. It is constant for us all. No one is immune- no matter what their life looks like on Facebook! For me, anyways, it always feels like just at the moment I think I've finally found steady ground, at last, I'll soon find myself desperately seeking peace once again.

Honestly, there are days I love this life. I really do! I love evenings and outings, alone with Tyler. I love spontaneous campouts, dates and ice cream runs without worrying about loading a baby in a car seat or finding a sitter. I love my freedom and no one depending on me for their every need. And if I'm totally and selfishly honest, I love Tyler's uninterrupted attention. 4 1/2 years later, I still feel like we are newlyweds. Our life really is beautiful, when I count my blessings and pay close attention. If I stop, breathe deeply, and take inventory, my life really isn't so bad.

But there are so many days I don't see how beautiful life still is. All I notice is how void our home is of tiny hands and feet racing up and down the halls. I long to see toys scattered throughout the living room and vacuum Cheerio crumbs out of the carpet. I long for tired, late night feedings and sleep deprived, exhausted days. I long to snuggle and read bedtime stories. I long to see Tyler softened and changed by fatherhood.

On those trying days when my heart aches for motherhood and I fiercely miss the baby I never got to hold, I find myself on a desperate quest to find peace with the life I have been given.

On just such a day, the Lord recognized my need, and I stumbled upon Psalms 34:

14 Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it. 

18 The Lord is nigh unto them that are of broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.

19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth [them] out of them all.

22 The Lord redeemeth the soul of his servants: and none of them that trust in Him shall be desolate. 

So, because I'm a nerd, I then searched seek and pursue in the dictionary:

seek [seek]

verb (used with object), sought, seeking.

1. to go in search or quest of.

pursue [per-soo]

verb (used with object), pursued, pursuing.

1. to follow in order to overtake, capture, etc.; chase.

We can't just long and hope for peace. Sitting on your pitty pot and telling God to give you peace will never yield peace. It doesn't work that way, kids. And it is not enough to just go in search of peace either, we must chase after it and capture it. We must act!

Folks, that is my problem; I seek peace, but I don't pursue it. So, from now on, I vow to have a broken heart and a contrite spirit, and desperately pursue peace like my life depends on it. Many are my afflictions, but the Lord will deliver me out of them all. And with my trust in Him while I pursue peace, I shall not be desolate.

If you want peace, for the love of all that is holy, MAKE PEACE! Take inventory, count your blessings, repair your relationships, forgive others, ask for forgiveness, read scriptures, talk with God daily, listen to what he has to say, be a friend, give service, spend more time with the ones you love, keep a journal, cultivate your talents; whatever is good for your soul- do that, and you will capture peace.

Amen.

XO

Holidays with Empty Arms

To all the Moms and Dads with empty arms this holiday,

First of all, I love you. Whether I know you or not, we are kindred spirits. I love you for your strength, and even for your weakness.

I have always loved the holiday season, and I still do...
but this year is definitely hard to enjoy.

This time last year we were sending Christmas cards to our closest friends and families announcing the coming of baby Boston. We received phone calls that were all shouts and sobs. We got tearful bear hugs and I got belly rubs. When I told my aunts, there was so much jumping and shouting house shaking that a ceramic plate fell off my Grandma's hutch and shattered Sorry Grandma! And a few days before Christmas I awoke to a swollen bump under my pajamas.

I never could have guessed I'd reach this Christmas with empty arms.

...But here we are, just the two of us, setting up our Christmas tree and hanging the ornament we made from our first ultrasound.

Isn't it just hard?! Still hard to believe your baby really isn't here? Harder to believe that you made it? I mean, really, surviving is pretty freaking hard.

Some days I still can't decide which is worse. Infertility or Miscarriage? They're both terrible, and together they're what nightmares are made of. But as much as losing Boston broke me, I still would choose carrying him for 13 weeks over never having him at all.

I don't know how to explain the wholeness you feel the moment you see that flicker and hear the rapid thud of your tiny little baby's heartbeat. I mean, infertility is it's own awful pain. It's like you feel like you're missing out on something, and you just... want it. But miscarriage is the gut-wrenching, soul-aching pain of having part of yourself ripped away. You were suddenly so whole, and then just as suddenly you are only part of who you were. Where once you were making life, you are now empty. And it hurts. It hurts like hell.

And all the while, the world doesn't stop. Life moves on with or without you. Everyone that was pregnant with you, had babies without you. Every "first" you looked forward to is had by others, and all you can do is watch and move along. But you have to keep moving and participating. Trust me, we tried sitting it out a few rounds but it didn't make it better. It only made us bitter.
And bitterness never was happiness.

So, we move forward. We keep them in our hearts where their memory can hold the broken pieces together. We keep them in our hearts that are slowly beginning to heal.

Know you aren't alone. Like I said, even if I don't know you, I love you. I understand you. I broke like you. I ache with you. I'll heal with you. And, more important than my love is God's love for you. Christ understands our pain and our aching. He bore our griefs. His love heals.

I offer a simple prayer for all of us, May God grant us peace, comfort, and the serenity to accept the things we cannot change. May He someday, somehow fill our empty arms.

Love & Merry Christmas to you all

Xo

More content, less bitter.

"...for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content."
Philippians 4:11

This was my Scripture of the Day Yesterday.

This is what comes up when you Google the word "content:"

con·tent¹

kənˈtent/

adjective

1. 1.

   in a state of peaceful happiness.

   "he seemed more content, less bitter"

Well, then!

Let's be honest, shall we?

I try to stay positive and hopeful through the struggles of infertility, and yes, the Lord has blessed me with peace since losing my first pregnancy at 12 weeks. 

But, honestly, am I content? Am I more content, and less bitter? That definition was so profound to me. 

I would like to think I am perfectly content, but, Ha! That would be a big ol' fat lie. Somedays I am a little bitter... okay, honestly, some days I am quite bitter. 

I get bitter, because there are teenagers having babies.

I get bitter, because there are women getting pregnant from one-night stands.

I get bitter, because there are women getting pregnant on birth control.

I get bitter, because there are couples who just say, "Baby!" and get pregnant.

I get bitter, when a mother with a crying baby says to me, "Are you sure you want one of these?" (Duh, lady! I didn't pay thousands of dollars to get pregnant, because I am unsure about having children)

I get bitter about the expense of infertility, taking medicine, having ultrasounds, getting my blood drawn, and peeing on sticks.

And I get bitter, because for 2 years we dreamed of finally becoming parents and when the dream, finally, came true it got cut short. 

So, yes, OKAY! Don't judge me! I am quite bitter some days. Not every day, but some days. Which, I guess, means that I am not so content...

What a profound affect this little scripture and definition have had on me! I NEED to be content. I need to be happy with where I am. This is my life! It's not going to change right now. I have to accept that and enjoy every minute of it. 

So, for now atleast, I am not peeing on sticks or getting my blood drawn every other week. I am going to be in a state of peaceful happiness. I am going to be content with my amazing husband. I am going to enjoy being an aunt to two perfectly adorable nephews before I get caught up being a mom to my own cute kids (Yes, my children will be the most darling gingers you've ever seen!)

What, in your life, is making you bitter? Give it up! Let it go! That is what I have to say today. Choose to be content. Choose to stop being bitter. Choose to change and be happy. That is all in your power.

Much love.

XO

Not the Miracle we wanted, but the Miracle we Needed.

December was coming to a close; a new year was about to start. I would finally graduate from college this year and, if I got my way, have our first baby.

I have been grateful from the start for a husband that was as excited as I was to become a parent some day. Throughout our first year of marriage we really had to fight trying to start a family, knowing we just weren't ready yet. But as 2012 neared with the promise of graduation ahead we knew it was our time.  Initially, we chose to start trying in April since that's when I would finish school, but as the new year approached we kept picking sooner and sooner months until we finally just gave in mid-December. We were so excited, thinking about how I'd walk at graduation with a little baby bump!

1 year, 4 months, 20 days, a dozen negative at-home pregnancy tests, 3 negative at-home ovulation kits, 2 negative blood drawn ovulation tests, 2 miserably horrible months on Clomid, and thousands of tears later- Here we are. Still no baby, and little hope for natural conception.

Clomid is a medication for inducing ovulation. Typically, a patient is prescribed 3 cycles. Like many hormone increasing medications it can cause some intense side effects, like turning into a crazy nut-case! After cycle 2  and the severely frightening depression that accompanied it we decided we could not risk taking it a third time. Natural conception is not worth risking your mental health; it's just not!

My sweet doctor was very supportive and understood my decision. When I asked if 2 months of positive ovulation on Clomid had been enough to jumpstart my body to start ovulating on it's own again she apologetically replied that the odds were very unlikely. Our next step would be an infertility doctor (which of course would mean more meds... NO THANKS!) I politely declined to a referral for the time being. We needed a break!

Before I hung up the nurse said, "Call us if you have a miracle."

Miracles are a funny thing. Miracles come big and small. They come when we least expect them, and when we need them desperately. And sometimes we pray and pray 'til our knees are sore for the miracle we want, but God gives us the miracle we need.

For so long we prayed for a baby. We prayed and cried to the Lord to give us the child we so badly wanted and felt ready for. When that didn't work, it occurred to us that maybe we were praying for the wrong thing...

Heavenly Father sees the big picture. He knows when it is time for us to have a family. We see RIGHT NOW, and our prayers were evident of that. So, we changed. We stopped begging, we stopped praying for what we wanted. We started telling the Lord "Thank you."

"Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for blessing us with each other.
Thank you for our families and friends that support us and help us.
Thank you for the children that surround us that we can love and enjoy until we have our own someday.
Thank you for doctors, medicine, and science that can help us uncover what does and doesn't work in our bodies.
Thank you for love..."
Now this was the hard thing to thank him for.
"... Thank you for this trial."

To be grateful for the very thing that was breaking our hearts was so hard, but we knew we had to. Deep down we knew that Heavenly Father wouldn't give us a trial that was beyond our abilities to take on or give us something we weren't supposed to have right now. So, somewhere in this trial were blessings. We would never find the blessings if we chose to let it overtake us. So, instead, we chose to be grateful and the blessings became so evident.

We relied on each other more, shared our feelings more, talked more, loved more.
We relied on the Lord more and prayed more than ever.
We put the atonement to use better in our lives, knowing that only Christ had felt our heartbreak and could understand.
We grew closer to the Savior, felt him more, loved him more.
We had such amazing friends and families, and feeling their prayers for us was a huge blessing.
And once we acknowledged all of this, and felt the blessings of our trial we were overcome with the purest, sweetest PEACE.

God knew we needed peace in our hearts to know that hope is never lost. That even though we weren't having a family right now didn't mean He wasn't listening and didn't mean He didn't care. We needed peace to know that the Lord's timing is the right timing, because we don't see what He does. We needed peace that would bind our breaking hearts and give us the faith to keep moving forward.

Peace was the miracle we needed, not the miracle we'd been begging for, but the one we needed most. Heavenly Father knew that, and he blessed us.