Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Still Here

I've written a lot, in my prayer journal, in random spirals that I keep around the house, even on spare slips of paper I come across when my mind won't turn off at bedtime.  But on blogger? Every time I sit down, my hands still.  My mind blanks. 

The first half of July was hard. Very hard.  Loss does not get easier the more you experience it.  And though it eases with time, the echoes of "what might have been" are still there.

And then the twins turned four.  There was planning and crafting on my part and way too much time on pinterest.  And then laughter and celebration with friends.  Forty-plus people here - how did that happen?!

And then there was a work ceremony for Bryan.  Something we had been waiting for since January, planning since May.  And it finally happened last week.  Outside.  Well, sort of, in an open air building.  In the Texas heat. 

And now July is drawing to a close. 

Friends have moved/are moving.  Seasons of life for a military wife.

Making plans for a little family getaway sometime in August.  We're horrible about actually taking a vacation.  I've put my foot down and said We Are Going!

September approaches and our last transfer looms into view.  Next cycle.  Will this be it, finally?

But August comes first.  And we will take our little vacation.  And enjoy the present moment.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Drawing the Line

You reach a point and you're just exhausted looking at the road ahead of you.  It could mean it's time to reevaluate the road.  It could mean it's time to take a break.  It could mean it's time to ask for help, to ask for directions or clarification. 

We've had a line drawn for a long time on how many more times we'd try embryo adoption.  Of course, we'd never thought we'd approach that line with zero additional children here on earth. 

My doctor says that everything has been fine on my end.  Our problem is our adopted embryos just haven't been strong enough. 

We have two embryos left, but we've hit our line.  I am, we are, emotionally worn.  September will be our last transfer. 

I loved being pregnant with the twins.  There is that selfish part of me that wants to go through embryo adoption again just so I can experience pregnancy one more time.  To be able to revel in that magical experience of first baby movements.  Baby hiccups.  To be able to put Cora and Mac's hands on my belly and let them feel the movement of their sibling(s).  To see them giggle in awe and joy when my belly shakes with teeny tiny dancing movements from within.  To see Bryan's compassion and receive those gentle kisses on my swelling stomach.  I don't have to experience pregnancy to be a mother, I know that. And I won't feel less of a mother if our family only grows through alternate means in the future.  But if we can, if God is willing, I want so badly to share the joys of pre-born life one more time with my family.

We have already adopted these last two "snowflakes".  They are already waiting for us at our clinic.  We are committed to them.  My doctor says they look great on paper and that we can feel hope.  And yet that word is almost foreign sounding now.

Hope, what is that?  "Ask and you shall receive."  God, I have been asking and asking. And begging and pleading.  Am I saying the wrong words? 

Please give me the strength to move forward.  To love these two remaining little ones with the love they deserve.

Please help me also to find joy in the day to day.  To see my blessings in every day life.  In the form of my soon-to-be four year olds.  In the form of my hard-working husband.  In the form of friends, a furry beastie, family, and delightful summer days. 

Again and again, it comes back to my prayer from January:  I pray for hope and joy.