Yesterday

Seventh Mother's Day trying to become a mom and by far this one was the easiest to get through.

Friday, I came home from work to find a beautiful bouquet from Ryan. He's been buying me flowers a lot lately, and when I asked him why, he said he just felt he should show me how much he loves me more often.

The weekend began with a vivid dream that I was pregnant. I was going about my normal life, but with a happiness I've waited so long for. It felt so real, I considered that dream my little inoculation shot to get me though the weekend.

Both Saturday and Sunday were filled with such love. There were notes, texts, emails, facebook messages, a yummy homemade treat and even a couple special deliveries...

Thank you so much for these, you know who you are. ;)

Sunday morning, I slept in. I received a cute and encouraging email from my mom. I worked on sewing skirts for my nieces. Then, Ryan come home and gave me my first ever Mother's Day card. Yes, that's right. A Mother's Day card for someone who is not a mother. I know some people would disagree with that, but if anyone knows the pain I've been through trying to achieve motherhood, he has...

Here is what was written on the front of the card:

Love means sharing the fun times,
the ordinary times,
and even the challenging times.
It means knowing all the time
that love is sweeter
because it is shared by two.

Inside was a sweet message, including his prediction that my first "official" Mother's Day is very near.

I did go to church the 3rd hour to see my Young Women. I had felt guilty about skipping the first part of church but, once I was there, that guilt faded away. Being there the 3rd hour, it was just like any other Sunday. I have finally learned over the years that I don't have to 'prove myself' on that day. I can just do what I need to do to take care of myself, and that's okay.

The best part of this weekend was doing things for the 'moms' in my life, mine and Ryan's mom and step-mom. It was great to honor each of them.

I will never forget the kindness that was shown to me this weekend. Women who should have been enjoying their special day were reaching out to me. I was awed and humbled by it all. When I finally make it to the other side, and I look into the face of my child, I will see all of you. I am blessed beyond measure. Thank you.

If you don't have anything nice to say on Mother's Day...

I LOVE this post! Happy Mother's Day to every woman: Moms, future Moms, and women with a Mother's Heart.

Written by: Nia Vardalos
Actress/Writer/Director

On May 9th, overpriced flower arrangements will brighten homes, and restaurants will serve multi-calorie brunches. Reminders will be whispered: “hey, be nice to your mom for a minute.”

Sure, Mother’s Day feels a tad manufactured. But if I can get a gift out of this bogus holiday, I’ll take it. Admittedly, I am a giddy idiot on Mother’s Day. I’m also a hypocrite because for a long time I avoided the day as hard as I could. Just the drugstore greeting card rack would make me queasy. I loathed May.

For years, at Spring social gatherings, some women would innocently ask why we didn’t have children. Others would overhear and exclaim what a great father my husband would be, so why on earth didn’t we have kids? When I would give a tight-lipped answer: “we’re trying,” they would not go silent.

They meant well, but they would loudly persist with up-beat advice: stories of this sister or that friend who had tried forever, and then a “miracle” had happened. Others would overhear, and join in. I would instantly feel forehead, upper lip, and low back-sweat from the sudden attention. All I’d wanted was a snack. Now, crudite in hand, I was up against the food table, being advised by pretty, chipper moms bouncing beautiful, pudgy babies on their hips.

A lot of “You Should” advice came my way. From the “latest technique in Europe,” to “just adopt from China” – everyone weighed in. I understood it all came from them wanting to help. It was meant with goodwill. But it was a painful, overwhelming subject for me. I just wanted to throw dip in the air and run. Those were the nice women. Some women were, um, well… they were turds.

The success of my first movie coincided with some awful events in my quest to be a mom. I’ll keep the details private, but quite frankly, it sucked. I was emotionally and physically exhausted.

During this time, I would run into The Coven – a group of not-nice-women. These women had, at one time, been actresses. Now they were married to men in the film industry, or their husbands were in our social circle. They made me nervous.

We all know the type of woman I’m talking about here: the ones who say nasty things to women. The Coven seemed stymied by the fact that they were not working actresses and I, far less attractive, appealing and talented than them, was. Often, I can tell when I walk in a room how people feel about themselves. To the optimist, I represent hope of what is possible. But to the pessimist, I represent the stench of their own perceived failure. I will be the first to admit, wow, I stepped into some good fortune with my first movie. I don’t consider myself particularly special. I got lucky. These women would wholeheartedly agree with my assessment of myself. Sadly, they were not secure women. When they saw me, their mascara’d eyes would shoot daggers at my skull.

Now, as the gossip leaked out that I was struggling to have a child, while these women were on their second and third – they realized they had something over me. They could breed. And I couldn’t.

So, at a casual backyard barbecue, where all were invited to celebrate Mother’s Day, the women of The Coven would surround me, the barren one, to squeal about how “amaaaaazing” their pregnancies had been. How their husbands had looked at them with “awe and gratitude” as they gave birth. How breastfeeding was a “gift.” One woman actually made fun of my anatomy while proclaiming how her body worked “perfectly.” It was sad how they needed to make me feel inadequate, and yes it hurt. And sure, I could have innocently asked: “…did pregnancy hormones grow your moustache, or did you have it before?” But I didn’t. Not because I was so evolved and took the high road… nope, I was scared of them so I would escape as quickly as I could.

Women like this are missing out on real female friendships. Okay, maybe it’s just shoe shopping and cellulite talk, but I value it. I was happy for these women who got to be moms. Why couldn’t they just be kind? It was Mother’s Day after all.

No matter where I went on this day, I was an easy target. If I drank anything non-alcoholic, there were women who would pat my tummy and say “when are you due?” A small social guideline: don’t ask a woman if she is pregnant, unless her water breaks on your flip-flops, a baby arm dangles out of her vagina and she asks you to cut the cord. Then, and only then, may you ask if she is having a baby. Otherwise, shut up.

So, for years, I avoided venturing out on Mother’s Day. I feared the entire day and the feeling of failure it would bring. I would call my sisters, sister-in-law and mom on that day and wish them well. They had the grace and kind-heartedness to never admonish me for not trying this technique, or that plan. My sweet family and my good kind friends never pried. They would always listen when I asked for advice, or when I lost it after the latest route or adoption had fallen through. One good friend even quietly handed me a prayer card.

My own mother is kind, compassionate, ironic, focused, optimistic and above all, discreet. Sadly, some of our friends have lost their mothers. I am thankful for every day I have with mine. My mom possesses all the values I cherish and look for in my friendships and relationships.

And, when my husband and I told our family and friends we’d been matched with our perfect daughter through American Foster Care – their elation was profoundly moving. They welcomed our then three-year-old daughter with a joy and happiness that was beyond anything I could have imagined. There is no limit to the amount of attention, kindness and warmth our families and friends - the “aunties” and “uncles” - shower on our daughter. Over a year later, she is thriving in an environment of love and care.

Some of these people are not parents. Often, at parties, especially on Mother’s Day, these friends and family are the target of the well-meaning questions or downright spiteful comments I myself once endured.

Please, on Mother’s Day, have some compassion. If you see someone without kids, do not ask them why they don’t have children, why they don’t just adopt, or if they are pregnant. Please be kind. Be quiet and pass the dip.

I am writing this for the friends and family who listened, didn’t pry, and above all stuck with me on my quest to be a mom. If I am happy on May 9th, it’s largely because of these people’s quiet empathy and unending encouragement. And, if I am happy on this day, it’s because I am in love with being a mom and so grateful for the circumstances, as painful as they were, that led me to my wonderful daughter. Happy Mother’s Day everyone. I hope you buy some flowers, eat a fattening brunch, and laugh all day.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go call my mom.

Mother's Day

No two words bring such happiness and such pain as "Mother's Day". I am overwhelmed with love and appreciation for my own mother and full of sadness at my lack of motherhood. It is quite a conundrum!

I recently happened upon this blog posting by a woman who, despite years of treatments, never crossed over into the world of motherhood. Seeing adoption was not an option for her, she had to learn to come to terms with her life as a non-mom. Though I'm sure the pain will always be there, she has made it. And brilliantly!

Mother’s Day: A Cultural Crucible
By Pamela Mahoney Tsigdinos

The last week of April and first weeks of May have for years felt like their own special form of hell week. Each year it’s the same. First the signs, banners and fliers start showing up everywhere humans congregate — in grocery stores, outside restaurants, liberally scattered around malls and shopping centers. Then the fiber-optic lines light up carrying headlines and advertisements with unsolicited, mocking reminders of what might have been.

There’s simply no making it stop. Mother’s Day, for a portion of society accustomed to being invisible, is a cultural crucible to be endured. There’s literally no escape even at sacred houses of worship or at movie theaters, the once safe place to tune out the world. (This year the feel-good movie of the season is called simply, “Babies.”)

For me, the emotional torture reached its peak a few years ago when I was newly aware that motherhood would forever remain a concept, a theoretical — not an actual experience I would ever know intimately. More than a decade of trying to conceive with increasing amounts of surgeries and medical intervention had proved unsuccessful.

Ultrasound images of embryos we once cautiously affixed to the refrigerator amid the smiling faces of our family and friends’ children soon found their way into a manila folder along with stacks of doctor forms, prescription regimens and reproductive endocrinology reports. My husband and I found ourselves for a time in limbo assigned to the confounding category of “unexplained” infertility. There were, we were soon to discover, no membership kits, no bonding rituals, no themed parties, no special holidays for the involuntarily childless set.

It wasn’t that I became thin-skinned as a nonmom among the mommy set. It felt rather like I had no skin at all. The sight of a pregnant woman could ruin my day in an instant. But that was only the beginning. I had the unfortunate timing of trying to cope with and mourn the losses associated with infertility at what I’m sure will be remembered as the zenith of the mommy-and-me phenomenon. Mom’s clubs, mommy bloggers and helicopter parents took off like wildfire just about the time my uterus was declared officially closed for business. My barrenness also collided with an onslaught of reality TV shows showcasing supersized families, from the Gosselins to the Duggars. And just to make things really weird, along came Octomom.

This year I’m finding the signs and advertisements don’t elicit the emotional rash they once did.

I no longer have the urge to hit the reply button sending scathing responses to e-mail marketers asking how I planned to celebrate motherhood. Mother’s-Day-brunch providers and flower shops urging early reservations no longer cause me to feel like an outcast among women. I can only conclude that I have crossed the threshold to a once elusive zenlike acceptance.

Amid a societal celebration of all things maternal, I was forced to grow a skin much thicker than I ever imagined. Much like regular inoculations sensitize allergy sufferers to irritating substances, I’m much less reactive to the whole motherhood thing in general. In fact, I’ve developed a powerful protective instinct for women who are today where I once was — lost, angry, sad and mourning the dreams they once held so dear.

This year when the fill-in-the-blank (pastor, priest, minister, rabbi, etc.) asks all women in the congregation who are mothers to stand to be recognized, you might take a closer look at the women who remain seated. There are many among them grateful that only a few hours remain to be endured in the annual Mother’s Day season.

One of the Best Feelings

I think one of the best feelings in the world is when you are holding and feeding a baby and you spend the entire time just looking at each other. I got to experience that on Monday when I took care of a 4 month old baby boy. It had been a long time since I had held a baby (years!), much less fed one. I’ve been trying to steer clear of them, for a number of reasons, but mainly because it felt like people with babies were always trying to force them on me. I didn’t like that. Also, I was afraid to hold them because of the feelings I knew would come… the sadness and longing.

This time, I was able to hold this baby boy because I wanted to, not because someone was trying to make me. It was just him and I rocking in my big recliner. The house was quiet. No one was there asking me questions or trying not to make it awkward. I didn’t have to put on a show. I just held him for a long time until he fell asleep.

I already miss that feeling. I can’t imagine how much stronger it must be when you are sharing it with your own child.

I AM Tough!

The other day, my boss was teasing me, as he loves to do so often. I take it very well, and occasionally dish it back. As the morning went on, and the teasing persisted, he made the comment, “You’re not very tough. So-and-so is tougher than you.”

I thought about this statement, “You’re not very tough”, for several days after.

Although he was just teasing me, I began to think about this comment in a much deeper sense.

I AM tough. I am tougher than most people around me realize.

And you are too.

As we look around at our fellow co-workers, friends, family and strangers, we have no idea what struggles they are dealing with. Sometimes, people are more open about their problems, but other times they keep their trails to themselves.

For example, anyone who reads this blog, or is close to me, knows about my struggle with infertility. But they don’t know the other things I have dealt with over these past 7 years, whether they are professional, personal, or spiritual.

We see someone on a daily or weekly basis, and we think we know them. But we may not really know them at all. We could label someone as ‘tough’, and discredit another as ‘weak’, and we could be completely backwards.

We are promised we will not be given more than we can handle. For some people, a certain trail is all they could take. It completely turns their world upside-down, and makes them question everything they’ve ever been sure of before. But someone else could take on that trial along with 3 others, and still smile at the end of the day.

It is not up to us to determine who is ‘tough’. It is up to us to BE tough, and to rest comfortably in that knowledge, despite how others may perceive us.

Decisions and Research

Lately, I have been listening to the Creating a Family podcast. In a recent show, they discussed the topic of writing out a plan for infertility treatment. This really resonated with me, as I (obviously) love to plan things!

Seriously though, as Ryan and I venture into the ‘fertility treatment’ world, I think it is a great idea that we first sit down and write a few things out. Seems right now, when we are clear-headed, hormone-free, and not wrapped up in the process, it is a good time to talk about some of the tough decisions and get on the same page.

For example, in a brief 30 second conversation with Ryan a few days ago, I found out that he would lean towards IVF before pursuing adoption. I had recently come to that conclusion for myself as well, although we hadn’t talked about it. As far as both of us knew, we thought the other would prefer adoption first, because that has always been how we talked about it. Funny that we each made that change individually.

So lately, I have been researching what some of these tough decisions will be and trying to get my thoughts together about how we’d approach them. Now that we’ve added IVF to the table, there are many more decisions to think about.

The following is a perfect example of why I want to think about these things ahead of time…

What do you do with ‘leftover’ frozen embryos?

In researching this, I was surprised to discover that most people did not think about this issue prior to pursuing IVF. I can understand why. At this point, you have tried for years to conceive, so not only is the thought of the procedure actually working hard to believe, you can’t even imagine that there would be embryos remaining after all is said and done.

That being said, I am trying to learn from others’ difficulties, and discuss with Ryan ahead of time how we might approach this. I consider embryos to be life, so I feel I need to have a plan for them before I ‘create’ them. As Ryan and I talk about our fertility treatment plan, I imagine we are going to set certain guidelines that will help in avoiding this situation, but should we get there anyway, I want us to be on the same page.

Here are the options available for frozen embryos, as it sits now. If you know of anything else, please pass that information along.

1. Continue having children until all embryos are gone: This is ideal, but sometimes not always an option, especially if many eggs were fertilized and children came quickly. It is not uncommon for women to have 20+ embryos in frozen storage. I hope to avoid this scenario by forming some guidelines, as mentioned above.

2. Thaw and dispose: Exactly as it sounds. The lab will thaw the embryos to room temperature for about an hour. They die on their own, and the ‘straws’ they are held in are disposed of into a biohazard waste container. Some parents collect the straws and will perhaps bury them in a special place.

3. Donating to research: In this situation, the embryos are used to try to find medical advances in a variety of fields, stem-cell research being one of the most discussed.

4. Compassionate Transfer: This is a newer idea in which the embryos are transferred to the mother without the necessary preparation for pregnancy to occur. While it might be possible that a pregnancy could result, it is very unlikely, and the embryos die inside the mother’s body.

5. Embryo adoption: This process is similar to a live adoption. ‘Donating’ parents choose a waiting couple and the adoption process flows accordingly. The adoption can be ‘open’ or ‘closed’.

6. Store indefinitely: Couples pay the storage fee each year, and leave embryos as is. Put more bluntly, this is deciding not to decide. At some point, the parents would pass away, leaving the next generation to decide what to do with these embryos at that time.

There are a couple options that sound okay and some I’d never do. This is why it is so important to talk about this ahead of time. I’ve heard women talk about the decisions they made ‘in the heat of the moment’, that they later regret. For example, one mother spoke of agreeing to fertilize all 30 eggs that were retrieved during her 'fresh' IVF cycle. She was desperate to begin her family, and without stopping to think about it, she simply went according to her doctor's recommendation. Four children later, she sat wondering what to do with the 23 embryos that remained.

Although I can’t guarantee that I won’t end up making spontaneous and emotional decisions at some point, I’d like to prevent it as much as possible by facing these questions now. I have a few other tough issues that I’m researching (minimal stimulation for IUIs, “natural” IVF cycles, etc). Through these discussions with Ryan and a lot of prayer, I hope to have a basic plan for how we’d like our treatment might flow by our May doctor’s appointment.

Dreams of a Baby

Published by: A.D. Mariano

Our arms are empty. Our souls are tired.
Our hearts are heavy and faith feels old.
The world sees us as selfish, too
For we desire a child to hold.

We've read the books and heard opinions
And endured the loss of hope,
While those around us have the nerve
To advise us how to cope.

We've seen the pros and followed charge
We've thought we'd never do,
And yet the crib stays empty
And we feel empty too.

I don't know where this road goes
As we treat it with much fears
That we will wind up heartbroken
With a cradle full of tears.

YES!

Oh, my gosh, it’s actually happening!

I called Dr. Synn’s office today and made an appointment for a consultation. It has been three years since the surgery, four years since I began fertility treatments, and six whole years since I saw Dr. Synn the first time for testing.

The last seven years have been a long, hard road. The most difficult part by far has been these last three years, dealing with depression and feeling stagnant.

We will see how the consultation goes, but as of now we are on track to begin a medicated IUI cycle in August.

FINALLY!!!