September 29, 2009
I had another adoption dream last night. I woke up kind of laughing at how obvious some of it was. It started off with Jeremy and me deciding that we wanted to go this lookout point to see if we could spot a whale. Of course, the journey to the lookout point was dangerous. It was nighttime and we were navigating our way through fog and flooding, down huge hills, trying to get to this lookout spot. I grabbed a hold of his arm, my heart racing, "Jeremy, I don't know if I can do this!" I was so scared. And so we decided to turn around. And then there was a little girl coming towards us. Her parents (who were from India) said that she was only two months old, but she had already started taking steps and was interacting with Jeremy and me like a much older baby. I thought to myself in my dream, She looks just like Jeremy and me! She snuggled up to me. Jeremy held her and laughed at her. I felt like she belonged to us, but her parents wanted her back. And so I woke up.
Oh yeah, it's in my psyche. There's no going back now. All day long, thoughts, questions, fantasies of my baby. Hmmm . . . my baby. Could it be possible? My heart is opening up. The longing is there. Patience Abby. Patience.
And still there are thoughts of Harper. I wondered how the thoughts of her would intermix with the fantasies of a baby. I have a friend in CA who is pregnant. In fact, she's 24 weeks pregnant right now. She just experienced one of the most horrific losses a person can have 11 weeks ago - the loss of a child. Deep in my soul I am grateful that she is pregnant. I am grateful that life gives us mixtures of grief and joy, loss and hope. How else could we survive? The grief alone would be unbearable.
I was reading her blog about her pregnancy. There was a picture of her at 24 weeks. 24 weeks. That's how far along I was when I delivered Harper. (Hmmm . . . I delivered Harper.) She wrote about how she could feel the baby move. I felt Harper move all the time. I was sick, in the hospital, in pain, barely holding on, and yet you would see a smile come across my face out of nowhere. "I just felt her move," explaining my smile, my hope to those who witnessed. She was the smile in my sadness. And then the movement stopped. I didn't know. Was it because of the edema? Maybe I couldn't feel her through the 100 pounds of fluid I was carrying. Maybe that was it. But no. And now, now she's the sadness when I smile.
Oh, my heavy heart. I'll be taking it with me today. Quiet reflection. That's where I'll be. Tragedy and tenderness, forming these shapes in who I am. Harper's tiny spirit, still moving mountains inside me.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Bittersweet
September 28, 2009
"How's the baby?" he asked as I led him from the lobby back to my office. Yeah. The last time I saw these parents in my office was March 14, 2008. Just ten days before I went into the hospital. I was wearing maternity clothes. My stomach was bigger than most four month pregnant women. At the time I didn't know why. Now I know it was because my colon was distended. I was one sick girl.
"Oh, she was stillborn," I responded with a weak smile. His face looked sick.
I didn't know for sure if they would remember or not. I was worried about it. Seeing clients who last saw me when I was pregnant is always hard. I'm prepared to answer the question, "Are you a mother?" Yes. And "Do you have children?" None living, or, depending on the situation, no. But "How's the baby?" That was one I wasn't ready for.
And the poor man too, right? I'm sure he was showing me kindness by remembering that I had been pregnant and by asking about my baby. Who wouldn't do that? So really, these moments are unavoidable, especially for kind, thoughtful people. Right? And this is the part of life that we share, regardless of our jobs or positions or anything. We all suffer tragedy. And thank God we are there for each other to understand and comfort one another.
It's amazing to me the connections I feel to people now. And I don't think it's one way either. When you share these heartbreaking experiences, you can't help but bond to people. Part of the sweetness in the bittersweet? I think so.
"How's the baby?" he asked as I led him from the lobby back to my office. Yeah. The last time I saw these parents in my office was March 14, 2008. Just ten days before I went into the hospital. I was wearing maternity clothes. My stomach was bigger than most four month pregnant women. At the time I didn't know why. Now I know it was because my colon was distended. I was one sick girl.
"Oh, she was stillborn," I responded with a weak smile. His face looked sick.
I didn't know for sure if they would remember or not. I was worried about it. Seeing clients who last saw me when I was pregnant is always hard. I'm prepared to answer the question, "Are you a mother?" Yes. And "Do you have children?" None living, or, depending on the situation, no. But "How's the baby?" That was one I wasn't ready for.
And the poor man too, right? I'm sure he was showing me kindness by remembering that I had been pregnant and by asking about my baby. Who wouldn't do that? So really, these moments are unavoidable, especially for kind, thoughtful people. Right? And this is the part of life that we share, regardless of our jobs or positions or anything. We all suffer tragedy. And thank God we are there for each other to understand and comfort one another.
It's amazing to me the connections I feel to people now. And I don't think it's one way either. When you share these heartbreaking experiences, you can't help but bond to people. Part of the sweetness in the bittersweet? I think so.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Nesting
September 27, 2009
Jeremy and I fell asleep on the couches last night, and instead of moving to the bedroom when we woke up in the night, we decided to camp out there. It was a delicious feeling. We woke up, did our Sunday morning Starbucks drive-through (with Django in the backseat) and came home and went for a walk.
"Hey slow down champ!" Jeremy joked as we started out walking.
"Well. I thought we were walking for exercise," I said as I followed his direction and slowed down to a snail's pace, just to be a smart-ass.
"Very funny," he smiled.
"Hey, who am I?" I asked. We've played this game before. I slow my pace down, hunch over my shoulders and shorten my stride to about 4 inches.
"You're you, although I don't think you walked that fast when you were sick."
"Did you ever think we would be where we are now?" I asked, knowing that I didn't. I never thought I'd be healthy again. It just didn't seem possible.
"No," he said solemnly. The weather is turning here, slowly but surely. So are we.
When we got back home from our walk I continued in on my huge project that I started on Friday: organizing!! Call it fall fever, nesting, whatever. Whatever it is, it has its hold on me, tight. It started with me sitting in my study/craft room and thinking through what will need to be moved out and what space we will need when we have our new addition to our family. Sorting through things very quickly exploded into going through every closet and storage space in our home, stacking things in piles: 1) yard sale, 2) trash, 3) keep and re-organize. The house is a disaster right now. But that's okay! Because the visions in my head of what all my closets will look like when I'm done is motivating me.
This is an emotional process too you know. It absolutely is. It's cleaning up my life and getting ready for a new phase. Let me just tell you some of the memories that have been jostled around as I've been sorting. The first of them being the last yard sale we had, almost a year ago. My ostomy had been causing some problems, and I remember sitting outside in the carport and realizing my bag had sprung a leak. Jeremy stayed outside and manned the sale while I went inside and fixed the leak, cleaned myself up and went back outside. I remember wanting to show Jeremy that the incident wasn't going to get me down. He always worried so about me emotionally when I had problems with my bag. But that day I wanted to impress him. "No big deal. I took care of it." I was so proud. I don't even know if he knew how important that was to me that day. But it was.
There was a stack of cards in one closet that I found. They were cards and notes that were sent to me when I was in the hospital, some attached to flowers. I shuffled through them and smiled. Those cards kept me going. But what do I do with them now? Do I hold on? Do I let go? Will I forget if I let go? Is it okay to forget? In with the cards was a CD mix that Jeremy made for me while I was in the hospital: A Mix for Abby: Healing (for the heart and body . . . and mind). That I will hold on to and I'm actually listening to it right now. I put that CD in to listen to at night time when I was in the hospital and couldn't sleep. I remember it bringing me to tears. Sometimes I couldn't listen to it. I didn't believe there would be healing and it made me too sad.
I came across a scrapbook that I had made at the end of 2000 and the beginning of 2001. I totally forgot I had put that scrapbook together. I sat down on the couch next to Jeremy and showed it to him. Boy did we laugh, especially at the New Year's party photos that had a 70's theme. Everyone dressed accordingly. Too much!
I found a card my sister had given me six years ago. It was a good-bye card. We were both moving from Minneapolis where we had spent the previous year or so living only three miles from each other and were going to be living over 2000 miles apart. It almost made me cry to read it.
There in a box of mementos (movie ticket stubs, concert ticket stubs, newspaper clippings, etc.) was my VIP pass for the U2 concert in 2001 when I met Bono. And there was the picture of me sitting on his lap. Ahhhh . . . good times.
There were Django toys that had been hiding from us that I rediscovered. I found one and gave it to him. He's been carrying it around all morning. Right now he's napping with it by his head. Hilarious!
And I can't help but reflect on the highs and lows of life. The highs and lows that have made my life rich and good and full.
Jeremy and I fell asleep on the couches last night, and instead of moving to the bedroom when we woke up in the night, we decided to camp out there. It was a delicious feeling. We woke up, did our Sunday morning Starbucks drive-through (with Django in the backseat) and came home and went for a walk.
"Hey slow down champ!" Jeremy joked as we started out walking.
"Well. I thought we were walking for exercise," I said as I followed his direction and slowed down to a snail's pace, just to be a smart-ass.
"Very funny," he smiled.
"Hey, who am I?" I asked. We've played this game before. I slow my pace down, hunch over my shoulders and shorten my stride to about 4 inches.
"You're you, although I don't think you walked that fast when you were sick."
"Did you ever think we would be where we are now?" I asked, knowing that I didn't. I never thought I'd be healthy again. It just didn't seem possible.
"No," he said solemnly. The weather is turning here, slowly but surely. So are we.
When we got back home from our walk I continued in on my huge project that I started on Friday: organizing!! Call it fall fever, nesting, whatever. Whatever it is, it has its hold on me, tight. It started with me sitting in my study/craft room and thinking through what will need to be moved out and what space we will need when we have our new addition to our family. Sorting through things very quickly exploded into going through every closet and storage space in our home, stacking things in piles: 1) yard sale, 2) trash, 3) keep and re-organize. The house is a disaster right now. But that's okay! Because the visions in my head of what all my closets will look like when I'm done is motivating me.
This is an emotional process too you know. It absolutely is. It's cleaning up my life and getting ready for a new phase. Let me just tell you some of the memories that have been jostled around as I've been sorting. The first of them being the last yard sale we had, almost a year ago. My ostomy had been causing some problems, and I remember sitting outside in the carport and realizing my bag had sprung a leak. Jeremy stayed outside and manned the sale while I went inside and fixed the leak, cleaned myself up and went back outside. I remember wanting to show Jeremy that the incident wasn't going to get me down. He always worried so about me emotionally when I had problems with my bag. But that day I wanted to impress him. "No big deal. I took care of it." I was so proud. I don't even know if he knew how important that was to me that day. But it was.
There was a stack of cards in one closet that I found. They were cards and notes that were sent to me when I was in the hospital, some attached to flowers. I shuffled through them and smiled. Those cards kept me going. But what do I do with them now? Do I hold on? Do I let go? Will I forget if I let go? Is it okay to forget? In with the cards was a CD mix that Jeremy made for me while I was in the hospital: A Mix for Abby: Healing (for the heart and body . . . and mind). That I will hold on to and I'm actually listening to it right now. I put that CD in to listen to at night time when I was in the hospital and couldn't sleep. I remember it bringing me to tears. Sometimes I couldn't listen to it. I didn't believe there would be healing and it made me too sad.
I came across a scrapbook that I had made at the end of 2000 and the beginning of 2001. I totally forgot I had put that scrapbook together. I sat down on the couch next to Jeremy and showed it to him. Boy did we laugh, especially at the New Year's party photos that had a 70's theme. Everyone dressed accordingly. Too much!
I found a card my sister had given me six years ago. It was a good-bye card. We were both moving from Minneapolis where we had spent the previous year or so living only three miles from each other and were going to be living over 2000 miles apart. It almost made me cry to read it.
There in a box of mementos (movie ticket stubs, concert ticket stubs, newspaper clippings, etc.) was my VIP pass for the U2 concert in 2001 when I met Bono. And there was the picture of me sitting on his lap. Ahhhh . . . good times.
There were Django toys that had been hiding from us that I rediscovered. I found one and gave it to him. He's been carrying it around all morning. Right now he's napping with it by his head. Hilarious!
And I can't help but reflect on the highs and lows of life. The highs and lows that have made my life rich and good and full.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Vigilance
September 25, 2009
I have been struggling lately with my body image. And you know what? If that's all I'm struggling with, then I think that's a pretty good thing, right? So I'm trying to keep things in perspective here. But nonetheless, these negative thoughts about how my body looks have been infiltrating my dreams. Every few nights I have some dream that my stretch marks and scars play a role in. To be fair, I've been having some crazy detailed, realistic dreams lately with all kinds of thoughts from my daily life making an appearance. I think it might be one of the medications I'm on making my dreams so vivid.
I know this issue is all in my head. I know it. But I don't know how to make it better. Oh . . . well . . . maybe I do know how. But it's just so much work! It's hard to fight the negative thoughts when they're so prevalent. It takes vigilance. But I know that it's all about if I'm comfortable and confident with myself. I want to be there. I really do. And I'll get there. I will.
I have been struggling lately with my body image. And you know what? If that's all I'm struggling with, then I think that's a pretty good thing, right? So I'm trying to keep things in perspective here. But nonetheless, these negative thoughts about how my body looks have been infiltrating my dreams. Every few nights I have some dream that my stretch marks and scars play a role in. To be fair, I've been having some crazy detailed, realistic dreams lately with all kinds of thoughts from my daily life making an appearance. I think it might be one of the medications I'm on making my dreams so vivid.
I know this issue is all in my head. I know it. But I don't know how to make it better. Oh . . . well . . . maybe I do know how. But it's just so much work! It's hard to fight the negative thoughts when they're so prevalent. It takes vigilance. But I know that it's all about if I'm comfortable and confident with myself. I want to be there. I really do. And I'll get there. I will.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Making it real
September 20, 2009
Those of you who know me know that I am a planner. I really enjoy planning. In fact, I don't think it would be a stretch to say at least half of the fun of parties, trips, holidays, etc. is the planning for them. Planning creates such anticipation! Oh I love it! So for me, it was somewhat unusual that when I was pregnant with Harper, I did not purchase a single baby item. Not a single thing. Part of that was that I wanted to wait to find out if we were having a boy or girl before I started buying clothes, but there would have been plenty of other baby accoutrements to purchase and plan for in the meantime. I was hospitalized at 4 months pregnant. I was scheduled to have my ultrasound the week that I was hospitalized. We were supposed to find out then what we were having. Needless to say, things didn't happen that way and a month later we lost Harper.
I have tried a couple of times since then to peruse the baby aisle at Target. Those attempts were painful and fruitless. I decided a while back to just give up trying to make myself comfortable with looking at baby things. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I literally turn my head and look the other way whenever I walk past baby things. What would the point be in making my heart ache and yearn on a Saturday morning when all I really wanted to do was buy some dish detergent or trash bags?
Thursday was different though. I had been talking with a friend at work about the excitement I was experiencing at the prospect of adopting and getting to mother a baby. She told me she thought I needed some "shopping therapy." And then it hit me. In the not too distant future (fingers crossed), I will need to be buying a crib and changing table. I'll need a car seat and stroller. I'll need onesies and booties and blankets and baby shampoo. I'm going to need to be able to shop for our baby! So Thursday after work I thought I would try to ease myself into this.
I stopped at Target on my way home. I headed right to the baby area and started slowly walking up and down the aisles. My thoughts bounced back and forth from Harper, to fantasies of this little one who will be coming our way one day. Harper was just over 14 ounces when she was born. None of the baby clothes would have fit her. And then my eyes fell on the newborn caps. I reached out and put my fingers inside the cap and stretched it out to see how big it was. It was so delicate and soft. A mellowness came over me. Harper wore a tiny little preemie cap. I kept walking and looked at other things. But I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to buy something. Just one small item, a gender neutral thing. Something I could carry with me to remind me of the hope that I have. To make real for me the future of being a mommy that lies ahead.
I settled on package of three newborn sized little socks; white, yellow, and green. I took them home and cut them free from their packaging. I put one pair in my purse. On Friday I carried them on my lap as I drove to work, picking them at each stop light and feeling how soft they were. At lunch time I took them out of my purse and held them up to my lips and kissed the smallness I held in my hands. One day I will put my baby's feet in those little socks. I closed my eyes and pictured it.
Friday night Jeremy and I spent the evening together. We really hadn't had an in person conversation since Wednesday morning due to our conflicting work schedules this week. I wanted to show him. I wanted to tell him, but I was worried about his response. He's so protective of me emotionally. Would he want to remind me that I shouldn't get too excited because this could be a long wait, and after all, we had only just begun the application process? Would I see the concern on his face?
"I want to show you something I bought yesterday," I told him. He paused the DVD of Frasier we had started watching. "It's something for the baby," I said and looked tentatively out of the corner of my eye at him to see if the concerned expression was beginning. I knew what was going through his head, Did she buy a crib? Did she buy a whole nursery set-up? What's going on? "Don't worry, it's nothing major. Just something very small," I said as I went to my purse to retrieve the socks.
I brought the socks over to him on the couch. I explained that I had been carrying them around with me. I told him how I wanted to make this seem real. I wanted to get past the sadness of shopping and I wanted to hope. I told him how excited I was. I held up the little socks for him and he held them. "Aren't they just so tiny?" I asked. He smiled and nodded. "Jeremy, we're going to have a little baby who will wear those! Can you believe that?" He nodded again. And I saw his eyes well up. That I was not expecting. I put the little socks on my nightstand next to my bed and came back to the couch beside him. "Did you get a little choked up?" I asked.
"Yeah. Well it's emotional," he said. Yeah. It's emotional. I was so happy to share that moment with him. No concern, no fear (at least in that moment), only emotion. And I know what that emotion is. It's the bittersweet. If you've ever felt it, you know what it looks like.
There's a lot of relief for me around not thinking about carrying a baby myself any more. A lot of relief. I've been taking my Cipro regularly now and I feel so good. I feel more and more certain that adoption is the right thing for us. And the love in my heart for this baby, this child that we don't know yet, it just keeps growing.
We played some tennis this morning, early, when it was still cool. At 7:30 a.m. we were sitting on the court together, just the two of us, taking a break. We were both drinking out of our water bottles and got to talking about whether our bottles were made of the safe plastic or not. I told him I didn't think they were. "That's probably why I have chronic pouchitis," I joked. He didn't think that was funny. "You don't get into my colon humor too much do you?" I asked him. "No. I've seen too much to think the 'No Colon and Still Rollin' t-shirt is funny. I've seen too much."
I am wrapped up in my own experience of all of this. Sometimes I sit and think about Jeremy and what all this has been like for him. There were times that I was so focused on myself and on surviving, I don't even remember thinking about him. It sounds terrible, I know, but that's the way it was. I asked him months later where he was when they told me my situation might be a "life or death" situation, that my colon could be toxic and kill me. I didn't remember until he told me that he started sobbing and grabbed me and held me. We're very different, Jeremy and me. And I understand that. When he released his CD, Spine, I think I learned more about his experience than any conversation would have taught me.
Oh anyway . . . I have so many thoughts tossing around in there right now. I could go on and on, but I won't. My bed is just a few feet behind me right now and, what's that? Can you hear it? It's calling my name! Slumber awaits.
Those of you who know me know that I am a planner. I really enjoy planning. In fact, I don't think it would be a stretch to say at least half of the fun of parties, trips, holidays, etc. is the planning for them. Planning creates such anticipation! Oh I love it! So for me, it was somewhat unusual that when I was pregnant with Harper, I did not purchase a single baby item. Not a single thing. Part of that was that I wanted to wait to find out if we were having a boy or girl before I started buying clothes, but there would have been plenty of other baby accoutrements to purchase and plan for in the meantime. I was hospitalized at 4 months pregnant. I was scheduled to have my ultrasound the week that I was hospitalized. We were supposed to find out then what we were having. Needless to say, things didn't happen that way and a month later we lost Harper.
I have tried a couple of times since then to peruse the baby aisle at Target. Those attempts were painful and fruitless. I decided a while back to just give up trying to make myself comfortable with looking at baby things. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I literally turn my head and look the other way whenever I walk past baby things. What would the point be in making my heart ache and yearn on a Saturday morning when all I really wanted to do was buy some dish detergent or trash bags?
Thursday was different though. I had been talking with a friend at work about the excitement I was experiencing at the prospect of adopting and getting to mother a baby. She told me she thought I needed some "shopping therapy." And then it hit me. In the not too distant future (fingers crossed), I will need to be buying a crib and changing table. I'll need a car seat and stroller. I'll need onesies and booties and blankets and baby shampoo. I'm going to need to be able to shop for our baby! So Thursday after work I thought I would try to ease myself into this.
I stopped at Target on my way home. I headed right to the baby area and started slowly walking up and down the aisles. My thoughts bounced back and forth from Harper, to fantasies of this little one who will be coming our way one day. Harper was just over 14 ounces when she was born. None of the baby clothes would have fit her. And then my eyes fell on the newborn caps. I reached out and put my fingers inside the cap and stretched it out to see how big it was. It was so delicate and soft. A mellowness came over me. Harper wore a tiny little preemie cap. I kept walking and looked at other things. But I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to buy something. Just one small item, a gender neutral thing. Something I could carry with me to remind me of the hope that I have. To make real for me the future of being a mommy that lies ahead.
I settled on package of three newborn sized little socks; white, yellow, and green. I took them home and cut them free from their packaging. I put one pair in my purse. On Friday I carried them on my lap as I drove to work, picking them at each stop light and feeling how soft they were. At lunch time I took them out of my purse and held them up to my lips and kissed the smallness I held in my hands. One day I will put my baby's feet in those little socks. I closed my eyes and pictured it.
Friday night Jeremy and I spent the evening together. We really hadn't had an in person conversation since Wednesday morning due to our conflicting work schedules this week. I wanted to show him. I wanted to tell him, but I was worried about his response. He's so protective of me emotionally. Would he want to remind me that I shouldn't get too excited because this could be a long wait, and after all, we had only just begun the application process? Would I see the concern on his face?
"I want to show you something I bought yesterday," I told him. He paused the DVD of Frasier we had started watching. "It's something for the baby," I said and looked tentatively out of the corner of my eye at him to see if the concerned expression was beginning. I knew what was going through his head, Did she buy a crib? Did she buy a whole nursery set-up? What's going on? "Don't worry, it's nothing major. Just something very small," I said as I went to my purse to retrieve the socks.
I brought the socks over to him on the couch. I explained that I had been carrying them around with me. I told him how I wanted to make this seem real. I wanted to get past the sadness of shopping and I wanted to hope. I told him how excited I was. I held up the little socks for him and he held them. "Aren't they just so tiny?" I asked. He smiled and nodded. "Jeremy, we're going to have a little baby who will wear those! Can you believe that?" He nodded again. And I saw his eyes well up. That I was not expecting. I put the little socks on my nightstand next to my bed and came back to the couch beside him. "Did you get a little choked up?" I asked.
"Yeah. Well it's emotional," he said. Yeah. It's emotional. I was so happy to share that moment with him. No concern, no fear (at least in that moment), only emotion. And I know what that emotion is. It's the bittersweet. If you've ever felt it, you know what it looks like.
There's a lot of relief for me around not thinking about carrying a baby myself any more. A lot of relief. I've been taking my Cipro regularly now and I feel so good. I feel more and more certain that adoption is the right thing for us. And the love in my heart for this baby, this child that we don't know yet, it just keeps growing.
We played some tennis this morning, early, when it was still cool. At 7:30 a.m. we were sitting on the court together, just the two of us, taking a break. We were both drinking out of our water bottles and got to talking about whether our bottles were made of the safe plastic or not. I told him I didn't think they were. "That's probably why I have chronic pouchitis," I joked. He didn't think that was funny. "You don't get into my colon humor too much do you?" I asked him. "No. I've seen too much to think the 'No Colon and Still Rollin' t-shirt is funny. I've seen too much."
I am wrapped up in my own experience of all of this. Sometimes I sit and think about Jeremy and what all this has been like for him. There were times that I was so focused on myself and on surviving, I don't even remember thinking about him. It sounds terrible, I know, but that's the way it was. I asked him months later where he was when they told me my situation might be a "life or death" situation, that my colon could be toxic and kill me. I didn't remember until he told me that he started sobbing and grabbed me and held me. We're very different, Jeremy and me. And I understand that. When he released his CD, Spine, I think I learned more about his experience than any conversation would have taught me.
Oh anyway . . . I have so many thoughts tossing around in there right now. I could go on and on, but I won't. My bed is just a few feet behind me right now and, what's that? Can you hear it? It's calling my name! Slumber awaits.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The greatest joys
September 17, 2009
How long do you lay in bed awake before you give up the fight and get up? I tried from 2:30 a.m. till now, 3:20 a.m. to go back to sleep. It just ain't happening. Don't think about that Abby. Think about something else. What else can I think about? Blah, blah, blah. So here I am, ready to write and purge myself of the thoughts that won't stop. Maybe then I can at least get one more hour of sleep before my Thursday officially begins? We'll see . . .
The prospect of adoption has got me in this perpetual state of excitement. It's really amazing to me. I didn't think I'd ever experience hope like this again. Yet here I am. Hopeful. All day long these fantasies play through my mind. Fantasies of a little one in my arms, in our home, in my heart. I am allowing myself to go there in my mind. And the fantasies, they don't hurt any more. They don't bring heartache and feelings of loss to the surface. They are no longer Harper's face. No. Now they are faces of all different colors and shapes. Little boys and little girls, dark skin, light skin, curly hair, straight hair. I have no idea what our child will look like, so the fantasies vary. But that's all part of the excitement. And I just don't know if I can express what the thought of holding a newborn, our newborn, in my arms does to me.
I've been thinking a lot about the birth mother lately too, whoever she may be. All kinds of wondering and questions. There is this part of me, the part that is a mother who will not get to raise her child, that understands somewhat the challenges she will face. And that breaks my heart. There's a paradox there. Our joy will come from someone else's loss. But that's the beauty of it too, isn't it? That there can be joy from loss. The greatest joys, that's where they come from, isn't it?
I realized today that the state of my mind right now, on a moment to moment basis, is much like it was when I was pregnant. It's consumed with thoughts of babies, of mothering, of making a home and a family. It's just unbelievable to me, that I can be in this place again. The gratitude runs deep. It really does.
How long do you lay in bed awake before you give up the fight and get up? I tried from 2:30 a.m. till now, 3:20 a.m. to go back to sleep. It just ain't happening. Don't think about that Abby. Think about something else. What else can I think about? Blah, blah, blah. So here I am, ready to write and purge myself of the thoughts that won't stop. Maybe then I can at least get one more hour of sleep before my Thursday officially begins? We'll see . . .
The prospect of adoption has got me in this perpetual state of excitement. It's really amazing to me. I didn't think I'd ever experience hope like this again. Yet here I am. Hopeful. All day long these fantasies play through my mind. Fantasies of a little one in my arms, in our home, in my heart. I am allowing myself to go there in my mind. And the fantasies, they don't hurt any more. They don't bring heartache and feelings of loss to the surface. They are no longer Harper's face. No. Now they are faces of all different colors and shapes. Little boys and little girls, dark skin, light skin, curly hair, straight hair. I have no idea what our child will look like, so the fantasies vary. But that's all part of the excitement. And I just don't know if I can express what the thought of holding a newborn, our newborn, in my arms does to me.
I've been thinking a lot about the birth mother lately too, whoever she may be. All kinds of wondering and questions. There is this part of me, the part that is a mother who will not get to raise her child, that understands somewhat the challenges she will face. And that breaks my heart. There's a paradox there. Our joy will come from someone else's loss. But that's the beauty of it too, isn't it? That there can be joy from loss. The greatest joys, that's where they come from, isn't it?
I realized today that the state of my mind right now, on a moment to moment basis, is much like it was when I was pregnant. It's consumed with thoughts of babies, of mothering, of making a home and a family. It's just unbelievable to me, that I can be in this place again. The gratitude runs deep. It really does.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
I believe
September 12, 2009
I woke up at 5:00 a.m. this morning, on a Saturday. And try as I might to go back to sleep, it just wasn't happening for me. There were too many thoughts jumping around in my head. And some of them were oh-so-exciting thoughts. I felt my heart start to quicken. Adoption. A baby! Parenthood!!
I think we've decided on an agency to go with to try and adopt. I started filling out the initial paperwork yesterday. Hopefully Jeremy and I will get the forms in the mail today. The next step would be attending an orientation at the adoption agency.
There was this part of me that was really angry when I used to think about the adoption process. It's just not fair, right? It's not fair that two perfectly capable, loving people would have to jump through so many hoops to adopt a baby; hoops we wouldn't have to jump through to have a biological child. And then there's some fear about the process too. I mean really, we are being judged. That's what the whole process is about. And what if they decide we aren't worthy? It's easy to be on the outside and say, "Oh of course you'll be allowed to adopt," but when you're on the other side, it's scary.
But the thoughts behind these two feelings, the anger and the fear, these thoughts are ones I am going to do my best to eradicate. I am choosing to go through this process with excitement. And I am excited! I woke up this morning thinking about it. When Jeremy woke up I whispered to him, "I can't believe we will get to have a baby Jeremy!" I think I saw tears well up in his eyes. He's excited too. "I'll get to be a mommy. You'll get to be a daddy. I'll get to hold a baby, our baby." And then I went on about getting a nursery ready and all that fun stuff. (Don't worry, I'm not jumping the gun here. I haven't gone out and purchased any baby items or anything. I'm just dreaming, envisioning, hoping . . . )
I can see it all in my mind's eye. And I believe. I believe this is going to happen for us.
I woke up at 5:00 a.m. this morning, on a Saturday. And try as I might to go back to sleep, it just wasn't happening for me. There were too many thoughts jumping around in my head. And some of them were oh-so-exciting thoughts. I felt my heart start to quicken. Adoption. A baby! Parenthood!!
I think we've decided on an agency to go with to try and adopt. I started filling out the initial paperwork yesterday. Hopefully Jeremy and I will get the forms in the mail today. The next step would be attending an orientation at the adoption agency.
There was this part of me that was really angry when I used to think about the adoption process. It's just not fair, right? It's not fair that two perfectly capable, loving people would have to jump through so many hoops to adopt a baby; hoops we wouldn't have to jump through to have a biological child. And then there's some fear about the process too. I mean really, we are being judged. That's what the whole process is about. And what if they decide we aren't worthy? It's easy to be on the outside and say, "Oh of course you'll be allowed to adopt," but when you're on the other side, it's scary.
But the thoughts behind these two feelings, the anger and the fear, these thoughts are ones I am going to do my best to eradicate. I am choosing to go through this process with excitement. And I am excited! I woke up this morning thinking about it. When Jeremy woke up I whispered to him, "I can't believe we will get to have a baby Jeremy!" I think I saw tears well up in his eyes. He's excited too. "I'll get to be a mommy. You'll get to be a daddy. I'll get to hold a baby, our baby." And then I went on about getting a nursery ready and all that fun stuff. (Don't worry, I'm not jumping the gun here. I haven't gone out and purchased any baby items or anything. I'm just dreaming, envisioning, hoping . . . )
I can see it all in my mind's eye. And I believe. I believe this is going to happen for us.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Journey with fear
September 9, 2009
I listened to the click-click-click of my new shoes on the crooked brick sidewalk as I turned the corner to my office building this morning. I started preparing myself mentally for work when I was still tired and still wanted to sleep, but I could do it, I knew I could. And then it dawned on me, I was sick yesterday and I didn't freak out. I didn't get scared. And I actually thought to myself, I'm not afraid any more.
Not so long ago I lived every day in fear. Fear that I was going to die, fear that I was going to need another surgery, fear that I was going to live my entire life in pain. And then, as crazy as it sounds, I even became afraid that I would always be afraid. But no more. I am not afraid any more. And I'll tell you what, it feels damn good.
So fast forward to after lunch, Abby's in the bathroom. I know, I know, nothing too unusual about that, Abby's always in the bathroom. So there I was, but I couldn't go. And this is unusual mind you. And then there was blood. Blood. Oh God, what's this about? There are any number of innocuous reasons for the blood, right? A small tear, an internal hemorrhoid, whatever. But there was also this cramping in my stomach. It felt like there was a baseball in my gut. And so my mind jumped to an obstruction. What if this is an obstruction? Okay, I started to panic a little.
So I talked myself in circles. Don't worry Abby. You've only been feeling this way a couple hours. This doesn't have to be anything major. You can handle this. And then I went to the bathroom again and still nothing came except blood (but not much blood). What do I do? Do I call someone? I'll never get a hold of Dr. G. What if it's nothing and you look stupid for calling? Remember last time when it was nothing (that they could find any way)? But remember when all this started and there was something going on and no one listened? What should I do? Should I worry about this? I just don't know my body well enough to know anything any more. So I went and talked with a friend. And after talking through the same soliloquy again I decided that if it was an obstruction I would get worse and I would know I needed to get help. And that put my mind at ease. A few hours later I was able to go to the bathroom again - still some blood, but I'm not as scared.
Fast forward to 8:00 p.m. and Abby's once again, you guessed it, sitting on the toilet. And I actually chuckled to myself about my journey with fear throughout the day. And I started thinking about how I wished I had heard about someone else's journey with fear before this whole "ordeal" began for me. And I hoped, hoped more than you could imagine, that my experience is helping, has helped, or will help someone else in their own journey with fear.
I listened to the click-click-click of my new shoes on the crooked brick sidewalk as I turned the corner to my office building this morning. I started preparing myself mentally for work when I was still tired and still wanted to sleep, but I could do it, I knew I could. And then it dawned on me, I was sick yesterday and I didn't freak out. I didn't get scared. And I actually thought to myself, I'm not afraid any more.
Not so long ago I lived every day in fear. Fear that I was going to die, fear that I was going to need another surgery, fear that I was going to live my entire life in pain. And then, as crazy as it sounds, I even became afraid that I would always be afraid. But no more. I am not afraid any more. And I'll tell you what, it feels damn good.
So fast forward to after lunch, Abby's in the bathroom. I know, I know, nothing too unusual about that, Abby's always in the bathroom. So there I was, but I couldn't go. And this is unusual mind you. And then there was blood. Blood. Oh God, what's this about? There are any number of innocuous reasons for the blood, right? A small tear, an internal hemorrhoid, whatever. But there was also this cramping in my stomach. It felt like there was a baseball in my gut. And so my mind jumped to an obstruction. What if this is an obstruction? Okay, I started to panic a little.
So I talked myself in circles. Don't worry Abby. You've only been feeling this way a couple hours. This doesn't have to be anything major. You can handle this. And then I went to the bathroom again and still nothing came except blood (but not much blood). What do I do? Do I call someone? I'll never get a hold of Dr. G. What if it's nothing and you look stupid for calling? Remember last time when it was nothing (that they could find any way)? But remember when all this started and there was something going on and no one listened? What should I do? Should I worry about this? I just don't know my body well enough to know anything any more. So I went and talked with a friend. And after talking through the same soliloquy again I decided that if it was an obstruction I would get worse and I would know I needed to get help. And that put my mind at ease. A few hours later I was able to go to the bathroom again - still some blood, but I'm not as scared.
Fast forward to 8:00 p.m. and Abby's once again, you guessed it, sitting on the toilet. And I actually chuckled to myself about my journey with fear throughout the day. And I started thinking about how I wished I had heard about someone else's journey with fear before this whole "ordeal" began for me. And I hoped, hoped more than you could imagine, that my experience is helping, has helped, or will help someone else in their own journey with fear.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
A night of good sleep
September 8, 2009
I woke up this morning and knew that I did not have the energy in me to go to work. A migraine hit me last night as I was getting ready for bed. That, together with going to the bathroom every hour or so and then waking up for an hour in the middle of the night outright exhausted me. So I called in sick. I stayed in bed all day. Jeremy was on-call today but did not get called in. He left to run some errands this morning and got home around 11:00 a.m., just as I was drifting off again. Apparently the longevity of my nap caused him some concern. When I finally woke up four and a half hours later he told me he was worried about me. He said he kept coming to check on me and make sure I was still breathing. "I'm okay. I'm just so exhausted," I tried to reassure him. And now this evening I can tell the Cipro is already starting to work it's magic. Hopefully by morning I'll be well rested and back to feeling like me again.
"Django, look at mommy. Isn't it good to see her with her eyes open?" was one of Jeremy's relieved statements this evening. While I hate calling in sick to work, I am very glad I took care of myself today and did what my body needed. Pray for a night of good sleep. Please God, let me get some good sleep tonight.
I woke up this morning and knew that I did not have the energy in me to go to work. A migraine hit me last night as I was getting ready for bed. That, together with going to the bathroom every hour or so and then waking up for an hour in the middle of the night outright exhausted me. So I called in sick. I stayed in bed all day. Jeremy was on-call today but did not get called in. He left to run some errands this morning and got home around 11:00 a.m., just as I was drifting off again. Apparently the longevity of my nap caused him some concern. When I finally woke up four and a half hours later he told me he was worried about me. He said he kept coming to check on me and make sure I was still breathing. "I'm okay. I'm just so exhausted," I tried to reassure him. And now this evening I can tell the Cipro is already starting to work it's magic. Hopefully by morning I'll be well rested and back to feeling like me again.
"Django, look at mommy. Isn't it good to see her with her eyes open?" was one of Jeremy's relieved statements this evening. While I hate calling in sick to work, I am very glad I took care of myself today and did what my body needed. Pray for a night of good sleep. Please God, let me get some good sleep tonight.
Monday, September 7, 2009
One day at a time Abby
September 7, 2009
Saturday was our 12th wedding anniversary. All week long I had been looking forward to spending an entire weekend with Jeremy, celebrating our 12 years together. Friday after work he met me at Cafe Poca Cosa for dinner. It's one of our favorite places in town. It was so nice to enjoy dinner and conversation with my sweetheart.
I don't know what happened to me on Saturday. My emotions were all over the place. I just felt so unsettled. I feel this pressure to figure everything out. And by everything, I mean, well, everything. At one point in the day I broke down crying. "I feel like I have to figure it all out Jeremy."
"Figure what out?" he asked, a little confused but wanting to help. I tried to explain. Every moment of every day that is not occupied with interacting or communicating with other people is occupied with thoughts about my future, having a family, what the purpose of my life is, what happens when we die, how involved God is in my life, etc., etc. And I feel pressure to understand it all and to find the answers.
He read to me. He read me an excerpt from an American Splendor compilation that spoke to exactly what I was feeling. And it put me at ease.
Sunday was a better day than Saturday. We went out to breakfast at Hotel Congress and then drove up to Mount Lemon. We drove with the windows down and I inhaled the scents that took me back to childhood adventures in the woods, at the cabin, and in the boundary waters. "Doesn't it feel good to get out of our normal scenery? It just shakes everything loose, don't you think?" I asked him. It was just what I needed.
Sunday evening the sky got dark and as we settled into the couches in the living room, we began to hear thunder and to see flashes of lightening, but no rain. "Wanna come outside with me? Let's watch the storm!" I have always, always loved thunderstorms. So we turned the outside lights off and climbed into the hammock together, his feet by my head, my feet by his. Django was sniffing around the backyard. We sat in the dark and the silence. Bolts of lightening lit up the sky and seconds later crashes of thunder answered. I clapped my hands together like a little girl a couple of times. One clap of thunder was so loud we both almost jumped up and ran for the house. And then the rain came down. There wasn't a lot of wind, so we were able to stay in the hammock and stay fairly dry for a while. Django came and laid down beside us on the patio. It was so quiet and so peaceful. It was my favorite part of the weekend. Those moments, you can't plan them. And I thank God for them.
Okay, so perhaps part of my emotional state this weekend had to do with my cycle. As seems to be my habit, I near the time when I know I'm going to be ovulating and I can't yet give up the hope that I will be well enough to carry our own baby again, so I inevitably go off my Cipro to see if I can manage. Stupid me. Stupid, stupid me. But hope springs eternal, right? After a few days of being off the Cipro, I once again find myself going to the bathroom just about every hour. And when I go, I feel like I have to push and push, even when there's nothing left in me. This was the case last night. I do believe I was awake every hour of the night going to the bathroom. And then this morning, as I tried to sleep later to catch up, I kept waking up feeling like I had to go to the bathroom again. Disappointment set in. Disappointment and a feeling of all over ickiness. "I just don't think my body is in a place where I can carry a baby," I told Jeremy. "I'm feeling sick today."
"You have all day to rest and take it easy Abby. And go back on your Cipro. You need to take care of yourself right now," he reminded me because yes, I still do need reminding.
I have been investigating different adoption agencies. We haven't landed on the right one yet. After I took a dose of Cipro I placed a call to one of the agencies I had contacted last week. The woman who ran the place said she would be working on Monday and I could call her with questions then. Turns out they aren't the kind of agency that connects you to birth mothers, but they can help with all the studies and counseling and everything else involved if we were to do a private adoption. There are so many options out there, I don't even know where to start. If anyone is reading this blog and has suggestions about where to start in finding the right agency or attorney or birth mother, I would greatly appreciate your feedback. I feel like we're navigating in the dark and just kind of learning the lay of the land by bumping into things. What we would like is to adopt an infant - that's really the only criteria that is important to us right now. We'll see what the future holds.
For now I guess I'm just going to keep on trying to let go of my need to figure everything out and try to enjoy my life. One day at a time Abby.
Saturday was our 12th wedding anniversary. All week long I had been looking forward to spending an entire weekend with Jeremy, celebrating our 12 years together. Friday after work he met me at Cafe Poca Cosa for dinner. It's one of our favorite places in town. It was so nice to enjoy dinner and conversation with my sweetheart.
I don't know what happened to me on Saturday. My emotions were all over the place. I just felt so unsettled. I feel this pressure to figure everything out. And by everything, I mean, well, everything. At one point in the day I broke down crying. "I feel like I have to figure it all out Jeremy."
"Figure what out?" he asked, a little confused but wanting to help. I tried to explain. Every moment of every day that is not occupied with interacting or communicating with other people is occupied with thoughts about my future, having a family, what the purpose of my life is, what happens when we die, how involved God is in my life, etc., etc. And I feel pressure to understand it all and to find the answers.
He read to me. He read me an excerpt from an American Splendor compilation that spoke to exactly what I was feeling. And it put me at ease.
Sunday was a better day than Saturday. We went out to breakfast at Hotel Congress and then drove up to Mount Lemon. We drove with the windows down and I inhaled the scents that took me back to childhood adventures in the woods, at the cabin, and in the boundary waters. "Doesn't it feel good to get out of our normal scenery? It just shakes everything loose, don't you think?" I asked him. It was just what I needed.
Sunday evening the sky got dark and as we settled into the couches in the living room, we began to hear thunder and to see flashes of lightening, but no rain. "Wanna come outside with me? Let's watch the storm!" I have always, always loved thunderstorms. So we turned the outside lights off and climbed into the hammock together, his feet by my head, my feet by his. Django was sniffing around the backyard. We sat in the dark and the silence. Bolts of lightening lit up the sky and seconds later crashes of thunder answered. I clapped my hands together like a little girl a couple of times. One clap of thunder was so loud we both almost jumped up and ran for the house. And then the rain came down. There wasn't a lot of wind, so we were able to stay in the hammock and stay fairly dry for a while. Django came and laid down beside us on the patio. It was so quiet and so peaceful. It was my favorite part of the weekend. Those moments, you can't plan them. And I thank God for them.
Okay, so perhaps part of my emotional state this weekend had to do with my cycle. As seems to be my habit, I near the time when I know I'm going to be ovulating and I can't yet give up the hope that I will be well enough to carry our own baby again, so I inevitably go off my Cipro to see if I can manage. Stupid me. Stupid, stupid me. But hope springs eternal, right? After a few days of being off the Cipro, I once again find myself going to the bathroom just about every hour. And when I go, I feel like I have to push and push, even when there's nothing left in me. This was the case last night. I do believe I was awake every hour of the night going to the bathroom. And then this morning, as I tried to sleep later to catch up, I kept waking up feeling like I had to go to the bathroom again. Disappointment set in. Disappointment and a feeling of all over ickiness. "I just don't think my body is in a place where I can carry a baby," I told Jeremy. "I'm feeling sick today."
"You have all day to rest and take it easy Abby. And go back on your Cipro. You need to take care of yourself right now," he reminded me because yes, I still do need reminding.
I have been investigating different adoption agencies. We haven't landed on the right one yet. After I took a dose of Cipro I placed a call to one of the agencies I had contacted last week. The woman who ran the place said she would be working on Monday and I could call her with questions then. Turns out they aren't the kind of agency that connects you to birth mothers, but they can help with all the studies and counseling and everything else involved if we were to do a private adoption. There are so many options out there, I don't even know where to start. If anyone is reading this blog and has suggestions about where to start in finding the right agency or attorney or birth mother, I would greatly appreciate your feedback. I feel like we're navigating in the dark and just kind of learning the lay of the land by bumping into things. What we would like is to adopt an infant - that's really the only criteria that is important to us right now. We'll see what the future holds.
For now I guess I'm just going to keep on trying to let go of my need to figure everything out and try to enjoy my life. One day at a time Abby.
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