This is it. This is the one I've been dreading writing. This is the one where I have to dig into what those years of "trying" and failing really felt like... and they felt like crap. But we've come to the point in the story when, last March, we began to share our adoption news. That was such a wonderful, joyful, emotional time. And to even begin to understand what a happy experience that was for us, you have to start a few years earlier...
I've always been a person who cares waaaay too much what other people think of me. I know, I know, "be true to yourself and your Savior, and it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks." But it's just a weakness I've always struggled with. So I can't say that there was ever a point that the "comments" didn't bother me.
"That baby looks awfully good on you, when are you having one of your own?" "Any news yet?" "Are you two ever gonna get cracking, or do you just want to raise dogs for the rest of your lives?"
The reminder of what was "missing" in my life stung a little. There were times when I could expect an interrogation, like a family reunion, baby shower, or meeting our new church families for the first time. I could prepare myself, guard myself a little bit against the feelings of loss. But what always stung the most, and what I could never prepare enough for, were the "knowing" looks in people's eyes, the implications and assumptions that accompanied the words. The reality of infertility, I could deal with. But "what people thought" of me... that was a whole other story. People had no idea how desperately I "wanted" to be a mother. People assumed that waiting was a "choice." People wondered when I would feel settled enough, secure enough, ready enough, and I was already all of those things! It just wasn't happening!
This is tough to write, because inevitably someone is going to "feel bad." A dear friend or family member is going to read this and suddenly recall a conversation they had with me years ago, and bang their head against a wall because now they realize the impact those words really had.
Please, please, PLEASE do not bang your head against a wall. I love you! And I KNOW you had no idea what we were going through, no idea how those words made us feel, and no intention of hurting us. So back away from the wall! It's not like I wore a sandwich board every day that said "I want a baby and it's just not happening so please don't bring it up." Very few people knew what we were going through, because it's just not something that people talk about. It's uncomfortable, and it makes people sad. And although it touches a lot of lives, infertility is not something you ever really think about until you, or someone close to you has gone through it. Even if you ARE aware of it, it's still really hard to know the right thing to say, or what NOT to say.
So I have two pieces of advice, if you want them. The first is to be aware. Refrain from making assumptions. And I'm not just talking about my situation, and the comments I endured. ANY situation where it appears that someone is making a "choice" that you don't understand. I observe apparent "choices" every day that I don't understand, and my sinful nature continues to make snap judgments about the people making those choices. But my awareness has definitely increased through all of this, and I feel I've been given more compassion and understanding than I used to have. The ability to re-think my snap judgments, consider what others might be going through, and even remember to pray for those people. And now, after reading this, please don't think that each and every childless couple married for a certain number of years must be dealing with infertility and on the verge of an adoption plan. That, too, would be an assumption. They MIGHT be making a choice to wait, and it might be for perfectly appropriate, God-pleasing reasons. The point is to try harder to, maybe even pray for the strength to, withhold judgment.
The second piece of advice I have is to not worry about hurting feelings. It sounds conflicting, I know. But it makes sense. As I began to let a person or two know what we were experiencing, I noticed a lot of "tiptoeing." Once aware, people were extra-cautious not to hurt my feelings or upset me. Which I deeply, deeply appreciated... but that almost made it worse. Because now my personal struggle was affecting the degree to which my friends felt comfortable sharing their hilarious stories about their children's antics, or sharing joyful pregnancy news. Not only was my struggle making ME sad, and making other people sad FOR me, but I could not handle that it was causing my loving, well-intentioned friends to feel any degree of guilt over the beautiful blessings they had been given. Do not ever, ever, ever feel guilty that God has blessed you so richly. To do so would be to question His plan. We ALL have struggles... infertility is one of mine, and I'm sure you have plenty of your own. I promise I will pray for you, and I ask you to pray for me, but let's promise never to feel guilty for our blessings! Let's not worry so much about the "right thing" to say. Let's just be honest and real, let one another know how much we care, be clear about how much support we want or don't want, and pray, pray, pray for one another!
So, CLEARLY, having this miserable secret took its toll on me. You can see I had way too much time alone with my thoughts, way too many opportunities to over-analyze well-intentioned questions. One of the ways I sought to cope with my feelings of inadequacy and loneliness was to start a journal of letters to my future babies. At the risk of looking very silly, and having this post go from "way long" to "uber-long," I'd like to share a few of the earliest entries:
August 9, 2009:
I can't wait to meet you. I can't wait to know you. And I want to find some way for you to know me, too. The real me. Not your mom who yells and gets frustrated and makes you clean up your stuff all the time. The REAL me.
I don't want to wait any longer. Why wait until you are real? I decided that if I start writing you now, then you will know just HOW MUCH your daddy and I already love you and want you in our lives.
We have been trying to start our family for almost a year... Someday God will bless us with you. We will laugh and cry and be SO happy. Maybe that is why it is taking so long now - so we can remember in 18 years when you're sneaking out and breaking curfew just how much we love you... have always loved you... even before you came to be. Love, Mom
August 26, 2009:
...We live in such a beautiful home right now (Darwin, MN). Whenever people come over and look at all the room we have, they tell us the house is just meant to be FILLED with kids. Fine by me!
I really hope you can join us soon in this home. It is just SO country. Big wide-open farm fields surround the house on all sides (except for the cemetery across the road). HUGE kitchen for little helpers to work with Mom. Large bedrooms upstairs for you to play and dream. So much room to run around outside. So many people, in both churches, ready and waiting to love you. And Charlie [our chocolate lab], he gets WAY too much naptime. He needs some little people to chase him around and pull on his tail and ride on his back and just really terrorize him...
September 9, 2009:
It's a funny day today: 9-9-09... and I just want you to know that I'm thinking of you. We're ALWAYS thinking of you.
So many friends have cute pictures of their kids up on Facebook, or tell adorable stories about what they did. Truly, it doesn't annoy me... I feel like it should, but really it just makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, like it's a little preview of what I have coming.
God has a plan for our family. I believe that. It sure as heck isn't MY plan, because you'd be here by now. But Dad and I have been praying a lot - for patience, trust, understanding...
Someday soon you will be here. I'm hoping by 10-10-10! But if not even by then, know that every extra day we have to wait is a day we come to love you MORE, before you even get here. Love, Mom
What a joy, my friends, what an ABSOLUTE JOY to share these letters with you. Because now you know just how long, just how deeply I have longed for a child. And because I'm weak and silly and I care way too much about what you think, that is really, REALLY important to me. I love reading these first letters, because they were so full of joy and optimism. Later on, there were some REALLY long gaps between letters because I didn't want to share with my future children just how bitter, just how hopeless I was feeling. Then, starting in March of 2011, the entries were suddenly full of hope and excitement again.
There were a lot of reasons that was such a happy month for us: starting an adoption plan meant my miserable medical journey could come to an end. We were DOING SOMETHING about our problem, taking charge. We were praying constantly. Our families were overjoyed.
But one of the happiest parts was SHARING. Those of you who have been blessed with getting pregnant, getting engaged, or getting a fabulous job promotion: remember the waves of joy you experienced... first finding out the news for yourself... then letting your mind run wild as you dream about the future... and then joy after joy as you got to SHARE your news. Telling our adoption news was such a huge, happy relief. Not only did I have amazing news to share, but at the same time I got to answer all the questions, STOP all the assumptions dead in their tracks.
Step 1: call our closest family and friends. Step 2: a private facebook message to about 20 friends/family who knew of our struggles and had been wonderfully supportive over the years. Step 3: e-mail extended family. Step 4: publicly announce our joy on facebook. Step 5: as we continued facebooking our progress, more and more people found out who hadn't seen our first announcement. Step 6: tell our church families. Step 7: tell random strangers that we're adopting, like the Craiglist lady I bought my crib from who was eyeing my tummy and clearly wondering if I was really pregnant (which I took as a huge compliment).
Step by step, we got to spread smiles and hugs and joy. Step by step, the awkward questions and comments came to a stop. Step by step, we received an overwhelming response of support. People thank me for using this blog to share intimate details of our journey, for being "so open and honest" about what we have experienced. Truly, I have to thank all of you for ALLOWING me to be so open and honest. It is such a wonderful release. It is such an honor to drone on endlessly about myself and hear that people CARE! It is such a privilege to share my experiences and know that they comfort and reassure someone else. It is such an encouragement to read your comments and messages. It is such a faith-builder to hear that so many are praying for us, and it helps me to remember to say MY prayers for all of you! And it is SUCH a joy to continue sharing new aspects of our happy news. It keeps me positive, strong, close to my Lord, and ever-so-excited for all that life has in store. THANK YOU!!!
(And thank you, Angela Hager, for the tip on this wall quote from Etsy. I ordered it the minute we got the nursery painted!)
This week, "Reality Row" has been heavy on my mind. The week has brought the perfect storm of holiday nostalgia, workout struggles, and the annual "December 18th is coming" anxiety, sadness, and reflection. So, amid all the frantic Christmas preparations and stress, stress, stress at work, I find my mind otherwise occupied with the little photo gallery I keep along the top edge of my dresser mirror. I call it "Reality Row," a collection of three photos that remind me of the things that are most important in my life.
Every morning in our house, a minor miracle takes place: I get out the door to work on time. Between sleeping in until the last possible moment, getting in a workout, preparing and eating a worthwhile breakfast that will keep me from getting hungry at 9:30, finding clean, "usually" wrinkle-free clothes, and packing up a lunch, mornings are a blur. I am so completely dependent upon my amazing husband who takes care of the dogs, gets the coffee going, usually ends up making breakfast, finds my keys, finds my shoes, and finds my brain. I can't even begin to imagine how we will survive once children enter the equation. But that's a topic for another day...
That's why Reality Row is displayed where it is. I usually have time for about 90 seconds in front of my mirror in the morning. And so I can't help but start my day with a glance at the photos, which give me lots to think and pray about during my 20-minute drive to work.
You can see that my dresser-top is also full of special things. The picture of my newest goddaughter, whom I've only met and held once, but whom I love with all my heart. The bottle from the wine we drank on the night we got engaged (NOT the whole bottle, thank you) and the gold-plated rose Tim gave me for our "one-year-until-we-get-married" day, to help break up what felt like an eternal engagement. A 4-picture frame that contains one shot from each year of high school, packed with crazy memories. Hiding in the foreground along the front edge, you should know, is my Charles Woodson jersey - VERY special. And then all the typical girl-dresser crap: lotions and potions and jewelry and candles and a little of this and a lot of that.
I thought about cleaning the dresser up before taking a picture, posting it online, and thereby immortalizing my slovenly tendencies. But first of all, that would have been very dishonest. Secondly, and more importantly, I kind of like how the insanity of the dresser-top, set up against the clean, focused backdrop of my mirror and my Reality Row, leads into my point... which I am getting to... I promise... Life just gets crazy! We all know it, we've all experienced it to some degree. So here is what I think about when I finish getting ready, take a glance in the mirror, and am reminded what life is truly about:
(from the PICTURES, not from looking at my face)
Far right: my family on my wedding day. This picture makes me grateful for SO many things. First of all, the fact that I HAD a wedding day, which brought me together forever with the awesomest person I know. Who happens to be washing the dishes right now, voluntarily, so that I can sit here and blab on the computer. See? Awesome. Then I look at my parents, who have given me so much: the gift of faith through baptism. A full Christian education. Independence and responsibility at FOURTEEN years old to go away to school. Support, unconditional love, a couple of cars, most of my favorite recipes, access to Packers Season Tickets... let's just stop there. We all know that's the best part. If I can be half as amazing a parent as they have been to me, my child will be incredibly blessed. Then I look at my brothers, and the first thing I do is laugh, which also makes me grateful. I have so many different types of relationships with classmates, work friends, church members, patients, relatives... but my relationship with those two weirdos just brings a smile to my face. It's not a very serious relationship... maybe someday it will be, but for now, it's mostly about goofing around, cracking jokes, picking on Mom, and playing games. It's so incredibly refreshing. Finally, I look at the picture as a whole, and see FAMILY, which my mind takes a few steps farther to include my fabulous grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins, and all of the NEW family I gained on this wedding day. My new parents and sister and brother and nephew, without whom my life would now have a giant void. There is SO MUCH to be grateful for in this picture. There is so much to aspire toward in this picture. There is a LOT of food for thought in this picture!
Middle: with Tim and some friends in Mexico in November 2009. As much as I DEARLY love the friends we took this trip with, they are not what I see first when I look at the picture (sorry, ladies). The first thing I can't HELP but see is the person hogging the front and center position: myself, 2 years and 60 pounds ago. And Tim, about 40 pounds ago. I think about how much more we both could have enjoyed that trip if we'd been more in shape and generally happier people. And I thank God that He has given us the strength to work through our issues, and helped us to find joy in exercise and decent food. It doesn't feel like "work" anymore. Well, it does at 5:30 in the morning when it's dark and cold and I just want to sleep. But 2 years ago, that moment would have been the make-or-break-it decision point for the whole day. NOW, should I choose to sleep in, I've developed the discipline and, more importantly, the DESIRE to fix that choice later on in the day with a lunchtime or after-work workout. No more excuses. I've been through this "phase" many times in my life, but for once it doesn't feel like it's a phase. Instead of a crash-course, it's been two solid years of good choices, slow progress, and lifestyle changes, shaping our routine into something we enjoy and value tremendously. And that is SO important, with children coming onto the scene in the near future. God sure knows what He's doing. It took over a year for me to move through the many stages that come between "ugh, I hate this" and "this is an irreplaceable part of my life." Had He blessed us with children somewhere in between, I might have let it go a lot more easily. Every extra day He gives me to work on just MYSELF, my health, my ambition, my happiness... is a GIFT. Not just to me, not just to Tim, but ultimately to the children we will raise.
Far left: a Christmas card from 2006. I'm going to make a long story short, because it's really not my story to tell. It's a story of unimaginable pain and loss, but I have learned SO much from it. I hope "learned" is an okay word. It makes me uncomfortable to reference ANY kind of goodness that has come to me out of the situation, because it comes at great cost to someone I love very much. The gorgeous couple in the picture were engaged in September of 2006. At the time I hardly knew her: we had been co-workers for a month, and I'd only met him twice before he was deployed to Iraq. I can't say I "loved" either one of them yet, because I hardly knew them, but I "loved" them as a couple. I could see that they were so blissfully happy together. They drove each other to be better, stronger people. They were absolutely meant to be. On December 18, 2006, he gave his life for his country. I found out at about 2:00 when I came back to work from lunch. When I got home at 7:15, a complete wreck, this Christmas card was sitting on the table. It absolutely did me in; I think I went straight to bed. A month later, when I started throwing out the year's Christmas cards as I always do, I couldn't bring myself to get rid of this one. It felt irreverent. So I kept it. At first it was tucked away in a drawer, because it still brought bitter tears. She was just coming back to work, and the emotions were still so raw in all of us. Then, a couple months later, I moved it out into the open, on a window ledge at home. I could occasionally look at it without crying. She and I were getting closer, which was natural. We worked together in close quarters 40 hours a week. I tried to talk about him, to help her heal. I tried to talk about anything BUT him, to help distract her. I probably did and said all the wrong things, but she could tell that I cared, and so she leaned on me and trusted me. And MOST incredibly, she let me lean on her. This tragedy she had been through was not her first, and it would not be the last. Even then, in the midst of losing a fiancee, her family was working through cancer treatment and a million other awful things. But through it all, she was a friend TO ME, holding up her end of the two-way street, offering support for all the little boo-boo's life brought me five years ago, so trivial I can't even remember what they could possibly have been. Today, her friendship is priceless to me. And when I look at the picture, no longer hidden in a drawer but a permanent part of Reality Row, I am reminded to be grateful every second of every day for all the blessings I have been given. They can be taken away so quickly.
After the frenzy of getting myself out the door, and before the frenzy of arriving at work to a waiting room full of patients and three ringing phone lines... on the days I don't call my mom with a random question, or call Tim with the dinner instructions I forgot to give him, these are the things I think about from 8:40-9:00 every morning.
I know many of you have pictures on your dresser mirrors, too, of people you love and places you've been. Or maybe things you want to achieve, travels you want to take, people you want to be like. I hope these pictures, ticket stubs, and precious memorabilia keep you grounded, bring you peace, and make you grateful.
Tonight I want to share about one of the happiest, weepiest, CRAZIEST months of my life: March 2011, the month our journey actually began! It's like knowing someday you might like to travel to (insert destination of choice here) vs. making a deposit, booking a flight, and packing a bag!
The day we went from "people who might adopt someday" to "this is actually happening NOW" was Saturday, March 5th. It was cold, it was snowy, and I was drinking coffee in my jammies at 9:30 a.m. I love Saturdays :) I got a phone call I'll never forget from a family member who had no idea that Tim and I had ever considered adoption. NOBODY knew! Wait, scratch that... GOD knew. And He was about to work through our family's love and generosity to bring our dreams sharply into focus. After a bit of catching up and small talk, we discussed how my doctor's appointments had been going, and then my heart skipped a beat as she asked me what we planned to do next. We hadn't told anybody yet... should we?... what will everyone think? My mind was just spinning. Crickets chirped on the phone line. And then hesitantly, respectfully, she spoke the words that answered my prayers, "...because if adoption is anything you'd ever consider, we want to help."
Instantly I knew it was happening. We were FINALLY in this. I knew her literal words meant financial support, the big question mark and the final hurdle that was keeping adoption just out of arm's reach for us. But the love and selflessness with which the offer was made also meant that we had the full support of our family... that they shared in our dreams... that they were ready to go along for the ride. Since that day, SO many of our family members and friends have pledged similar support - financially, emotionally, or both. We would not be where we are today without the grace of God, ESPECIALLY demonstrated to us by our dear family and friends this year.
K&J - thank you SO much for this memory, and for the gift that started it all. We were getting there... but you gave us a HUGE kick in the butt. Here we are today on the waiting list, beautiful nursery ready to go, names picked out, feeling like parents... and if it hadn't been for you, we might still be hemming and hawing. We love you so much, and are forever grateful to you for helping us off the fence.
After hanging up, I began the most wildly distracted day of my life. Tim was gone all day at a conference. I was sitting at home alone with a to-do list a mile long, a smile that wouldn't leave my face, a song in my heart, and a HUGE secret. I was ready to explode. I spend most of the day pacing from room to room, singing random songs at the top of my lungs, crying (joyfully), avoiding my housework, and plotting creative ways to tell Tim the news.
Yup, pretty sure I ended up bursting into tears and blubbering out the news the moment he walked in the house . Nothing special :)
This wildly distracted day became a full-flung frenzy within the next two weeks. Now that the fire was lit, I was in a huge rush to soak up every bit of information I could find. I was DYING to tell people, but felt like we needed to make some of the big decisions on our own before opening our lives and our plans up to public opinion. This wouldn't be like the time I asked people on Facebook what kind of vacuum I should buy (although that question generated some extremely helpful comments and I DO love my vacuum very much). At the very least, we wanted to decide on international, domestic, or waiting children adoption before making our news public.
The first program we ruled out was Waiting Children. To this day, my heart sinks and my eyes well up as I type that out. It was both the easiest and the hardest decision we'll go through in this whole process. The Waiting Children Program, offered by each of the agencies we initially researched, places children in adoptive homes out of foster care. It's safe to say that ALL of these children have deep emotional needs, and many of them have additional medical or behavioral special needs, as well. Many of the children are looking to be placed as a sibling group of 2, 3, or more. Many of the children are school-age, elementary through high school. I say the decision was easy, because we knew we wanted a baby for our first child, but that's about the ONLY thing that was easy about it. It broke my heart to think of the Waiting Children in Minnesota and all over the country, ready to be adopted NOW, old enough to comprehend their circumstances, wondering when someone will take them home and love them. Sigh. Someday... Tim and I think someday we might love to return to this decision and prayerfully re-evaluate it.
Deciding between international and domestic adoption was a loooooong process. Lots of wavering back and forth, thinking we had our minds made up, even telling close family members that we had our minds made up... my poor mother :) I had my guard up about domestic from the start. Today, 95% of domestic adoptions are open, with varied forms of ongoing communication between the birth family and adoptive family throughout the child's life. That scared me BIGTIME at first. Also, the birthmom CHOOSES the adoptive family. Meaning I'm not going to be on a chronological waiting list, standing in line to hear my number get called. It means somebody is either going to like Tim and me, or they're not. My dreams are in her hands, and I don't know a thing about her. I'm not a spot on a list... I'm a choice that somebody else makes. I didn't think I was emotionally up to the challenge.
International seemed impossible, too. Pick a country. Take classes and read books. Do a load of paperwork for the agency. Pay a lot of money. Produce an obscene amount of further paperwork for the two governments involved. Wait and wait and wait your turn. Travel once if you're lucky, but often twice, even three times, for weeks at a time, leaving your child behind in another country between trips. It was terribly overwhelming and had me out of my freaking mind during the week I thought we were going to go with international. Each agency offered adoptions through different countries. Each country had different requirements, restrictions, travel times, ages of children available, costs... There are programs for healthy infants, toddlers, and older children. Just like in our own country, there are also thousands and thousands of Waiting International Children who have mild to severe special needs, the greatest and most desperate of which is a loving home and the opportunity to learn about their Savior.
Finally, I just had to take a step back, hide my Giant Adoption Binder under the bed for a couple days, and pray. If I was looking for the "easy" route, I was never going to find it. Both of the roads leading away from this fork would be windy, steep, and dark at times. So pray, breathe, and call upon the Lord in the day of trouble... and stress, and worry, and utter insanity. Pray, pray, and pray some more. After a couple of days the answer was finally clear. After a couple MORE days we still hadn't changed our minds, so that was a pretty good sign, being the impulsive people that we are.
We chose to pursue a domestic infant adoption. In our hearts, we desperately wanted our first child to be an infant, and the domestic program enables us, under normal circumstances, to be in the hospital with the birthmom and bring the baby home as a newborn.
I still struggle with some guilt over the fact that "age of baby" was the deciding factor. It feels selfish. There are ORPHANS out there that I am choosing not to help at this time. ALL children are a gift and a blessing, whether 9 days, 9 months, or 9 years old. Whether healthy or sick. Whether here or abroad. A family that adopts internationally and can't get their child home until 11 months old because of bureaucratic red tape will love their child NO LESS than a family that brings baby straight home from the hospital. And let's not open the "waiting children" can of worms again, that's just a whole MESS of guilt I am still working through.
But a wonderful sense of peace had come over us, as well. We had both "come around" to this open adoption concept and the potential blessings that could come out of it for us, for baby, for the birth family. It's completely amazing. I can't wait to write more about it someday. And although we wouldn't be bringing a child home from an orphanage or foster care, we would be giving a Christian, loving home to a beautiful child and ensuring that they never have to experience either situation. And we would BE THERE from our child's very first breath... or maybe their second or third, depending on how far away Birthmom lives and how fast we drive.
The decisions had just begun. Even more were still to come, and they won't stop once paperwork is done, or even once baby arrives. That's when things really get hard, I imagine, because they impact the life of the precious child already breathing in your arms and filling up your heart. But for now, we had made our first BIG DECISION. And we were free to tell the world...
