Mourning

The other day, I read a post by a recently-delivered mama of twins.  [Please read it, it's wonderful!]  While her boys are mostly healthy, they were born a bit premature, and so they had to spend some time in the NICU, which is always hard for parents.  And not less so "just" because their babies aren't severely sick.

Her experience with her twin boys really resonated with me.  In my struggle with infertility, and now with a lengthy and drawn-out and unpredictable adoption experience, I feel a growing sense of loss.

The Loss of ultrasound appointments and announcing "We're pregnant!"  Informing the grandparents that they are, for the first time or once again, grand.  Missing those baby-kicks inside me, or the first tell-tale signs of labor: this is it--we will see our baby soon.  The Loss of experiencing those first precious days of our baby's life with her.  Seeing her first smile.  Sleepless nights, and early morning snuggles with a swaddled, cuddly newborn babe.  Even sore nipples from that unique breastfeeding relationship.  All these things I am missing.

Enough

**apologies if you are reading this for a second time--blogger hiccuped sometime last week and deleted a few of my posts, so I'm re-posting them now**

I am in limbo. Hovering, or perhaps falling, in an empty space I didn't even know existed in the realm of "becoming mother." This "loving a baby who may or may not come home with me" is a wholly new experience for me; nothing like what I expected; nothing like I had heard from other parents, adoptive or biological; nothing at all like what I had hoped and prayed for.

The Lord is certainly teaching me patience. Or, at least, He continues to try to teach me patience. I don't think I'm a very good student, unfortunately. I seem to be asking the same question over and over, a la Derek Zoolander.

Maybe I'm just not hearing the answer.

Maybe the answer is Silence.

...

wordless

A Whole Hand?

Today is my anniversary.  Five years ago today, I declared before an entire church filled with friends and family, that I would love Taylor forever, come rain or come shine.

2006

Five years.

3 Months

Our Little Girl is three months old today.  She has already outgrown the hat I made for her.  It was so big when she first wore it...

And as I think about having a three (nearly four) month old baby later this month, I find myself fighting against jealousy of all those parents who have had the chance to hold their babies the whole time.  I think about all the nursing I've missed already, all the giggles and the growth.  I even think about all the dirty diapers and stained favorite clothes and sleepless nights I've missed.  She's changed so much since we met her and first whispered our hopes to bring her home someday.

I think about how our lives would be different now, if we'd had this baby for three months.  Being able to know her and to see her first smile, to be able to make her laugh, take her to doctor's appointments, read her books, sing her songs.  All the time.

But then I also think about the family we wouldn't know if we had our Girl already--our Baby's foster family.  We are blessed that they do not live too far away from us and we are able to go up to see the Babe at least once a week.  It's such a joy to know them, to have them in our lives, and in our Little Girl's life.  They take such good care of her and want nothing but her happiness.  They hope and pray that we are able to bring her home, forever.  And they have opened their hearts to us in ways I never expected.

#Googled

I really have to hand it to Google today, guys.  When I first saw the link in my twitter stream this morning, it didn't quite occur to me how awesome the idea was. My first "map your valentine" for Taylor today was only our apartment address: "My home is where you are, my Love."  Simple, sweet.  I didn't think of any grandiose locations to send him on a heart-shaped map.

But then I got his valentine back and I swooned.  Really!  I almost gasped out loud at work (ok, fine, I did gasp out loud at work.. but no one was near my office) :)

Really, the location might not mean anything to anyone else, but to me, it brought back memories of fresh pasta, hot humid days, warm vibrant nights, ancient history living all around me, and lounging in bed for hours on end, with nothing to do but eat tasty food and read Tolkien aloud to each other.  He sent me the address to the apartment in Rome where we stayed for our honeymoon.

Fiction Friday

The great front door slammed with a bang against the wind and a strong young man of 18 tramped through in heavy boots into the sitting room, to find his sister cozily reading on the couch.

"Where have you been?!" he bellowed.

"Where do you think I've been?  I told you!" she said, looking up.  "I'm sure I told you before I left.  I thought you heard me--the way you nodded your head."

He stood a few paces from the couch, dripping wet from the torrent of rain he had just left outside.  He was visibly distraught, but the signs of his worry were fading as he stood and talked to her.  She was sitting, wrapped in a blanket on the antique couch, with her stocking-ed toes toward a blazing fire.  It was a chilly night.

"Oh..." he sighed.  "I heard you say something," he replied, "but I didn't realize you were going to be gone for so long.  I was so worried, and the storm was coming."

"Oh, John!  Don't you know by now?  I'd be alright even in the wildest tempest with them.  They will always take care of me. They promised."  She paused.  "In fact," she added, "I believe they held off the rain until I got safely home."  She returned to her book, content with the thought of this mysterious protection.

"But no one knew where you were," he said.

"Of course they wouldn't!  No one would have understood anyway.  No one but you, that is."  She looked up at him and saw the concern in his face.  Turning her eyes from his, she gazed into the fire for a moment.  "I'm sorry I worried you so.  I'll be more careful next time."

He mumbled something of an acceptance and shuffled from the room.  He was the only one in the family who knew, and she was right--no one else would really understand.  It wasn't that they were un-feeling or hard-hearted, they just wouldn't understand a 13 year old girl's desire to traipse around the forest day after day, bringing back all manner of strange, unbelievable tales with her.

He went back into the hall and took his boots off, leaving them by the door.  He walked carefully upstairs, trying not to drip too much on the carpet.  He paused at the top landing, listening to his mother's voice.  She was talking to father about the dinner party next week--they hadn't even noticed Muriel had left.  He went to his room.

He hadn't meant to have understood Muri's adventures in the woods, except that one day, he found himself in the middle of them.

It seemed many years back now, but when he thought about it, it was only 11 months ago that he saw her as he walked through the woods on a fine autumn afternoon.  At first he thought she was only playing make-believe, as young girls are wont to do, but when he got closer, he noticed she was dancing with something--or someone.  He began to walk towards Muriel, but before he got much closer she stopped dancing and turned toward him, her face full of joy.

He'd never seen a fairy before, and even now he wasn't sure he had.  But it was unmistakable then that his sister danced and played with some being that was real, tangible, and with quite dainty feet.  He had seen both their footprints in the moist grass, and the fairy's departing laughter sent a thrill through his heart instantly.

Muriel had the most carefree explanation for him: "They're fairies, John!  Real ones!  Didn't you see them?  Did you hear them singing for me as we danced?"  He had to admit he'd heard something like laughter, though he couldn't distinguish it in his mind from a symphony of bells or wind in the trees on a stormy morning: powerful and playful and joyous all at the same time.  It still made his heart beat when he thought of it.

"It's ridiculous," he thought to himself.  "I've only seen her--really seen her--once, and she barely talked to me."  He thought of the fairy's face and saw her eyes in his mind.  How they seemed to glow with light, a deep light, from somewhere inside, that caught the reflection of the setting sun and seemed to smolder out the great star itself.  And then her smile.  It drove straight to his heart when he recalled the joy there and couldn't help but smile himself.

"How could I be in love with a fairy?" he said aloud.  "I didn't even know they existed a year ago."

[...to be continued]

...

Preoccupied

I've heard of "pregnancy brain."  If 95.8% of your friends were pregnant, you'd have heard of it, too.  And while I'm not pregnant, I've been totally distracted lately.  By lately, of course, I mean the past 6 weeks.  I can't get anything done in a reasonable amount of time.  Thank goodness for deadlines (like Christmas and airline schedules) or much would not have been accomplished at all.

Patrick McManus says that humans have a "worry box" in their brain and they can only hold so many items to worry or think about.  If one thing too many is added to the box, something else slips out.  My worry box is all full up.  Other Things don't even have a chance.

At least, my subconscious worry box is full up--I'm still able to think about Things like "when should I start dinner?" or "gosh, I really should empty the trash." or even "hm, maybe I should wake up so I can get to work on time."  But I have little space to worry about Christmas thank you cards (sorry folks, nothing personal!), sewing projects, or keeping the house tidy.

All I really want to do is putter around online (not unlike an attention-deficient squirrel on PCP) and ignore most of the things I have to do.

See, I can't stop thinking about her.  Her face.  Her hands.  Her birth parents.  The whole situation.

What's going to happen?  When will we know anything?  Why the delay?  Why now?  What do You want of us, Lord?  What should we do?

I know that my questions will be answered in time--in God's time, but my subconscious is overloaded in the meantime.  I walk into a room to get something or do something and the moment I get there, I forget what I needed.  I go to the computer to look something up.  I manage to check my email (no new messages in the last 10 minutes--why am I checking again?), catch up on twitter, comment a bit on facebook, and browse around Amazon.  But I don't look up what I needed.

Then, listlessly, I go sit on the couch, trying to remember what I was going to do when I hear the lid on the pot of water I was heating begin to spurt and bubble and I remember--I wanted to look up some baking ratio.  But now the water's too hot and I have to cool it down again.

Is this what it's like to be expecting?  I suppose at least, with pregnancy brain, the eventual holding-of-the-baby is a pretty for-sure thing.  Maybe that's what's driving me nuts.  I can't plan maternity leave; I can't set up the crib; I can't put the carseat in the car.  Why bother right now if we'll be waiting another 4 months?  What if this child never becomes available for adoption and we're back on the "waiting list" for however-long?  I work well with deadlines.  I rely on them.  But there's no deadline with adoption.  No date past which we induce.

There's only the waiting.

Don't misunderstand--I'm not feeling cynical and I'm not despairing.  These are just real concerns in adoption.  Real unknowns that I'm struggling with and learning about.  I can only hope that the expectancy of my subconscious translates, somehow, into prayer for this little girl and her families.  Scripture tells us the Holy Spirit hears the groaning of our hearts and knows our need more than we do.  My heart aches for This Little Girl.

She has so many people who love her already.  I hope she can come home, where ever her home will be, soon.

And forever.

Husbands

Husbands are awesome because they do things like this when the Wife is having a hard week..

He loves me.. He loves me a lot.

I love you too, my own Sweet P'Taylor.  And I'm so blessed to be your Wifey-Love :)

A Day Away

Tomorrow we'll meet her.  A baby girl who could be ours.  A baby girl that God has placed in our lives for a time--who knows how long--to remain in our hearts forever.

I've never met a baby that could be mine.  I've only ever held other people's children.  Children who had parents close by, who knew mommy and daddy from the first moment of life, who would never need to ask "who are my birth parents?"

I am a strange mix of excitement, joy, anxiety, sorrow, giddy-ness, and apprehension.  What will it be like when I hold her?  What will it be like when she grabs on to my finger with her sweet little hand?  Will I get to feed her?  Can I kiss her?  Will I want to?  What will I feel as I hand her back to her foster mother when it's time for us to go home?  I don't know.

Oh, Sweet Baby, I wanted very much to be your foster mother while the legal technicalities of your future were hammered out.  I wanted to hold you and feed you and sleep close by every night, watching you breathe, knowing that your mother wanted us in your life, no matter how long we got to take care of you... I know that God has a plan, though, so I must trust Him that this is the best way.  I miss you already, Baby, even though I haven't met you.  I can't wait to hold you, even if just once. 

My Christmas Dress

My very own Christmas dress.  A good friend sent me a pattern she thought I would like, and I finally cut it out last week.  I started sewing Friday evening and hand-stitched the hem yesterday afternoon, watching Wall-E with my Sweet P'Taylor...  

I remember Christmas dresses when I was a little girl.  Sometimes we would buy them; sometimes, Momma would make them.  On Christmas Eve we would all open one present from under the tree before going to the children's mass as a family.  Momma would often suggest a particular gift for us to open, and I remember once I received a pair of brand new, shiny black, heeled shoes.  I felt so grown up and beautiful walking into Church that night.  Rustling dress, new shoes, warm winter coat.  I sat up straight because I felt like such a lady.  I paid extra close attention because I was so grown-up.

Thanksgiving Dinner for Fifteen

success.

On Parents

When I was in middle school, it was super-cool to call your friends' mothers "mom."  I did this with a few of my closest friends, but it never really caught on for me. Momma was mom to me, and calling another woman that didn't sit well.

And then I got married.  Momma instantly welcomed Taylor to the family with a warm hug and a big kiss and said to him: "And my name is? *pause* Mom," answering her own question. She wanted to be a mother to him in all the wonderful ways a mother-in-law can.  He was truly a son to her. In a different way, of course, than my brother was her son (he was always just "Son"), but not in a lesser way.  Not at all.

I didn't ask my parents-in-law what they wanted to be called after Taylor and I got married.  Most people I knew called their in-laws by their first name, but I felt compelled to call Taylor's parents mom and dad.  I don't know why.

T and I were visiting his folks' house soon after we were married and his dad asked me a question. I said, "Sure, Dad."  Since  I hadn't asked them if it was ok to call them mom and dad, I wasn't sure how he'd respond.  But he looked at me, tilting his head a little to the side, the way he always does when he pauses to consider something, and smiled at me and said, "I guess I am Dad to you now, huh?"  Soon after, I asked Mum if she minded at all that I called them mom and dad and she told me: "Oh not at all! I'm glad you feel close enough to us that you feel comfortable calling us that."  Me, too, Mum :)

And now, four years later, it's even better. They are Mum and Dad, through and through. They have been so good to me--I truly feel like their daughter and it is simply the natural thing to call them by who they are to me.

And Mum especially.  Mothers and daughters have a special relationship, and I am thankful for the blessing of my mother-in-law.  Since I first came into the family, she has offered her love and support, but especially so after Momma died.  In her own quiet, gentle way, she was there for me in so many ways.  She didn't try to step up to replace my mother at all, but she filled her roll as husband's-mother as perfectly as any woman could.  In all the little things she does for me--birthday and anniversary presents, calling me to catch up (y'know, because husbands get distracted and don't always share everything), emails, inviting me to take walks with her, cooking with me, sharing so many stories of motherhood and wifedom, even flying in with six kids to attend Momma's funeral--she has been a constant help and companion.

I love you, Mum :)

Excellence

You may have noticed that Taylor and I can be a bit.. particular about many things. Coffee, tea, fresh food, nice clothes, good technology.  I know that to many people, we probably come off pretty snobbish and pretentious about such things.  But the truth is, we just love to know (all) about things we're interested in.  And since we're interested in things, we like to share them and about them, too.

Take tea, for instance.  Everyone's had a cup of tea, hot or iced.  Everyone either likes it or doesn't, with or without sugar or cream. But did you know that tea has an amazing history dating back thousands of years? There's worlds of ritual, culture, and tradition wrapped around just one tiny cup of teal. And we think it's fun to learn about how the drink has changed over the centuries and to notice differences in the many types of tea.

We were introduced to good tea by a Taiwanese sister who was studying with Taylor during his master's degree.  Seeing her quiet appreciation of the beverage inspired us to make tea an integral part of our day. It has become a comfort, a pick-me-up, a perfect accompaniment to meals or desserts, and it is such a treat when we can try a new tea.

But we don't look down our noses at teabags. In fact, most of the medicinal (herbal) teas we drink are bagged teas.  Yet, when I want a cup of tea, for the sake of enjoying the drink and savoring the flavor, I prefer good, well-preserved, loose tea leaves, the proper temperature of (filtered) water (no chlorine taste for me, thankyou), and a nice ceramic cup.  It is, in its own small way, art in a cup.

If one has taken the time to learn how to tie his shoes, he'd rather purchase shoes with laces than velcro.  There's nothing wrong with velcro, of course, but there's nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasure of tying two pretty bows, either. It's not about snobbery, it's about passion.

It's very true that there are people who are passionate and snobbish about something, when passion morphs into a conviction of supremacy.  When the gentleman begins to think that to tie one's shoes is the ultimate virtue of mankind and that velcro is only fit for the lowest-of-the-low shoe-wearers, then Huston, we do, indeed, have a problem.

But really--there's nothing wrong with having passions and pursuing them and sharing them. Let's not get too wrapped up in them, naturally, but let us also enjoy the authentic virtue in striving for excellence, in our passions, but also in all things. After all, I'm sure there are connoisseurs of velcro, don't you think?

Content

I bared my soul on our struggle with infertility.

And then one night, as I lay in the comfort of my husband's arms, waiting for sleep to overwhelm my senses, I listened to the quiet in our house.  I heard Taylor breathing peacefully, so close to my ear, quickly asleep after a long day of hard work.  I thought about our week and all that we accomplished.  I thought about our plans for adoption and the many children already in our lives.  I thought about the way we live our life now, and about our plans for shaping the future of our marriage and our family.

As I dozed off, I came to realize that I am most content.  As much as I long for certain things in my life and in our marriage, I am happy.  Incredibly happy.  And I am certain, deep down, that I'd never change a thing outside of God's plan for our lives.

It's true that we still have to prayerfully discern what God desires of us--what we must strive for and what we must pass by.  But for now, I am at peace waiting for the blessings God has in store for us.

Because after all, I have already been blessed infinitely with the Love of my sweet husband.  Any parent (and grandparent) will tell you that children leave the family eventually.  My parents did it. I have done it. My children will do it.  I don't mean to say that children are "lost" to their parents when they begin their own life, but every child grows up.  

Momma always told me your spouse if the only member of your family you ever get to choose ("so choose carefully," I hear her say in the back of my mind).  God placed him before me and I have chosen.  He is mine forever, to help me to heaven and to see God in all things.

And truthfully, what more can I ask for? 

...

[given the proximity of this to my last post, a small note of clarification: this is my best friend's family w/ her new baby] :) 

I Confess

I would be dishonest if I were to say that it has not been a struggle for us these past four years.  Anyone who knew Taylor and me before we got married knew that we wanted children right away.  We talked about it all the time. With anyone who would listen. We had dreams of being pregnant on the plane back from our honeymoon.  Every month we'd pray and hope that this would be it--the month we became parents. And so, we waited. And waited...

More than four years (or 53 months.. but who's counting?) and some four dozen babies (seriously) later, despite many evaluative tests and various remedies and strategies for conception, we still wait.

I have deliberately avoided discussing my struggle with infertility on this blog.  Not because I think you'd be unsympathetic, but because I didn't want it to become, for me, a forum for complaining.  I would be lying if I told you it hasn't been painful. But I would also be lying if I pretended we have not had our share of grace and blessing.  So many blessings..

---

St. Josemaria Escriva said:

"God in His providence has two ways of blessing marriages: one by giving them children; and the other, sometimes, because he loves them so much, by not giving them children.  I don't know which is the better blessing.  In any event, let one accept his own."

That was a hard thought for me: God is blessing our marriage by not giving us children.  Or at least, by not giving us children according to our plan and schedule.  I do hope to be a mother someday, but clearly my plans for immediate parenthood were not what God had in mind.

I've been thinking about St. Josemaria's words a lot, especially (you may have noticed) since it feels like everyone is getting pregnant lately.  There is a delicate balance between being thankful for one's own blessings and still pursuing the blessings we feel called to, like children; between looking around at my life and saying "I am so blessed" but still being able to look forward with hope and say "I do want children."

It's not enough only to look forward, because I could too easily forget about all the wonderfulness in my life right now.  But neither is it enough to merely "be content" with life as it is.  We are called to foster a sense of "not yet" in our plans.  What's in the future? How should we plan for it? What are we supposed to do to bring that future into the present?

Those questions have been difficult for me.  And I confess to feelings of bitterness when I read the ever-growing number of pregnancy announcements on facebook. I admit that I sometimes find it hard to look at swelling-belly pictures and the happy smile on the face of the parents.  I fight against envy when I see videos of cooing babes and exhausted-but-ecstatic parents holding their precious newborn.  Of course I am deeply (and truly) happy for them, but I can't help thinking "what about us?"

I even admit to selfish thoughts like, "well, they can't do all the things T and I can do, since they have kids."  But, inevitably, I say to myself, "but I know they don't care.. they'd never change a thing."  To be honest, we wouldn't change a thing either. Still, I have sometimes tried to convince myself that my life, sans bebe is better than life with kids, but that thought is empty.  Comparison is a deep, dark hole that will never bring fruit.

I won't tell you about the many blessings have in our marriage in this post, since the rest of this blog is an attempt at sharing those thousands.  But that is part of the difficulty.  To maintain true gratitude right alongside a deep, intense longing.  Part of the struggle is to reject those destructive, comparative thoughts and feelings of self-pity that tend to crop up at others' joyful news.  Part of the struggle is to sympathize with others who do not have the blessings I have, to bite my tongue and swallow my pride and not proclaim how blessed we are at just the wrong time...

I am no saint.  I can only speak from my experience and I have succumbed to these temptations many times.  But I do know that there is grace in abundance in such struggles.  "Let each accept his own" is St. Josemaria's advice.  Grant it, O Lord.

And we will keep waiting. But not without hope.

...

Musings

I want to share with you a poem that was included in a packet of information from our adoption agency.  It speaks volumes to the goodness of adoption, and the broad spectrum of what it means to be a parent.

You cannot change the truth. 

These are your children, 

but they came from somewhere else. 

And they are the children of those places 

and of those people as well. 

Help them to know about their past

and about their present. 

Help them to know that they are from extended families, 

that they have only one...set of parents, 

but that they have more mothers and fathers. 

They have grandmothers, Godmothers, birth mothers, mother countries, mother earth. 

They have grandfathers, Godfathers, birth fathers, and fatherlands. 

They have family by birth and by adoption. 

They have family by choice and by chance. 

Childhood is short; 

They are our children to raise

They are our children to love; 

and then they are citizens of the world. 

What we do to them creates the world that we live in. 

Give them life. 

Give them their truth. 

Give them love. 

Give them all that they came with. 

Give them all that they grow with. 

Your children do not belong to you, 

but they belong with you. 

You cannot keep them from what is theirs, 

but you can keep loving them. 

You do not own your children, 

but they are your own. 

--Joyce Maguire Pavo

Taylor and I are blessed with so many children in our lives.  In many ways, we are parents to all of them--from the teeniest baby we hold to the grad students we have over for dinner.  Not that we are raising them, of course, but in opening our marriage to Love, we have to invite people in.  Those people are like children to us, if our marriage can be of some good for them in their lives.  

Here's to parenting, in all it's many and varied forms :)