Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Infertility Awareness Week

I've read a few different places that it's national infertility awareness week.

It's funny, as a woman with children 18 months apart most of the world assumes I know nothing about about struggling to conceive. 

The other day I met someone with sons 2.5 years apart, and I told her mine were 1.5 years apart. She told me that's what she and her husband were going for but that it doesn't always happen the way you plan. I wanted to say, "It doesn't happen the way you plan is the theme of how both of my children came to be!" I smiled and nodded, and she probably assumed like the rest of the world that I had no clue. 

I don't mind this. 

In a lot of ways I consider myself "fixed" though I will openly admit that I don't plan on testing out that theory any time remotely soon!

But the reason I hardly ever identify myself as a woman who struggled with infertility is because there is a doubly happy ending to my story. Yes, I went through hell and back and did things most people never have to do in their lifetime but it gave me healthy children, and they are my rewards. 

A few weeks ago Brian and I paid rent on our embryos. I cried a lot for a couple days following. Many days I think I'm done having children but my attachment to my embryos, while impossible to explain, is extremely real. Right before getting their "rent" bill I debated giving them up for adoption. But I'm not ready. Neither is Brian. I sometimes think about the day when I'll give my babies away, and I just cry. I hope when that day comes that I feel ready and am able to focus on the positive that will come from helping a couple in need. 

I digress.

I'm getting very far off what I actually wanted to do with this blog entry but I guess I've had a few things on my mind that I needed to get out. 

In honor of national infertility awareness week, I'm sharing the story of Hartley's transfer day. I actually wrote this in a voice to Hartley the other day. Here it goes:

Hartley, 

I want to start your story the day I met you. You came into our lives in a very special way - via in vitro fertilization (IVF). "In vitro" means "in glass" because your earliest days of life were spent growing in a glass dish in a laboratory. Once you grew to a 5 day old embryo you were transferred back inside of me to continue growing. 

I'll never forget that day. Your dad and I nervously made our way back to a special room at the doctor's office. It was literally right next to the lab in which you were grown and residing. I will spare you the graphic details but I will always remember funny, small things from that day. I remember your dad fumbling trying to get his sterile surgical booties over his giant tennis shoes before we entered the room. I remember vividly the mixture of nerves and excitement we both had. I remember the embryologist shaking my hand and telling me they picked out a beautiful, healthy embryo. I remember gazing up at this poster of a Parisian street they had taped to the ceiling. It seemed so funny and awkward just taped up there to try to take your mind off things. 

I remember how everything was done so, so fast. They literally ran from the lab into the room and transferred you within seconds. They showed me on a screen, and I couldn't believe my eyes. In hindsight, that is the most miraculous thing I have ever gotten to watch. 

Most of all I will always remember they handed me a black and white picture of you as this perfect collection of cells. In that moment, my heart was all in. 

The doctor said, "hopefully that's the very first picture of your baby". 

The entire time I was in that room I prayed like I've never prayed before. 

A group of doctors and nurses wished us luck as we walked out.

The entire car ride home from Arlington to Reston I stared at your picture. I wondered if you were a boy or a girl, and as the question entered my mind I told God I didn't care. I asked him just to let you grow and be mine. I remember silently pleading to God: "please, please, please let this be my baby. I promise if you do I will be the best mother". 

This was the Friday going into Memorial Day 2013. I had plans to go to a cookout but we opted to lay low. My intuition was to lay around and relax so I followed it. 

I kept your picture in my nightstand and easily looked at it over a hundred times. I hope, prayed and cried when I thought of you growing.

It may be cliche to say but it is so true - I loved you so much before you were even born. There is nothing in this world that I have ever wanted more. And someone heard every single wish and prayer because I would find out on June 1, 2013 that I was pregnant! 


What I wrote is definitely a teeny sliver of the IVF process, and quite frankly, the easiest part. Women who battle infertility are warriors! 9 months of pregnancy and childbirth are hard enough as is, and these women are doing so much before that part even begins. From investing every piece of your heart and soul to injecting yourself multiple times a day for weeks and undergoing surgery - it is a battle like no other. 

But for those of us lucky enough to have a happy ending, I will say it over and over again - my children were and are incredibly worth it.

(**Patrick, while conceived "the old fashioned way", I consider a happy surprise byproduct of my treatment & pregnancy with Hartley. This is why I say "children") 


Tuesday, April 12, 2016

These Are The Days

The other day I was on the phone with my mom when she spoke the words, "these are the days". 

This particular phrase has been floating through my mind almost like an airplane banner daily. I've been yearning for a pause button, and it was reaffirmed when my very wise mom, who has three children herself, said it.

We had been talking about how Hartley now uses our names, and we can't get enough of it. When I get her from nap I hear a cheery, "hi, mommy". At night, I hear a sweet, "goodnight, mommy". Sometimes if I'm really lucky I get a, "hug, mommy?" when she asks for a hug. She does it with Brian and my parents, too. Brian will come home from work and she'll scream, "hi, daddy!" and run into his arms. Today when my dad left she said so casually, "bye, Pops!" 

When babies are young, you relish in those early smiles and laughs and take them as the reassurance you need to power through that giant adjustment of becoming a parent. Then you hear your child say "mama" for the first time, and you think it could not possibly get any better. Then they communicate with you so purposefully and address you letting you know what an important role you play. It's ridiculously simple to some but for me it's been amazing and so fulfilling. 

Every day around here is pretty great, and I know I'm living in the golden years. 

Watching Hartley begin to really interact with Patrick has completely melted my heart. It never gets old taking her upstairs with me each morning to "help me" get him from nap. At the top of the stairs I ask her, "Hartley, where's Patrick?" And she knocks on his door, as if Patrick was magically going to turn the knob to let us in ;)

I turn the knob and open the door. Hartley waltzes in, Winnie always trailing her, "Hi, Patrick!" "Patrick!" "He's SO cute!" 

Patrick lights up, happy to see all his favorite girls have come to get him to play. 

Sometimes Hartley sticks her head in between the bars of his crib to peer in, and he laughs hysterically.

It's little sweet things like that scattered throughout my day that remind me how lucky I am - and how much I wish we could stay here. Everyone is happy. Everyone is healthy. And everyone is beyond loved.

Every day we make memories. Simple memories. Finger painting in the bathtub. Finding out what play dough tastes like. Snuggling the dog. Snuggling each other. Learning how to sing songs. Learning to chasse and do somersaults. Tossing toys down the slide. Picking flowers and digging in the dirt. Holding worms. Drawing works of art. Licking frosting off cupcakes. Putting stickers everywhere and discovering the inner workings of a ball point pen. Taking bubble baths in the big girl tub. Hunting for Easter eggs. Chasing every animal. Sliding. Swinging. Running. Jumping. Cheering for nothing at all. 

The sun stays out later so so do we. 

And outside, everything is so wonderful. Everything must be explored. We talk about all the colors of the flowers and are working on our dandelion blowing skills. And when I tell Hartley to make a wish on that dandelion, it occurs to me I have nothing else to wish for. 

This is not to say I'm never tired. I am exhausted every single day of my life. My body physically aches from all the infant and toddler lifting and chasing I do. But is it weird to say it's an ache I almost like? It lets me know my body is working and doing so much each day. With that said I still wouldn't mind if my massive infant could slow his roll with that growing ;)

When Hartley was a young baby I sometimes found being a stay at home mom to be monotonous. Let's face it, infants are cute but they don't do that much. I remember texting Brian during the day on those bored days saying, "that yellow school bus won't get here fast enough!" But now the thought of Hartley someday leaving me for school is actually scary. I'll obviously have Patrick for a bit longer but I'm no where close to wanting these days to end. I love having them home with me and having this time.

Sometimes I will pick out a sappy book during story time, something about mamas and their babies, and I literally start to cry at the thought of these golden years not lasting forever. 

I love when moms say it just keeps getting better. But for now I'm going to soak in the mispronounced words and the arms of my babies wrapped around my neck like a scarf. I'll continue to sniff Patrick's hair when he falls asleep on me. I'll just keep listening to my baby girl sing songs over the baby monitor. I'll smooch Patrick's ridiculously chubby cheeks. I'll soak in when Hartley leads me around by grabbing my hand with her sweet little girl fingers. I'll take way too many pictures. 

And on that rare rough day where I'm begging God to make those school bus days get here faster, I'll reread this and remember that these really are the days, even the messy ones.