Baby? Maybe.

I thought I’d take a break from the “Wonderfully Weird Things about Jay” because he is feeling quite sickly, and it’s not cool to poke fun at a sick person.  No worries though, I have 8 more crazy things to share about my other half, and I’ll be all over it once he’s on the mend.

Instead tonight, I will share a little about a journey that we have been on for several months/years. 

If you know me at all, or have read this blog for any length of time, you know that seven years ago, we were incredibly blessed to add Micah to our family.  Nothing could ever change what that blessing means to me.  It was perfect. God-designed.

The boy on Mother's Day this year

with my bro, and first best friend

with my cousin, one of my very best friends

A few years ago though, Micah’s only childness started to really weigh heavily on me.  I never imagined that I would be the mother of one.  I’m one of five children, and while I never wanted to go to THAT extreme, I do so love my brothers and sisters. So I started to ask myself, will Micah have NO siblings?  That seems like such a big deal in a family that moves around every few years.  He won’t have the opportunity to be close to his cousins or keep the same close friends for years and years (thank the Lord for summer camps – I have a feeling that’s where his lasting relationships will be made!).  Then I started to go further.  Will Micah’s kids have no aunts or uncles?  Will they have no cousins (ugh. Heartbreaking)? So the seed was easily planted and has grown into a full-on “I want another baby” ache in my heart. 

Obviously, not easily accomplished in my life.

If I’m being completely honest (and aren’t I always?), I will admit that though our adoption experience was unique and wonderful, I am a little sad that I’ve never gotten to experience being pregnant.  I do sometimes wonder what a little mix of Jay and me would have looked like.  Would the baby have Jay’s thick, curly hair (I swear, he used to have that) and my chubby cheeks (way cuter on a baby)?  This curiosity led me to go on the internet and do a composite of my face and Jay’s. 

Yeah, adoption was probably the way to go

So, yeah, I got over that pretty quickly.

I know that we will never be able to adopt again, at least not in the same way we adopted Micah.  We still have not fully recovered from the near $25,000 it took for us to bring him home.  So, forcing ourselves to forget the above picture, we thought we’d throw caution to the wind and give it one more go the old fashioned way (which for us, involves doctors, tests, blood work, charts, and medication). 

Several months ago we went to the fertility clinic for our first appointment in recent years.  I will say that this time felt different for several reasons.  1) I don’t have quite the desperation I had so many years ago.  The “I’ll never be a mother!” agony is gone.  Though I’m not going to pretend there’s not some pain/emotion there. 2) I turned 26 a couple of weeks after Micah was born.  I felt like I had all the time in the world, and I did believe deep down, that this issue would work itself out.  Since I’m nearly 100, I really feel like I’m running out of time, so I might be slightly more panicked this go around.  Especially when I, filling out my paperwork, was asked, “How many months have you actively been trying to conceive?” and I had to answer, “Approximately 162.”

Ok – moving on to the point.  After a couple of appointments, the doc found things in my bloodwork that were concerning (to her, not me.  I actually think very little about my blood).  She put everything on hold and referred me to a different doctor, who I was finally able to see this past week.  She came to me and said these very words, “There’s a course of treatment I’d like to pursue with you, but I can’t do that as long as you want to try to get pregnant.  So the question is, are you ready to shut the door on that?”

Ouch.

I may or may not have had a tiny breakdown in her office.  Possible breakdown may or may not have had a tiny bit to do with the fact that my little sister had given birth to her third child just a few hours before this appointment.  Anyway, the doc deduced by my reaction that my response was, “perhaps not quite yet.” (Ya think?)  I told her to give me another 1 ½ to 2 years.  She gave me some things to do in the meantime.  Apparently I should eliminate stress in my life and also mind my diet - what?  A diet of Dr. Pepper and Pixie Stix is bad for you?? -  so I’m determined to do just that.  (Farewell, Dr. Pepper. You’ll never know how I loved you). 

We go back to the fertility doc this next week to see what our plan is.  I know we’re somewhat limited by age and money (don’t even get me started on my decade-long lament about how insurance companies will cover nearly anything to stop you from having a baby, but virtually nothing to help your body do what it is supposed to be able to do anyway!) so I want to have an honest discussion with her about how realistic our hope should be.  I’m thinking of wording it like this:

“Doc, I’m an old lady on a pastor/pauper salary.  What are the realistic chances that you can get me good and pregnant?”

And we’ll see from there.

It’s a hard road sometimes, but this is what I know for sure:

There were days when I didn’t think I would ever be a mom.  I was lost in my despair.  But somehow, God came through for me.  So I keep telling myself that whatever gifts I am given are the good and perfect gifts that God has intended for me.  I have to trust Him. 

And just FYI, He’s been pretty great to me so far à