Please stop telling us we’ll get pregnant after we get foster kids

Or after we stop trying.  Or after we adopt.  Or after I relax (which is the worst thing to say to someone trying to have children).

Listen, I love you and I know you mean well.  And “you” isn’t one specific you.  We’ve had so many people say something along these lines to us.  They know someone (or someone who knows someone) who struggled to get pregnant so they went through the adoption process, and as soon as they received their placement, they found out they were pregnant!  Or they know someone (or someone who knows someone who knows someone) who has been trying for seven years, and they’re finally pregnant!
I am so happy for those people.  Truly.  I’m glad that their patience, perseverance, and prayers paid off.  I’m overjoyed they get the experience of growing a human, birthing a child, sleepless nights, endless feedings, poopy diapers atop poopy diapers, and all that jazz.  
And while you mean well, infertility is different for every person or couple.  Just as any child Ian and I could possibly someday conceive will be unique to the world, our struggle is unique as well.  That friend (or friend of a friend) you know, they’re not us.  Their story is not our story.  
You say it to comfort me and give me hope.  But it’s a false hope.  The reality of the situation is we’re not totally sure why we haven’t been able to conceive, we have some suspicions, but no smoking gun.  And we may never get pregnant.  I get sad about it still.  I can’t put my finger on why, but I’d bet it has something to with that maternal instinct to procreate.  If a small wave of sadness hits while I’m around you, let me weep a little.  It’s ok you can’t comfort me, and if you feel like you need to say something, just say “I’m sorry you’re going through this.  Do you want to go eat some ice cream?”
I haven’t mentioned this sooner because I wanted to cling on to the hope you were giving me.  I wanted to be that fortunate couple whose perseverance paid off.  But then our patience for having biological children ran out, and we started down a new path called foster care.
If you skimmed this post, please read from here to the end.  The reason I’m asking you to stop now is because when you say “You know, as soon as you get foster kids, you’ll get pregnant,” you’re doing something far worse than attempting to give us false hope.  You’re saying our foster children aren’t the children we’ve been waiting for.  You’re segregating our foster children from our children.  But to us, they are our children.  They are the children we’ve been waiting for.  There’s no “foster” about it.  Regardless of how long they’re ours, we are going to love them hard and become extra-attached to them—because that’s what they need and deserve. 
As our friends and family, I’m asking the same of you.  I know it’s a big ask and, for a lot of you, it’s foreign territory.  You didn’t get to rub my belly or visit us in the hospital after their birth or witness their first few months or years of life, but we need you to love them like you did.  Don’t associate the stigma of foster care with our children, there’s no reason to be scared of or timid around them, they aren’t damaged goods. 
And most importantly, stop thinking beyond them.  They’re more than enough for us, so let them be enough for you.

Moving Beyond Biological Children: A Mother’s Day Tale

A dear friend texted me today, “I want to tell you happy Mother’s Day.  I know all too well how hard this day can be.  You WILL be an AMAZING mom!!!”

I have to agree, I will be an amazing mom.  Not because I’ve read tens of parenting books (I haven’t, but I probably should).  Not because I have some special way with children (I don’t).  Not because I have an incredible husband who empowers and encourages me (I do, and that definitely doesn’t hurt).  Not because I’ve been yearning to be a mother for years now and I have so much love to give (although that’s true).

It’s because I have an AMAZING mom.

This photo, from my wedding day, is one of my favorite photos of us ever.  It reminds me of every ballet recital she prepared me for and every homecoming or prom she did my hair just the way I wanted.  As I stare at the photo, I can remember so many moments with her standing behind me, helping me along.

In settling into foster care preparations, I’ve nearly forgotten the heartbreak our infertility caused me.  So much so, that when my friend sent me that text this morning, I was almost caught off guard remembering how awful this day could have been.  Ian and I talked during our dating days about being foster parents, and as this situation continues to unravel, it feels so clearly like we were meant for this.  But I also realize we probably wouldn’t have made it to foster care without infertility.  And I’m okay with that.  But I might not have been if not for a simple conversation with my mom…

A couple months ago, I told her Ian and I were moving forward with foster care.  She had come to visit and we were driving to see my little sister coach a volleyball game.  She started talking about how me, Shannon, and Jessi (my sisters) are so different.  Simply because she bore us didn’t make us clones of her or give her some telepathic connection to us.  Sure, we shared some physical traits, but other than that we were our own people.  The character traits I have resembling my mom aren’t because she gave birth to me.  I have them because she raised me.  And something about that conversation was so healing for me.

That conversation answered the nagging, devastating question of “What if Ian and I never get to see what our biological children look like?”  I don’t think the root cause behind that question really had to do with aesthetics, I think it had to do with connection.  Can I innately, immediately understand what a child needs without being it’s biological mother?  No, I can’t. But that’s ok, because as it turns out that’s a learned skill for all moms alike.  There wasn’t some telepathic connection that told my mom I was hungry when I was a newborn, she learned through trial and error of going through the checklist of things to pacify a crying baby.  There wasn’t some telepathic connection that told my mom I skinned my knee by falling off my bike, she learned because I’d come crying and limping back home with blood trickling down my leg.  A telepathic connection didn’t tell my mom I was struggling to get dressed for college graduation because I was sobbing, devastated by a recent breakup—I did, when I called her and told her, somewhat unintelligibly through sobs, that I couldn’t get my sweater on.

And even without these superhuman powers, she still manages to be superhuman.  Over three decades after my birth, she still champions me and the desires of my heart.

Mom, thanks for being the best mom ever (not biased or anything).  I’m sorry I can’t give you the gift of gleefully telling all your friends that you’re going to be a grandma (again) in the traditional sense of the word, but somehow I feel like that doesn’t bother you.  I know you’re striving to understand your role as a foster grandma and how best to support Ian and I and our future children in this, but rest assured you continuing to stand behind us and cheerlead this journey is all the support we need.

Preparing our home for foster care, part I

It’s been five weeks since my last post.  Partly because I’m a terrible blogger and partly because really not much has happened.  We have one PATH class left, and then it’s on to the home study process.

In the initial weeks of training, we poured over how to prepare our house.  In Tennessee, you have to select one of three age ranges (0-12, 0-18, or 6-18).  We selected 0-12, and let me tell you—trying to plan for a range of 12 years and two genders is hard.  We talked about what we were comfortable with, what ages we truly feel like we’d be most successful with, and the selfish reality of what we want knowing we’re hopeful this is a means to grow our own family.

Let me pause here and be completely clear.  Yes, we want to adopt children from foster care.  But we don’t want to do it at the expense of parents who are wholeheartedly striving to get their children back.  We want to encourage those parents, walk alongside them and set them up for success for when they are reunited with their children. 

So after many conversations, we came to the conclusion we want children on the younger end of the spectrum and we hope that our home study worker, our case worker, and the placement folks will be understanding and receptive to that.  With that in mind, we decided to turn one room into a shared bedroom for two children.  Our other bedroom will remain an office, but also house a futon to conveniently be a guest room as needed for our moms.  

And now I’m in full nesting mode.  I’ve bought so many things off Craigslist and sweet friends are beginning to offer their hand-me-downs.  

The kids’ room will have a crib/toddler bed, a twin bed, a cube storage organizer to hold books and toys, and a dresser to share.  If you have any suggestions for must have toys, books for game, let me know in the comments.  
That brings us up-to-date for the most part.  We are so excited to become parents to children for a season or forever, and already I’m incredibly thankful that our journey through infertility has brought us to this point.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled heartache for hope.

I realize that I still need to explain my third hard thought – What if Ian and I will never get to see what our biological children will look like?

But that has to wait, because this weekend something exciting happened.  We both timidly, cautiously, and hopefully decided(ish) that we’ll proceed with foster care as a means to making our family.

To back up just a bit, we had our IVF class at Nashville Fertility Center on Wednesday and left feeling discouraged because they weren’t prepared with a plan for us (partially our fault, because they wanted to double-check my AMH, but frustrating nonetheless).  We spent Wednesday evening talking about IVF and embryo adoption and decided we’d probably move forward with embryo adoption.  Then Thursday came, and we decided IVF, and somehow that turned into a fight.  Mean words were said without consideration, tears were shed, and it’s the first time I think it really hit me that I can understand how infertility tears a couple apart.

After our fight, I went out to grab dinner with one of my dearest friends, Jessie, and, kindly, she listened, counseled, and encouraged.  In the embarrassment of some of the words I spoke, she made me feel better.  Everyone needs a friend like that.  Someone who can straighten you out when shit hits the fan with your significant other (or any valuable person in your life).

I went home renewed and with a fresh perspective.  I hugged Ian and apologized for being so awful, and we were good.   But still, neither of us were sold on embryo adoption or IVF.  I don’t know if it’s the money, the gamble, the physical toll, the continued heartache…but something about it never feels totally right with either of us.

Then a series of little things happened.  For starters, one of my best friends, Theresa, is beginning her foster mom journey as a single mom to two teenage girls and they should be moving in with her this week – and it has been such a joyful experience to contribute in small ways and watch her pursue this.  Then, I found the trailer for My Life as a Zucchini.

Inspired by this trailer, I looked up #fostertoadopt on Instagram and stumbled upon Foster the Family.  For anyone considering foster care, this blog is a must read.  I sent it to Ian.  And by Saturday morning, we were leaning toward foster care.  That’s why I say decided(ish).  We bebop around from idea to idea and have a bit of decision paralysis.  But we both feel most hopeful about foster care.  Not hopeful that this is a route to adoption (although, we would love for that to be the outcome someday), but hopeful that this is our chance to make a family and love on children we can call our own, even if only for a few weeks or months.

This decision feels like it has a finality to it.  And I felt even better about it when at one point on Saturday as we were talking about foster care, Ian said to me, “Do you think we’ll end up doing this (foster care) and our lives will be so rich and full that we’ll look back on this (our infertility) and realize it was a blessing?”

My spirit rejoiced.  Those have been the most God-breathed words either of us have spoken through this whole journey.

And now, as we begin to move away from assisted reproductive technology and into foster care, would you please pray for us?  We start our foster care classes tomorrow night.  We are anxious, we are ill-equipped, but we are hopeful.

This is my fault.

Second hard thought, this is my fault.

I mentioned a couple of posts back that our doctor had some concern about my ovary size and follicles.  And then I did research, and wasn’t very encouraged.

By the way, our fourth IUI didn’t work, but my Clomid Challenge results were normal.

At our first consultation with our doctor, she mentioned my small ovaries and 10ish follicles and I feel like I was led to believe that was fine and normal.  Then in our second visit, she didn’t seem to think my AMH aligned with those issues.  Which is frustrating, but I won’t get into that yet.

After our second visit, I Googled the crap out of “follicle count” and how it related to fertility and IVF.  And I found this:

At our first visit, our doctor thought she counted ten follicles, and at our second visit, she counted eight.  And on Clomid, I never produced more than one mature follicle.  I understand that the injectable medicine you take during IVF is much stronger than Clomid, but it’s hard not to be worried about my response to it.
All this to say, it feels like this is my fault.  Should I have been taking birth control throughout my unmarried (and abstinent) 20s to preserve my eggs? (Thankfully, this has been debunked and that isn’t how birth control works.)  Should Ian and I have started trying right after we got married when my ovaries and eggs were 2 years younger? Shrug.  Should I have ate less sugar throughout my entire life?  Regardless of fertility, that answer is almost definitely yes.  Should I have drank less and taken more supplements in adulthood?  Probably so.
I don’t know why my ovaries are small or why my follicle count isn’t great.  And that’s discouraging.
But you know what is encouraging?  Researching ways to improve it.  An egg starts developing about 90 days prior to ovulation, so knowing that we may be doing IVF in the next couple of months, I’ve really started to buckle down on my health to ensure the best egg quality I can.
I’ve stopped drinking alcohol altogether.
I’ve tried my hardest to scale back my sugar intake.
I’m becoming more aware of the food I eat.  I’ve started to buy more organic foods.  I’ve planned out what to plant in our little gardens in the backyard and we bought two chickens for fresh eggs.  Yep, we bought chickens.  
Additionally, Ian and I have had some really great conversations about next steps for us over the past week or so.  And we decided that while we’re still gathering information about IVF, we’re also going to start gathering information about foster care.  But more on that later…