I’m starting to wrap my head around the fact that {hopefully} a month from now we will be finally pregnant with our 2nd. In just a few weeks I’ll find myself in the familiar routine of hormones and shots and Wanda. So. much. Wanda. By mid summer I’ll be peeing on sticks and praying for morning sickness. Especially against the backdrop of COVID19, I’ve been struggling to find my footing.
Here’s the honest truth. I’m terrified.
I’m scared of it not working…
of hearing the nurse call with that “I’m so sorry” tone in her voice I know too well
of the feeling of my heart shattering into a million pieces
of having to tell our son, who wants a baby sister so badly he never stops talking about it, that he has to keep waiting.
of losing myself again. I’ve worked really hard to get back to a healthy place.
of having to decide whether we will try again, or accept that this is the end.
of wondering who she would have been, too– two babies in heaven is enough to wonder about.
What I didn’t expect, though. What I’m still trying to sort out with God is…I am also scared of it working.
of losing the baby later in the pregnancy
of having a c-section again
of not having a c-section again
of an uncertain world that awaits us as we recover from COVID19
of not having a say in what vaccines she gets and when
of whether I can really handle two children and be a good mom to both
of getting postpartum anxiety again and losing all the progress I’ve made
of having another child to worry about. The thought of losing a child is crippling.
Do I have it in me? Do I really have the strength to face it all? And as I plead with God. As I bring Him each fear and beg Him for clarity, He reminds me: Isaiah 41:13.
For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right handandsays to you, Do not fear; I will help you.
God gave me this verse at the very beginning of our infertility. “Nicole, do not fear; I am holding your hand.”
He hasnever let go. He even gave us a little boy’s hand to hold to remind me when my faith is wobbly.
Does this make me stop feeling fear? Not always. But, it does remind me where to look when I feel it.
“Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.” Friedrich Nietzsche
Well geez, Nicole, that’s a little dark.
I know… and it’s not my usual outlook, but today, I’m angry at hope. I’m angry at the small, tiny voice of hope that says “what if”. What if you really are pregnant this time and not just late?
Of course I’m not. The red streak on that wad of toilet paper confirmed it for me just moments ago.
I’m angry that despite all logic, all knowing, all the years of irregular cycles that tell me this is just another late cycle…despite it all…I google the symptoms, I count the days, I negotiate when I will actually pee on that stupid stick…if I make it until Saturday morning I’ll test. It’s Friday afternoon.
I’m angry that I still, after all the needles and dollars and dates with ‘wanda’, I still found myself feeling giddy and daydreaming about how I would tell my husband that we were pregnant– on our own.
I still calculated the due date and wondered if maybe we wouldn’t find out the gender until the baby was born. I still allowed myself to believe it was possible.
Hope. Today I wish I could silence her tiny but unyielding voice. Today I wonder if I will spend the rest of my life, at least my pre-menopausal life, facing the heartbreak of hoping despite all odds that I’m actually pregnant this time.
Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will embrace hope, love hope, believe in the necessity of hope.
Oh hey! I know, I’ve taken a lot hiatus from blogging. But I’m back! Since the last time I wrote a lot of life has happened (hence the blogging had to take a backseat) so I figured a life update would be a good place to start. Here’s the bullet point version:
April- began 3rd frozen embryo transfer cycle (FET) with a new doctor
May – transferred a perfect embryo, but it ended with a negative test
June- Hubby got let go from job so we sell half our belongings, put the other half in storage and move in with my parents in NorCal
July- Hubby gets new coaching job in the Bay Area so we are staying put
Kinda makes your head spin, huh? It certainly felt like life decided to throw it all a us at once, just to see how tough we really are. Just to test our faith, see how we would handle it all.
Our FET cycle was pretty rough on me physically-more than I remember the other cycles ever being. From the moment I started the birth control pills I was nauseous, dizzy, tired…ugh! I’ll save the whole story for another blog post. I learned a lot, faced some fears (like giving myself progesterone injections) and ultimately ended up heartbroken with another negative pregnancy test.
We barely had time to begin grieving our loss when our life…got flipped turned upside-down 😉
My husband and the rest of the coaching staff at CSUN got let go. These things happen. Of course I have all sorts of feelings on the injustice of it all, but ultimately, in coaching things are never guaranteed. We knew at some point in his career this would probably happen. You never expect it to happen on a Thursday morning, a week after a failed FET cycle when you were supposed to go camping the next day. We did the math and despite my stable counseling job, the only thing that made sense financially was to move in with my parents back in my hometown.
It’s funny… for months I had been praying a little prayer under my breath.. “Lord, get us out of here” Just like that. Blunt. To the point. Daily. It’s hard to fully explain; our life in SoCal was wonderful in so many ways, but I was tired. Tired of hopping on the hamster wheel every morning and hopping off exhausted at the end of the night just to do it all over again the next day. I was struggling to show up for myself and my family the way I wanted. The vision I have for my family didn’t look much like the life we were living. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. We were and are blessed beyond comprehension, yet I know there is something different for us. I wanted out. Out of the rat race, out of California with it’s crazy taxes and policies, out of feeling like I’d never catch my breath.
Well, God answered, but not how I had envisioned he would. Typical. About a week after we moved in to my parents home, my husband was offered a coaching position at St. Mary’s College…right up the road (okay, an hour with traffic) from my parents. I attended SMC for my masters degree; my hubby had worked there as one of his very first baseball jobs. It’s a great place.
I should have felt nothing but excitement- we were home! But, I’ll be honest, that wasn’t how I felt at first. I didn’t (and still don’t) know how we will make it financially in the uber expensive bay area when it’s time to leave my parents home. We’ll likely be here for a year. I don’t know where another baby fits in with this new chapter. I don’t know how the quality of life I’m craving for my family can exist here for the long term. And the control freak in me was having a really hard time reconciling it all.
But then, we took Austin for ice cream at the dairy…
The dairy, for anyone who isn’t from here, is a drive-thru mini market that has been around for decades. Growing up, we would ride our bikes to the dairy for a 50¢ ice cream cone. To me, those cones taste like freedom, and friendship, and comfort. Everything good about growing up in Pleasanton exists in one lick of that ice cream cone. And there was so much goodness growing up here.
We walked hand in hand with our son down main street with our cones and I could feel the weight of all the “what if’s” and “how will we’s” lifting. I have no idea what the future holds for us, but for now, we get to give our son a piece of the childhood I loved. He gets to wake up every morning and hug his grandparents. He gets to see his other grandparents and all his aunts and uncles way more often. I get to call up my besties for a random playdate on a Tuesday afternoon. I have dreamed of that for the last 9 years.
With the weight of it all just a little bit less, I’ve been able to see this change with new eyes. God has us here for a reason. He answered my prayer in His way. This will be a season of trusting Him more deeply. This will be a season of staying PRESENT instead of planning. A season of drinking deep from the well of family and friendship. Filling our cups with all the sweetness of home.
The only constant in baseball is its unpredictability. We may stay here for 10 years. We might have a new team next season. I have no way of knowing and no way of controlling it. So, here I am, learning to let go, to trust and to focus on all the blessings in front of me instead of looking towards a future I can’t control.
Here’s to a new chapter! Thanks for coming along for the ride.
I have a general distrust of doctors. Between my psoriasis, struggles with constant yeast infections (sorry tmi), unexplained fatigue and difficulty losing weight, our infertility, my c-section and more, I have found my experiences to be mostly frustrating and unhelpful. I have felt unheard and dismissed by a doctor more times than I can count. I know there are good doctors out there, I have been treated by a few for sure, but the majority of my experience has not been positive. When we met Dr. K for our first infertility consultation, I was relieved to feel like he really cared for and invested in his patients. This being an incredibly sensitive and expensive issue, having a doctor that we trusted was imperative. Our whole first round of IVF was a really positive experience from a patient care perspective. So, when we got the letter that he was leaving our old fertility clinic and starting his own, an hour drive from our home, we really didn’t have to think too hard about moving to his new clinic with him.
I struggle to even write the rest of this blog because I was honestly so surprised by our experience through this last cycle that I keep second guessing myself, wondering if I am just being too high maintenance, or trying to place blame for our failed cycle somewhere. But, I’ve been examining my feelings for a few months now, and had discussions with my husband and some other people I trust who understand infertility and I know that I am not just being “high maintenance”.
From start to finish this last cycle was disappointing from a patient care perspective. I had emailed with my nurse letting her know when we wanted to start our frozen embryo transfer cycle and what transfer date we wanted. I belabored over that transfer date longer than I cared to admit, wanting it to be perfect. We were timing it with baseball season so trying to hit a due date that wasn’t too close to an away game that was more than an hour or two away was pretty tricky. We landed on a due date of April 20th, Easter 2019. I loved the symbolism of that date so much. It felt right. I knew it was unlikely that the baby would actually be born on that date, but I loved that it was going to be the due date that we would announce and circle on our calendars and tell the world. Our nurse emailed me back confirmation that we were good to go and the calendar of appointment dates, medication schedules, etc. A few days before our first appointment, I called the office to see what time my appointment was that day. My nurse was on vacation and it took a few days for someone to get back to me. Apparently I hadn’t been scheduled on the calendar for that day. They got me in anyway and we got the ball rolling. Everything was going great with my meds and my hormones and my lining and all that jazz, so on my last appointment before our transfer date, I asked another nurse (because mine was gone again) what time we needed to be there on transfer day- Friday. “Oh”, she said as she scrolled through her screens, “Dr. K is not going to be here on Friday, we need to move your transfer up to Tuesday.”
::Deep breath::
Transfer day was also specifically chosen because it was a Friday and gave me the weekend to be off my feet. Tuesday was the day before I went back to work for the school year. Not exactly ideal timing. I quickly called my husband to make sure his schedule would allow for Tuesday and after some rearranging we made it work. Again, trying not to be pushy or needy or cause an issue, we moved forward with the new transfer date. These things happen.
Transfer day came and we were greeted by the world’s grumpiest medical assistant. Her comment to me as she walked us back to our room was “you’ve done this before right? so I don’t need to really explain it”…ummm I did this almost 4 years ago lady. I wanted a valium because, hello- anxiety, and had to have Jordon go searching for someone to give it to me. When they told us to pick any radio station we wanted and we picked country music, our nurse apologized to Dr K for having country on… (that’s really all we needed to know about who we were dealing with haha #countryforlife) By the time it was all done, I was having to coach my husband to not to call this chick out on her bad attitude and cause a scene in the hallway.
Again I told myself “deep breath- it’s not that big of a deal. It’s okay”
My nurse had been emailing me my lab reports this whole cycle and I didn’t think much of it, but then she e-mailed me the results of my first beta. I had low numbers, but I had low ones with Austin too so I didn’t totally freak out- and then she e-mailed me again with the final answer. No, we weren’t pregnant. I hadn’t thought to ask for a phone call, but looking back now, a phone call would have been nice for news like that. Especially because I can’t exactly control when I will see an e-mail pop up. I saw that email come through at about 1 pm, the middle of my school day. If I could have chosen when to pick up the phone or listen to a voicemail, I probably could have avoided crying on the floor in the corner of my office so that no students would peek in the window and see me. It wasn’t a great time to go over their college essays with them.
The icing on the cake was that it took me almost 6 weeks of calling or emailing almost every other day to get the SIMPLE paperwork I needed to submit to our Flexible Spending Account to be reimbursed for part of this cycle. SIX WEEKS!
Still, I tried to push these feelings aside, chalk them up to a busy office. When I gathered my follow up questions in an e-mail a month later to ask Dr. K and received a very brief, to the point and rather dismissive email back that lacked any empathy, I knew we needed to look elsewhere to continue with our fertility treatments.
In November we had a consult with a new doctor at our old clinic. He sat down and took the time to really talk out our options, what things we might want to look into before another cycle, etc. The nurses seemed to be very detail oriented and friendly. Just this week I completed an endometrial biopsy and saline ultrasound per our new doctor’s suggestion. Guess what, I’ve got scar tissue hanging out in my uterus. It is likely from the c-section I had with Austin and it is quite likely a big factor in why our last embryo did not make it. I’m so glad that we sought another doctor and another opinion. Dr. K was not going to take these steps. We would have had another failed cycle with him. It’s truly infuriating.
Scar tissue from my c-section
So here is my take away, my one piece of advice for anyone out there fighting through infertility, or any medical issue, really:
There is no such thing as being high maintenance when it comes to your health and your body. You alone are responsible for it. You alone know what you need, what you don’t need, what feels okay and what does not feel okay. And you not only have the right to speak up and ask for what you need, you have the obligation to do so. No one else will do it for you. And if you do not have a doctor who will listen to your needs and respond in a proactive, empathetic and professional way….find someone else. Listen to your gut and do not be afraid to speak up. As we tell our son “you are the boss of your body.”
I don’t know why I played small. Why not wanting to be an inconvenience felt more important. Why I chose to silence myself and accept less than I deserved. I do know that I will not be making that mistake again.
The moment they put you in my arms for the first time was hands down the best moment of my life. It’s a memory that will forever be etched in my mind- the weight of you, the smell of you, the peace and love that filled my soul. Pure magic.
Three years with you, my boy. You’ve been with us now for the same amount of time we struggled to have you, wondering if you ever would be. Looking back I can see so clearly how each piece of the journey was preparing me to be your mama.
You do things your own way, on your own time. Just like when you took your time snuggling in as an embryo, leaving us waiting with baited breath. Teaching us to rely on God for patience.
Or how you insisted on snubbing all of your mama’s birth plans, refusing to flip head down no matter what I tried- forcing a c-section when all I wanted was a “natural” birth. It was as if you were warning me for what was to come: “don’t make too many plans, mom. None of this is going to go the way you thought it would, I’m gonna do it my way.” Oh, my independent little boy. I can’t help but laugh because really, with us as your parents how could I expect anything different.
You have made me a fighter. Your very existence is proof that deep inside me is the heart of a warrior. I fought to have you, fought to breastfeed you when many told me to just let it go, fought through postpartum anxiety to make sure I am the best mom I can be for you. I will never stop fighting for you, my love. Never. You’ve made me a mama bear, fierce.
I put you to sleep last night explaining that magic will come to you in the night and when you wake up you will be THREE. But the truth is, the magic didn’t appear last night. The magic started the day you were created and was with you every single day since. There was magic in each new word, each new step, each belly laugh, each “I miss you, mama”. Watching you grow is magic. You are magic, my son.
Each year your birthday is equal parts heartbreak and joy. Sad to leave behind another year knowing I will never again have two-year old you, but so very proud of the boy you are becoming and joyful that I have a future with you in it.
You correct me now, each time I call you “baby” – “no, mommy, I’m a big boy”. But you will always be my baby, my love. Always.
Happy Birthday, sweet boy. May this year bring more magic than the last.
I didn’t expect the tears today. I knew it was infant loss awareness day. I knew I’d want to say something about it. Light a candle. Say a prayer. But I didn’t think it would hit so hard. I’m not someone who really gets caught up in themed days. ⠀
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If I’m super honest there is a part of me that doesn’t feel like we fully belong to this group of grieving parents. Our sweet embryo baby only made his home on my womb for a few short days. He tried. A chemical pregnancy is what the doctor called it. ⠀
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But I have friends who have lost babies at 10 weeks. At 22 weeks. At birth. After… ⠀
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So much of me feels like our loss just doesn’t touch that kind of loss. And in a way I still think that’s true. ⠀
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But then I saw this image. And then the tears. Because no matter how short lived. No matter how teeny tiny that baby boy was, he still WAS. He existed. He was loved and wanted and he is no longer here. I haven’t cried for our loss in a while. I’ve been focusing on positive things and gratitude, but I’m gonna cry tonight and that’s okay. ⠀
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I’m crying tears for you too, mama. I am 1 in 4. ⠀
When I was young, maybe 6 or 7, I fell on the playground and landed on my back. It was the first time I got the wind knocked out of me and I still remember that feeling of gasping for breath, knowing it was there, but unable to feel the relief.
It’s hard to comprehend the peace and confidence I felt through our recent IVF cycle now that we are facing the reality of it’s failure. I find myself thinking how naive I was to think it would just be easy this time…pop a few pills, let Dr. K work his magic… I mean it worked the first time obviously it will work this time (insert palm to forehead emoji)
But in all honesty, it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be pregnant right now. I truly thought and felt with confidence and peace, that this was going to work. I mean of course I knew that there was a chance it wouldn’t, but that never felt like a real possibility.
We took a spur of the moment “let’s escape reality” trip to Disney this past weekend. It was good for us to be together and away, but as the weekend went on, the shock of it all started to wear off and even the happiest place on earth couldn’t keep my heart from aching.
I sat at work on Monday plotting out my college workshop program for the spring and as I flipped the calendar page into April it was like the “L” reached out and punched me in the gut. I’m not supposed to be at work in April. I’m supposed to be at home, loving on a newborn and adjusting to life with two. I know that kind of sucker-punch will continue as we move through the year and face all the things I had planned to be pregnant or have a newborn for. I find myself praying, with absolute admiration, for the women who carried children much longer than I did and lost them, who face would-be birthdays and holidays and small moments in time and have to cope with the fact that their child isn’t here with them. I’m sure the longer a baby is carried, the harder the loss is. That doesn’t diminish our loss, but it gives me some perspective, too. One in four women will experience pregnancy loss. That’s a lot of us. That’s a lot of strong freaking women.
The more I read about HCG levels in IVF and chemical pregnancies and implantation, etc…the more I realize how true it is when we call Austinour miracle baby. You don’t often see a successful pregnancy with numbers that started as low as his did. I’m not sure what it means for us that both our embryos started with low numbers. One made it and one didn’t…so many questions with so few answers. That’s the way it is with infertility… a lot of unanswered questions.
People keep asking what our next steps are. I honestly don’t know. We will absolutely try again, but our failed cycle has knocked the wind out of me. What I thought I knew has shifted and I’m just trying to catch my breath. On some days it feels like my defenses are up and I am building walls so I don’t get hurt again. On other days it feels like I am just taking a moment of silence to sit with God and really feel my way through this, allowing all the things to flow through me while God holds me by my right hand as he has promised. I fight for those days, through my sadness; I fight to hold on to God even when I don’t really want to, even when I’m angry with him, even when I can’t see him clearly. I fight because he has always fought for me.
I learned on that playground long ago that if you fight hard enough, gasp long enough, the air will once again fill your lungs and you will return to the jungle gym ready to swing on the monkey bars again. I’ll get there. We will get there.
I learned a long time ago that sorrow and joy can coexist. That they are really two sides of the same coin. That you can’t know the depths of joy without having known sorrow. And we only know sorrow because we have known joy.
{The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.- Khalil Gibran}
I’m grateful for that long ago learned lesson. Grateful that the truth of it has shown up enough times in my life that I can face today’s news with the hope and certainty that while today I feel deep sorrow, I know I will again feel deep joy.
This cycle did not work. Our embryo did not implant. I’m not pregnant.
The air around me feels heavier as I write those words. A weight hangs off my shoulders. I knew that was a possibility when we got our first pregnancy test results last week. On Monday we heard that my HCG levels had decreased when they should be increasing, but still we hoped and prayed. God works miracles everyday. This morning we tested one more time. Our sweet baby just didn’t make it. There is no rhyme or reason. Nothing we did wrong. It is just how things happen sometimes.
I still believe in miracles, though. I am a mother to one.
I am a firm believer that emotions are meant to be felt to their fullest. We will continue to grieve this loss. More tears will be shed. More anger. More “why didn’t it?” If I try to deny my feelings they will only fester and become bigger.
I am also a firm believer that we get to choose how we respond to the things that life brings us. I can choose to let this sadness take over or I can choose to face each day with hope. I choose to find moments of joy in the midst of our sadness. I choose to believe in God’s plan, even though it doesn’t look like my plan. I choose to still see our many blessings and be grateful. There are a million things that I have to be grateful for. I am grateful for the short time I got to hope for the promise of new life growing inside me. It is a privilege not everyone has.
Our baby boy {yes, it was a boy} was just not meant to come earthside. He is forever in heaven with our God and our grandparents and heavenly family who love him as much as we do. I know we will meet him someday.
I can’t begin to tell you how much your prayers and kind words and messages have meant to us. Please continue to pray for us and for our baby boy in heaven. We aren’t sure when we will try again. It is a complex conversation. But, we are confident that our family will continue to grow in God’s time. At the beginning of our infertility journey, God spoke to me through Isaiah 41:13; He is holding our hands today, assuring us to have no fear, for He will help us.
I leave you with one of my favorite poems by a favorite author: Kahlil Gibran
On Joy and Sorrow
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
This morning I had my first blood test to see if Baby #2 has decided to stick around. I woke up really early so we could get on the road and make the hour trek through LA traffic to get there right at opening. I had to head right to work after, another hour away, and get Austin to daycare on the way. Suffice it to say, it was a potentially stressful start to an already stressful day.
Walking back to the car after my blood draw, I spotted the adorable breakfast cafe that I’ve been telling myself I’ll try “one of these days” every time I have an appointment with Dr. K. So, today, instead of rushing back to work after my appointment and letting the anxiety of the day take over, I chose to slow down and take my little man to breakfast. Nothing fills my heart and reminds me of God’s never-ending provision like some quality time with this guy. ⠀
Should I have headed straight back to work? My boss would probably have said “yes”. {actually, my boss is amazing and probably would have told me to grab her a pastry on the way back, but HER boss probably would say “get back to work”) And certainly the “people pleaser” in me had to wrestle with that one for a minute. But…
I am so glad I chose to listen to what my heart said I needed over someone else’s expectations. I left our 20 minute breakfast detour feeling immense peace and gratitude. If I hadn’t stopped and slowed down enough to see and feel and enjoy my many blessings…I wouldn’t have been in a great place to hear … “maybe”…
Maybe you’re pregnant. Maybe you’re not.
My HCG levels came back positive, but lower than they want to see at first. I’ll have to retest next week and see if those numbers are increasing. This is exactly what happened with Austin, so I’m less worried than you’d think. But still, now I am living in limbo land a little longer, wondering if every cramp, every twinge, every spot of tiny pink blood is just our baby settling in or the end of this cycle.
Gratitude is the antidote to anxiety. Gratitude is playing defense to my fear right now. Gratitude is keeping me hopeful when I could turn to doubt. Gratitude is a the coziest warm blanket of peace wrapping its arms around me right now. Well, gratitude and Jesus 🙂
Today was a reminder of God’s instruction. He tells us to “be still and know that I am God”. Be still and know His presence. Be still and know His peace. Be still and know His promises. Be still and know His love and goodness and provision. But first, be still. Slow down so I can see Him and all the ways He shows me who He is.
Will I be taking deep breaths all weekend as I remind myself to choose gratitude over anxiety? Yes. Will I cry a little? I already have. Will I wonder what will be next for us if this baby isn’t meant to join us earthside? Of course. But I won’t doubt that God has a perfect plan for us, because I have seen His promises come to life time and time again. No matter the outcome, we are blessed and my life is good and beautiful.
{Thank you for all your prayers and baby dust- it means the world}
I spent the morning crying. And when I say crying I mean ugly faced, red cheeked, tears pouring, bawling my eyes out crying… for a good 45 minutes.
My tears weren’t from sadness or fear or anxiety. They could have been since we are transferring baby #2 soon and I should be a total mess. But no, it was gratitude. Deep, heart bursting, skin tingling, joyful gratitude. The kind of you feel deep down in your bones.
It started with my morning devotional. I decided to play some music and chose my favorite worship song of all time- Oceans by Hillsong United.
“Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me You’ve never failed and You won’t start now”
It’s a song I listened to over and over during our first round of IVF. And as I listened to the lyrics and remembered that season of our life while watching my crazy, wonderful toddler running circles around me, I was struck with the most profound joy and feeling of gratitude. For the blessing of this life I get to call mine. For God’s unwavering provision. For His promises fulfilled. For His unending hope.He has never failed me…
Last night we had a family date night. It was a special night because we also picked the gender of our future baby. See, with IVF, you have the ability to choose the gender, since we know the genetic makeup of our embryos. I don’t love having that choice in my hands and a HUGE piece of me wants to be surprised {like all the other normal parents who get to do gender reveal parties and such}. So, we are making it a surprise as best we can. Last night at the beach, we prayed over a little bowl full of folded white paper strips, each labeled boy or girl. Austin reached in and grabbed a piece and put it in an envelope. We sealed it and threw away the other strips so neither of us (ahem- my dear husband) would count the remaining papers and figure out what Austin had placed in that envelope.
This morning, in the midst of my grateful tear-fest, I had this beautiful vision: my grandparents in heaven sitting with our future child. The one God had already chosen for us. They are waiting with him or her and helping to prepare that child for their earthly home with our family.
If I wasn’t crying before, you bet your booty I was crying then. I have often felt my grandparent’s presence since their passing and have had some really cool experiences where Austin has recognized them without me having told him about them before, so I 100% believe they are angels in heaven. It was the most comforting, peaceful image I’ve ever had.
Austin eventually noticed that mommy was crying. It took him a surprisingly long time; I think children are so much more comfortable with emotions that it didn’t even register until he heard me choke back a sob.
“Mommy, you sad?” he looked at me with the tenderest eyes and came over to pat my knee.
In that moment I got to hold his angel face in my hands and tell him I wasn’t sad at all. I was crying because I was happy. So very happy that God had given him to us. He smiled and nodded like he understood. Then he went back to playing. He probably won’t remember this specific instance in his life, but I hope he always remembers and feels the love we have for him.
What this morning’s emotional melt down revealed to me is this, the truth I know way down in the deepest parts of my soul:
Whatever the results of our embryo transfer, God is good. God promises that He has good plans for us and I trust him. Because He has always, always provided. He has always, always been good. Even in the hardest parts, He has been good. He’s blessed us beyond anything we deserve or have earned.
It is a gratitude that leaves me speechless. A gratitude that I am blessed to know.
I have a general distrust of doctors. Between my psoriasis, struggles with constant yeast infections (sorry tmi), unexplained fatigue and difficulty losing weight, our infertility, my c-section and more, I have found my experiences to be mostly frustrating and unhelpful. I have felt unheard and dismissed by a doctor more times than I can count. I know there are good doctors out there, I have been treated by a few for sure, but the majority of my experience has not been positive. When we met Dr. K for our first infertility consultation, I was relieved to feel like he really cared for and invested in his patients. This being an incredibly sensitive and expensive issue, having a doctor that we trusted was imperative. Our whole first round of IVF was a really positive experience from a patient care perspective. So, when we got the letter that he was leaving our old fertility clinic and starting his own, an hour drive from our home, we really didn’t have to think too hard about moving to his new clinic with him. 
