Tag: ivf

::When Hope Hurts::

“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.

But not today.

 

 

Comin’ Home

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713FD137-DE02-4E7E-BFA4-BC423B29A7A2Oh 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.

XO, Nicole

:: You are the boss of your body ::

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Infertility, secondary infertility, ivf, csection, fertility doctor 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.

Csection, scar tissue, secondary infertility, hsg, saline ultrasound
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.

XO,

Nicole

Is your man’s body wash hurting his fertility?

male infertility, sperm, infertility, ivf

Probably.

I wrote a few weeks ago about women’s beauty products and how they are impacting our fertility. Well, I wanted to dig in a little deeper on men and how their products might be impacting them. We often think about infertility as a women’s issue. I’m not sure how that came about because men are 50% of the equation…but alas, our society still looks mainly to women as the ones responsible for making (or not making) babies. The truth is, somewhere between 40-50% of infertility cases are due to male factor infertility.

Here is some alarming fertility news: male sperm count in Western men has decreased by over 50% since the 1970’s! More than that, over 90% of sperm in typical young men are misshapen, which means that have two heads or two tails.

Quick fertility lesson: a two headed sperm cannot fertilize an egg.

I have a son. I have younger brothers. I have a hunky husband. I have friends who are raising boys. This is a HUGE issue. One in 8 couples struggle with infertility and that percentage is rising.

Many scientists are pointing to endocrine disrupting chemicals as a culprit. These chemicals mimic estrogen in the body, confusing the processes responsible for sex organs, hormone regulation…and yes, sperm. Exposure to these chemicals starts even when a baby is in utero!

If you want a breakdown of what these chemicals are all about and how to identify them check out this post.

Men need safer skincare, too! Their skin has different needs than women so we really shouldn’t just hand them our safer face cream and call it a day. Did you know:

  • Men’s skin is 25% thicker than women’s.
  • They have tougher skin due to slower cell turnover and frequent shaving.
  • Men have oilier skin than women because they produce more sebum.
  • Men’s pore size is larger, leaving skin more vulnerable to blackheads

Not to mention, most men won’t touch any product that is marketed as a woman’s product… (insert eye roll).

I was having a skincare convo with my little brother over the holidays and he mentioned really liking a brand of men’s skincare that promotes themselves as “natural” and “green”. He wanted to know my opinion so I looked them up… hello greenwashing! That stuff was full of harmful ingredients. But, I know very few men who are thinking deeply about their skincare. If I wasn’t in my brother’s ear about safer products he would not have given it a second thought. If I didn’t throw away all the junk my husband buys, he would not be asking me to find him a safer shaving cream. Ladies, we need to share this information with the men in our lives! We might even have to take matters into our own hands and toss their old junk and give them better products!

Okay, so here is the exciting news – there is a new line of men’s skincare that has NO endocrine disrupting chemicals (among other things, check out the list) and works and smells fantastic.

Introducing COUNTERMAN by Beautycounter!

male infertility, sperm, infertility, ivf, clean skincare

Counterman is a line of safer, results-driven skin care designed specifically for men. It features Sequoia Stem Cell Complex, all Counterman formulas help protect skin from every day stress. Plant stem cells have the properties and ability to self- renew; they never undergo an aging process, but instead perpetually divide to produce new cells. How cool is that?

Let’s check out the collection:

Do me a favor, go grab your man’s face wash and flip it over… do you see parabens on the list? What about methylisothiazolinone? EDTA? PEG? Or how about fragrance/parfum? …That’s what I thought. Toss it! You can always double check your products with the EWG Skin Deep Database too!

Save the sperm – shop safer 😉

XO, Nicole

A few informative resources:

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/16/health/male-sperm-count-problem.html https://www.nytimes.com/2017/03/11/opinion/sunday/are-your-sperm-in-trouble.html https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6043754/

Talking About Infertility

infertility, ivf, fertility

“So, what brings you in today?” the nurse asked me innocently.

“I … uhh. Well, ummm. I’m… ummmm.”

I stumble over my words. How do I put this? How do I start?

Finally I give up on finding the perfect word: “Well, uh, I have… infertility..?” I quickly start to share my life story to somehow give context to what I mean by that, to dissipate the tension in the room. She smiles trying to be kind and attentive, but it’s awkward for both of us.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why we are so quiet about infertility. Why we hide behind secret Instagram profiles and Facebook groups. Why there are people in our daily lives who have no clue what we are going through. This exchange explains it all. Everything about infertility from the language we use, to the shots we inject ourselves with, is awkward, painful, hard. We can barely find words to describe it or define it, how are we supposed to be open about it?

I mean really- when put in a situation where we need to introduce the idea of our infertility here are some of the options that run through my mind:

“I am infertile.” (I mean, that’s just cruel)

“I have infertility” (I don’t think you can actually “have” infertility… you know, grammar and all)

“I’m reproductively challenged” (insert fake chuckle..humor is a great defense mechanism)

I usually opt for some version of “infertility journey”. Ha! Journey. As if somehow I chose this path. As if by traveling it there is some higher purpose. Some deeper, more meaningful reason for this. I like to think of it that way. It certainly it makes me feel better, and maybe there is truth to it too. But, I didn’t sign up for this trip and while I am determined to find joy and peace and gratitude in the midst of it, I’d get off this “journey” in an instant if I could.

I’ve made the deliberate decision to be open about this huge piece of my life with people, so more and more I find myself tripping over the words to use to tell people. Almost daily I get a question about when we will have another baby. I know I could easily brush off the questions with some reference to “God’s timing” and leave it at that. But, I don’t want to silence myself. I don’t want to brush off this question as insignificant when the truth is, it is one of the biggest, most complicated, cut to the core of my soul questions of my life.

infertility, ivf, iui, fertility

So, I keep stumbling through my words. And I keep filling the awkward space between me and the questioner with my best attempts at easing the tension while still honoring my story.

And after every single conversation I wrack my brain for a better way to put it. Better words. A better label. Something that doesn’t feel so obtuse rolling off my tongue.

I don’t know if I’ll ever find that better language. I do know that I won’t stop trying and I won’t stop talking. Owning my infertility is freaking hard and really delicate, but also incredibly healing and empowering.

How do you tell people about your infertility? Have you figured out a better way to talk about it? Give me all your suggestions!

Coping with Infertility During the Holidays

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surviving infertility during the holidays

Lately, I have this odd inner rebel thing that happens on holidays. Everyone posts their obligatory  “Happy (insert holiday)” pic on social media and I’m like “nope, I’m not gonna do it”…I generally end up doing it anyway (because I have a damn cute family – hello!?), but that rebel is silently shaking her head at me. I haven’t  really understood where it came from, but it hit me today…it’s the pregnancy announcements. The holidays naturally lend themselves to be a great time for pregnancy announcements. Families are together and the cutesy phrases are endless and adorable. “Can’t wait to welcome our little turkey”, bellies wrapped in bows, and ultrasound pics fill my feed…

It hit me today, as I was watching my not-so-little man drift off to sleep, that it’s quite likely we would have made a similar pregnancy announcement this holiday season had our little embryo snuggled in tighter. But he didn’t and we aren’t. So my inner rebel, or maybe really it’s my broken heart, is boycotting the cute holiday instagram feeds because inevitably I’m going to see all the pregnancy announcements and inevitably it’s going to hurt. coping with infertility during the holidays

The holidays are rough when you’re on an infertility journey. Being surrounded by family is at the same time comforting and a painful reminder of what you’re trying to create that just isn’t happening for you. Without fail, someone is going to ask me when I’m going to have another baby, launching into a monologue about how you don’t want to wait too long or the kids won’t have a close relationship and you don’t want to be changing diapers forever… and don’t forget, you’re getting older! There will always be the cousin who got pregnant on accident, the aunt who feels comfortable telling what you really need to do to get pregnant, the uncle who makes a tone-deaf joke about your husband’s manhood, the long lost friend from high school who, after too many glasses of pinot, asks all the inappropriate questions …maybe it isn’t these specific examples, but you get the idea… the holidays are an infertility minefield.

I’m sorry to say, my fellow infertility warriors, but it’s pretty unavoidable. So, how do we survive the holidays…or even more importantly, enjoy the holidays… as we navigate the minefield?

tips for surviving the holidays with infertility

Here are some of the tips I’ve been working on. I’d love to know your holiday survival tips too!

  1. Take care of yourself first. There is no way that you can respond well to Aunt Ida’s probing questions if you are tired, stressed and overwhelmed. What is in your toolbox? What are you go-to things that help recharge you? Know them. Do them. Often. For me, I know I’m better with a good night sleep, some exercise and time spent focused on what I’m grateful for.
  2. Know how you are going to respond. For the most part, we can anticipate the kind of questions or comments that are coming. It’s so helpful to plan and visualize what you want to say and how you want to respond. Have a one-liner ready for when people start asking. It’s the hardest when we aren’t prepared to respond; we tend to respond out of our emotional rawness. I think it is 100% okay to respond with tears, or to express to that their words, though likely unintentional, were hurtful. But, when we find ourselves out of control of our emotions that is when things can spiral and head in a direction we don’t want to go. Similarly, know how you are going to respond internally. You might be able to brush off your cousins questions and change the subject, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t spinning on the inside as she blabbers on about her annoying coworkers. Find a word, phrase, mantra or prayer that will center you, comfort you and allow you to let go of the inner emotional storm. Repeat until you can breathe a little easier.
  3. Identify your safe spaces. Where are you going to go if you need to take a break, if you need to cry, or punch a pillow? Who are the people who you can talk to? Your spouse is a good one to start with, but they could be dealing with their own struggles, naturally. So who else can be your “person”? Know who you feel comfortable asking to hang with you for a minute. Maybe that person can play defense for you too if they see an awkward situation unfolding. Let ‘em know you need their help- heck, make up a code word that lets them know you need to get OUTTA HERE NOW!
  4. Focus on the parts you love. If there is anything I’ve learned it’s that we HAVE to find joy in the waiting, in the pain, in the fear and doubt… it’s the only way. So, what do you LOVE about the holidays? Do you love baking with grandma? Card games with your cousins? Long afternoon walks admiring the gorgeous fall leaves? Do you love visiting the houses that go all-out with Christmas lights? Or snuggling up by a fire with a good book? Fill your schedule with the things you love about the holidays and try to just get lost in them. Be in the moment as much a possible. When that wave of sadness arrives, let it wash in and wash out. Acknowledge it and then turn your attention back to the beautiful moment that is right in front of you. tips for surviving the holidays with infertility
  5. Give yourself grace. Like heaps and heaps of grace. It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to feel sad, and to cry and to think that your cousin’s pregnant wife was a total jerk for complaining about feeling fat- you’d give anything to feel “fat”. It’s okay if you need to skip your neighbors holiday party because what really feels good for your soul tonight is snuggling up with your hubby and watching Love Actually. It’s okay to put your needs first, to take care of your heart instead of worrying about offending someone else. Grace, my friend, lots and lots of grace.

 

How do you find joy during the holidays while walking with infertility? Let me know in the comments.

** for the record, not all of these examples have happened to me in this exact way, or on this particular holiday. It’s a combination of my stories and my fellow ttc community’s stories

::The Magic of Sharing::

brene brown courage owning your storySharing is hard. There isn’t a single day that goes by that I don’t second guess my choice to start this blog and be so open on social media and in my personal life about our infertility journey. It’s vulnerable. Imposter syndrome runs wild- Who am I to think anyone wants to hear what I have to say? Who am I to think what I share could help people? Who am I?

But this week hammered home the truth.

On Monday night I posted on Instagram about some of my feelings on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. I couldn’t even believe what I saw when I opened my Insta the next morning. I had 300+ likes, a ton of heartfelt comments and a full inbox of messages. That only increased over the rest of the day. Every time I opened Insta I had dozens of notifications. Even my girl boss hero, THE Rachel Hollis had liked my post- what the what?! It’s not about the likes, that’s not why I’m on social media. But the response and the messages were proof that my story resonated. It touched people on some level. People were thanking me for sharing and telling me their own stories in return. I’m not sure if there is a more precious gift than someone sharing their heart with you. I’m humbled. And in turn, their stories and their kind words healed my heart just a little more.

But God wasn’t done making his point.

Today was Mass day at my Catholic school and the theme was “Speak Life” in honor of the Catholic “Respect Life Month”. Of course the topic of babies came up. Of course it hurt.

Remember that colleague who stopped me in the hall, pressing me on when I was going to give Little Man a sibling?…well that day in the hallway, instead of just brushing her off and saying “oh, someday,” I told her. I told her about IVF and I told her we had just lost one. The conversation was brief, and though she was kind I walked away wondering if I had said too much. I felt a little raw. Well, today at Mass she made it a point to come hug me during the Sign of Peace and tell me she has been praying for a baby for me. Cue the tears. If I had chosen to put my walls up and not tell her my story in the hallway that day, I’d be missing out on a prayer warrior in my corner. I had no idea that she has been praying for me all this time. What a blessing.

The Mass continued and at the very end they played a little video of two young children being told by their mom that “there is a baby in Mommy’s belly”. It was adorable. And it totally sucked. I took a deep breath to contain my emotions and as I looked up, another colleague was looking over at me, blowing me a kiss because she knew. She knew that that video, that this Mass, was hard and that it hurt.  She knew because she has seen my blog and my social media and we’ve talked about our shared experiences. To seal the deal she ran over to give me a hug before Mass ended. In an instant I went from silently shouldering my hurt alone, to being held, comforted and seen.

Sharing my life with others is worth it. Sharing builds community. Sharing helps others feel less alone, understood, in it together. Sharing allows the people in my life to show up for me and it opens up the space in my heart to receive the kind of love and support I need. Sharing helps me own my story and my life and gives me courage to show up as my authentic self. I’m sure I will still have moments of doubt on this journey. Times when I wonder if I’m just speaking into the black void of internet-land. Times when I worry that people are really just laughing at me, or rolling their eyes thinking “who does this chick think she is?” Maybe I will even be burned a time or two for being vulnerable. But I’m going to remember this week.

I started Brave Beauty Mama because God was YANKING (not just tugging) on my heart and this week He reaffirmed that I am on the right path. It might be super foggy up ahead of me, but I’m going to keep trusting this path that He has put me on.

Thank you for being a part of my community. For lifting me up and for trusting me with your stories too. What a beautiful thing to be connected to one another.

 

XO, Nicole

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day

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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. ⠀

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Sand Paper Hands

{may 2016 :: baby hands}

I’m not sure when it happened. It feels like just overnight. But my little baby’s hands…they have lost their baby soft touch. No longer are his palms puffy and smooth. He holds my hand now and his palms feel rough…more like his dad’s. The palms of a boy whose been hard at work all day; busy discovering, making, doing. He’s a little boy now… my baby fading into a sweet sweet memory.

I wonder to myself as I snuggle him to sleep tonight, would I have noticed? If we hadn’t faced infertility, if I hadn’t gone through the years of trying and the pain of “what if I never get to be a mom”…would I still notice little things like that?

There’s no doubt that my experience colors my perspective on life, and more so, on motherhood. The mom I am today is 100% influenced by the path I took to get here.

Would I still be laying here snuggling him to sleep for much longer than I really have time for and feeling mostly gratitude? Would I still breath him in deep and kiss his forehead and whisper all the things I love about him, instead of worrying about the things I could be, should be doing around the house? Would I have fought through the impatience and the frustration to stay present with my child and savor this moment, if I had never worried that I wouldn’t have the chance to do it at all?

{first family portrait}

Would I have teared up earlier today, heart about to burst, when he beamed as he held out his first family portrait for me to see? His excitement as he showed me which scribbles were Mommy and Daddy and Sadie ripped my heart into pieces, happy happy pieces. I’m so acutely aware that this simple moment wasn’t promised to me, almost wasn’t mine.

I do know that the worrier in me is amplified by infertility. I see it in my need to triple check that his car seat is tightened correctly before every single car ride. I know it drives my husband nuts that I will recheck his work, making certain he did it correctly too.

The anxiety I feel every night now that he sleeps in his own room…triple check the locks…is the alarm turned on? Did I close every window, every door and the gate to the hallway? Monitor on? Check… And the several times a night I wake and zoom in on the video monitor, just to make sure I see the soft rise and fall of his chest… I’m pretty sure that is the infertility speaking.

I can see it in other peoples eyes, when my son is running a little too fast towards the street and though he’s still far from danger, there is a shrill in my voice that’s a bit unnecessary, a panic that I just can’t control… they must be thinking “geez, this mom’s is a tad overbearing”.  I know. I know it’s unnecessary, I know he’s like 50 feet from the road and I can calm down. But what you don’t know, judgy mom from the park, is how hard I fought for this little boy. Protecting him feels just a bit scarier, heavier than I imagined it would.

I’m pretty sure I can blame infertility for the tears I cried the other night, beating myself up for making him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner, when I knew he hadn’t touched a vegetable all day. See, when you fear you might be childless, you start to make promises to God… “God, if you give me a child I swear I will be the best-mom-ever-on-the-face-of-the-earth” …and that mom would obviously feed her child the most nutritious food…hello!

*sigh* infertility has also taught me to give myself grace, because Lord knows that PB&J is a childhood staple and there is nothing wrong with serving it for dinner. That “best-mom-ever-on-the-face-of-the-earth” stuff has gotta go.

I really do believe I’m a better mom because of my struggles. Not a better mom than someone else, but a better mom than I would have been. Pre-infertility me was pretty selfish, and kinda lazy. My biggest concern about being a mom back then was losing my precious sleep, because I looooved to sleep in (I mean really, ask anyone). I still catch myself feeling surprised when my son wakes me up early on a Saturday morning and my first response is a smile. No one ever got a smile from me first thing in the morning before infertility.

I’ll never know for sure if the reason I can (usually) have eons of patience with my son or the reason I light up every time I see him is just because I’m a mom, or if it’s because I’m an IVF mom, but either way, I’m grateful. I’m grateful that my heart is full simply by seeing his grubby face after a day at work. I’m grateful that I have found value in living in the moment because I don’t want to miss a single thing. I’m grateful that being his mom has pushed be to become a better human than I was before.  

I do know for certain that infertility has helped me see God’s gifts in everything. That our struggle to have a baby taught me how to find gratitude in all things, at all times. Infertility has shown me that I am made for more, and given me the drive and strength to pursue that version of myself, the one God made me to be.

I might not be the best-mom-ever-on-the-face-of-the-earth, but I’m on my way to being the best mom for MY child, the mom that God created me to be. Isn’t that what matters most?

I have gut feeling that pre-infertility me would have missed the point in many ways. She would have gotten bogged down in the day to day, easily dismissed a moment to connect when there was something that felt more pressing to do. I know she would have been a good mom, but I think she’d have a harder time seeing the bigger picture, seeing the blessing that she had in her hands. She just wouldn’t have known. I don’t know for sure, and I am certainly not talking about other moms. I’m not trying to say that infertility moms are better moms…not in the slightest. What I am saying, is that I am a better mom and and better person for the battle we face. That’s my journey.  

I’ll try not to cry tonight when Austin’s newly sand-papered palms reach for my cheek in his sleep. Watching him grow is as much heart breaking as it is the joy of my life. Maybe these tears are also because of infertility. Because the last three years have gone so fast and while I believe I’ll get to see another child through these early years, I know that isn’t guaranteed. I’d like to pause time for a bit, find a way to carve these small moments into my memory so they can never fade, never be forgotten. Sometimes I’m filled with panic about the swift passing of time, grasping at anything to slow it down. Motherhood sure does a number on your heart.

If you’re a mom, squeeze those babies tight tonight and take a minute to remind yourself how precious that gift is. Then give yourself some grace – you’re doing great!  If you’re not a mom yet, if you’re in the trenches of infertility, trust that God is using this time to shape you into the mom He created you to be for the child He’s got waiting for you. And give yourself loads of grace too!

Sending all the moms and moms-in-waiting love tonight. We’ve got the hardest and best job in the whole wide world.

XO, Nicole

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Comparison is the Thief of Joy :: Friendships & Infertility

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I have a superpower. I can predict when my friends are pregnant before they tell me. I just have a sense, and no joke, about 2 weeks later, I always get the call. I think God gave me this superpower as a way to protect me and help me be a better friend. See, I get to process ahead of time the idea that my friends are pregnant and I {save for the 9 months that I was} am not and will struggle to get pregnant every time I want to. So, by the time they actually tell me, I can be present for that conversation. I can give them the response they deserve, my joy. I can save the tears for later so they don’t have to be burdened in their time of happiness.  I’m not always great at that part, despite my superpower, but I can certainly respond better than if I hadn’t been predicting it when they told me.

But you know what is really interesting, during that time before they tell me, I often fear that they won’t tell me because they are afraid to upset me, knowing what I am going through.  I have vivid dreams of running into them at the grocery store, their belly clearly pregnant, and despite having spoken recently, they hadn’t told me. It’s almost a worse feeling than that of them being pregnant when I am not.

What would it say about me if the people I love don’t think I can handle hearing their joy in the midst of my pain? I want to be someone who can love my friends exactly where they are at, no matter where I am at.

Because here’s the thing, it always stings. It doesn’t matter if they get pregnant in the thick of my struggle or while I’m pregnant and in the height of joy. I literally was holding my newborn in my arms when I found out a friend was pregnant and even then, even when I had my miracle baby safe in my arms, it stung. Infertility never stops hurting. One of my older friends is 25 years removed from her fertility struggles and she told me it still stings when she hears of people getting pregnant. It’s not logical anymore, but it’s real. The sense of being an outsider, of missing out on one of life’s most anticipated, longed for experiences in its fullness; I don’t think that ever goes away.

It shows up all the time- when hearing a birth story, at a kids birthday party, in a memory of a time we were all together, but I was still not pregnant, in a passing complaint about how hard pregnancy is, or how hard motherhood is, or how “oops she’s pregnant again”.  It will show up on a random Tuesday in the hallway at work when a well meaning colleague presses you about when you’re going to give your son a sibling- time is ticking you know. The sting feels the same whether it’s a stranger or my closest friend. The mom at the park who’s pregnant with her 4th, all the kids are less than 2 year apart and she looks…tired…ya, that hurts too.

It is always going to sting; I have a choice in how I deal with it. It doesn’t feel good to wallow in “Why them? Why not me?” It feels better to celebrate with them. It’s okay to cry about it. It’s okay to feel the sting, to acknowledge the pain and the unfairness of it all. But really, what good does it do me to take away from them the joy that I wish was mine? None. It does me no good. In fact, it only makes things worse.

And the truth of it is, every single one of them has their own pain. Things I wouldn’t wish upon them in a million years. Things I am grateful I haven’t had to walk. Things I’m not sure I would be able to cope with as insanely strong as they have. So feeling jealous, feeling sad, feeling angry…that is normal and has its place, but I could flip that around and they could have felt that way about my joys, too. We all have our stories. They become more bearable, and perhaps more meaningful, when we can walk alongside each other through the good and the bad, the highs and the lows. Being strong when they are weak, letting them be strong for me, when I am weak. I’m lucky to have found friends like that.

Comparison is the thief of joy. The truth of that couldn’t be clearer than when you are walking with infertility. But if I focused on comparing my path to being a mama with everyone else’s, I would miss….everything. I would put distance between us at a time when I need their companionship the most. I would miss out on the depth and richness of friendships that I treasure. I would live my life with everyone at arm’s distance, suspended between the need for connection and the wall of my pain. That’s no way to live. I choose to be present in my relationships. I choose to be vulnerable. I choose to be brave.