For me, despite deep desire and prolonged effort, this remains a question: Children are the future?
My husband and I have been trying to have a baby for a few years. Sometimes this dream of ours has seemed more like a quest, in the literary sense. Our Holy Grail, our Golden Fleece is a child to love, raise and call our own. We have confronted many obstacles, if not literal dragons, in our path.
On this journey I have cried, I have blamed, I have questioned, I have prayed. I have been hopeful and depressed. I’ve done my research, and I received advice — good and bad, helpful and hurtful. I’ve been ashamed and secretive. I’ve decided to be as open as I can, and through blogs I have met many others who are trying to find their way to the same goal.
I have had my feet in stirrups, scopes through my bellybutton, dye shot through my fallopian tubes. I’ve taken Clomid, Femara, Metformin, my temperature. I’ve had five inseminations and zero positive pregnancy tests. Hubby has been checked out and shot up, all to no avail.
I’ve been fingerprinted and background-checked. I’ve frankly answered multi-page questionnaires about my upbringing and marriage. I’ve put check marks on forms asking whether I will accept a child who likes to set fires or defecates inappropriately, or whether it is OK if our child has AIDS or uses a wheelchair.
I still can’t answer whether children are our future. Being of modest means, in-vitro fertilization and private adoption seem out of our reach. We are at the mercy of a budget-friendly fertility treatment miracle or the public foster-to-adopt process, both of which we are pursuing. Both are frustratingly slow.
There is a chance our child has already been born, or perhaps not born but conceived. There is still a chance for a pregnancy of our own. I can’t know what is to come; on faith I just keep moving forward, keep fighting. Our quest continues. I can only hope the last chapter tells of a little child being tucked in to sleep in a bright-green bedroom.
M. D. is married with two fur-babies. She writes about trying to add to her family at Glitter & Rainbows.
Several months ago I noticed that the post theme for February was “Love Story”. I immediately started making plans to write a happy little post about my life in rural Arkansas and how much I love it. Then I was standing in my kitchen trying my best to perform the most routine of chores, and it hit me what I really love so much.
I grew up in a very structured household. You ate your food in the kitchen. You played with your toys in your bedroom. Holidays and other events were planned months in advanced. And you never ran through the house or spoke above a normal inside voice. I had great parents and a great childhood. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I married nearly seven years ago. The two of us lived in our little house with our Jack Russell Terrier, Chloe. It wasn’t structured, but it was quite and simple. The most excitement was cheering for our Texas Longhorns (sorry Razorback fans) during big games.
Our perfect angel, Arlington (Ting), was born in June of 2009 and our life was turned upside down. Suddenly there was crying at all times of the day. Bottles and toys littered every room of our house. Cheering for our favorite team was no longer possible because either we were being quite so she could sleep or watching Nick Jr so she would be happy.
Here we are, 2012. Ting is two and a half years old and we are expecting a little boy in April. Our calm Chloe has gone blind and is constantly bumping into everything and barking at every single sound around us. We both work full-time outside the home so toys, clothes, and who knows what else lies scattered around our small house (which seems to get smaller each day).
As I stood in my kitchen Sunday afternoon, the Super Bowl was on the TV. I was trying to watch the game, cook chicken, prepare brownies, and wash a few dishes and a load of laundry – all at the same time. Ting was running around wide open singing, dancing, throwing dolls everywhere. I was doing my best to not trip over Ting and her toys. Chloe was barking her head off at every little bump we made. Hubby came home from work and was trying to talk on the phone. It was TOTAL CHAOS.
That’s when I realized, it’s the chaos that I love so much! I cannot begin to imagine my life as a quiet and organized life, and honestly wouldn’t want it that way. I love my loud crazy house. I love my chaotic life. I can’t wait to add another child to the mix… it’s going to be so much fun!!
Karen lives in South Arkansas with her husband and daughter. She loves reading and cooking and anything that involves spending time with her family. Her blog, Ting’s Mom, chronicles her daily life as a mom and wife, as well as an occasional review of products her family can’t live without.
My Love Story {Love Story} Written by Erin Yarbery of Bideawee.
This story begins six months after we married when we found out we were expecting. We weren’t trying to get pregnant, but I didn’t believe in using artificial birth control and we didn’t know exactly how natural family planning worked. We were nervous, but happy.
Less than two weeks later, we miscarried. It was hard and painful in many ways, but we were young and had been told that miscarriage is incredibly common. We had hope that the next pregnancy would be better.
A year later, we became pregnant again and, within a couple of weeks, miscarried again. This miscarriage was both easier and harder. Physically we knew what to expect. Mentally and emotionally, we couldn’t understand it. We wanted to know why it happened again, but, where we live, a specialist will not see a patient until she’s had at least three miscarriages. Although friends and family offered love and support, we felt fairly alone.
Nine months later, at Christmastime, we had our third pregnancy. Although it was also a surprise, we were more excited about this pregnancy than the others. We felt certain that we would finally have a baby. We prayed. We visited our parish priest and asked for special blessings. Hub remodeled every closet in the house trying to make space. I tried different remedies to have a healthier pregnancy and had been taking prenatal vitamins for a long time. We did everything we could possibly do to remain positive. My doctor did everything he could do to help us. It lasted two weeks longer than the previous pregnancies, and it was, by far, the hardest loss.
Believe it or not, we picked up the familiar pieces and resolved to be happy anyway. We knew we needed to focus on our health for a while. We needed time to breathe and time for Hub to finish college. Thus, putting aside my personal beliefs and attempting to do what was best, I chose to use “the pill” for a little while.
Nevertheless, only a few months later, I endured a fourth pregnancy. I knew from the beginning that this pregnancy was different; something wasn’t right. I had immediately stopped using the pill when I realized I was pregnant, but it was already too late. Almost as quickly as I realized I was pregnant, I also realized I was having another miscarriage. I made an appointment with my doctor, who confirmed with blood tests that my levels were definitely dropping, so I went home and prepared for the inevitable physical pain.
This time, however, I endured the most painful sensations I’d ever felt. For several days, the pain would come and go with increasing intensity. I paced the floors at work gritting my teeth and bearing it until it subsided. I was too stubborn to take sick leave. Having done this before, I knew I would only feel depressed at home, so I continued working. I had discussed with Hub my suspicions of a tubal pregnancy, but, because the pain would always subside, we assumed it was just a miscarriage.
Finally, one afternoon as I browsed the local craft store, I found myself alone in an aisle, hunched over in pain and nearly in tears. I didn’t want to make a scene, but I knew something was wrong. I straightened up as much as I could and walked, like a zombie, to the truck. Somehow I managed to drive, while sobbing, back to the university where Hub was volunteering at a plant sale with the agriculture department. By the time I arrived, I knew I couldn’t walk a step further and I was embarrassed to be seen in such a state, so I called his cell phone and asked him to meet me in the parking lot. He knew immediately that my condition was serious – I rarely ever felt pain I couldn’t handle – so we headed to the doctor’s office.
A vaginal ultrasound showed that I was indeed having a tubal (or ectopic) pregnancy. My doctor was extremely surprised that I had been able to endure the pain for so long; apparently, nearly too long. I was in serious condition and was sent to the hospital for emergency surgery. The tube was removed.
It was an outpatient surgery so I recovered at home. As soon as I we walked in the door, Hub took control. He held my hair and cleaned up after me while I threw up; helped me roll out of bed every morning as my stomach was sore; laid me on the couch and turned on my favorite TV shows and movies; answered the phone when I couldn’t or didn’t want to; made breakfast, lunch and dinner; took care of the dog and the laundry and bought groceries. He took care of everything so I could wallow as long as I needed. He was my hero; my knight in shining armor.
Eventually, the pain weakened, my hormones went back to normal, and I returned to work. I dove back into life and slowly felt like me again. It was during this time that Hub finally showed his emotions.
He had remained so strong and brave throughout the process, never complaining. He had spoken about it freely and answered everyone’s questions without hesitation. Thus, when I saw him break down, I was shocked. I had not expected it. When I asked why he had waited so long to embrace his emotions, he said, “I had to be strong for you… until you felt better.”
So we cried together and held each other for a long time. It was his turn to hurt. This was when I realized I would never, ever have another friend like him; another man who would put his feelings totally aside to care for me in my time of need. I realized I was living my love story, in all its imperfections, with the man of my dreams. It meant more to me than any fairy tale ever could.
I am Erin from the blog, Bideawee. I’ve lived in Arkansas all my life and always dreamed of traveling the world. I have a bachelors degree in journalism and I’m happily married. We don’t have children yet, but we truly love our furbaby, Lakota. This is our journey.
