three {one}

Three is how many kids I wanted to have.  Well, 2 at the very minimum, but preferably 3.  You know, back when I thought infertility was something that happened to other people.  It never crossed my mind that just having one child would be next to impossible.

Oh to be that naive again... to live in blissful ignorance, dreaming of a picture-perfect future... to think that having 3 children by the time I turned 35 would be easily achieved.

Even in my early infertility days I never thought for a second that I wouldn't have at least one child by the time I turned 35.  Even after I was told that my body was broken, I believed God was bigger than any diagnosis (still do!) and that surely we would eventually be able to get pregnant.  Even then I never dreamed it would be an uphill, 8-year battle that ended with us expecting a baby at the ages of 38 & 40, via a surrogate.

Yet, here we are.  Our lives and dreams reshaped by this thing called infertility.  

For which I am grateful beyond words, oddly enough.

Grateful for the pain that shaped me.  Grateful for the journey that led us to this destination.  Grateful to be expecting THIS precious baby girl, at this time, in this way.   

Grateful. 

Still... that doesn't change the fact that I dreamed of having a bigger family.  Once she's in my arms I know some of that will fade, but lately I've been feeling a little wistful at the thought of her growing up without siblings.  This surprised me because it's something I've never felt before, and I'm not quite sure how to process it. 

I never considered for one moment that this much-loved, long-awaited child would very likely be an "only."  I don't know how to dream about what life with an only child will be like, because that's not something that was ever on my radar.  It's a totally foreign concept to me.

I started this post at the beginning of National Infertility Awareness Week, but then I kinda stalled.  I was prompted to work on it again today after reading a FB post referencing a conversation overheard in a waiting room where a couple of moms were discussing whether or not it was "worth the stress" to have a 3rd child (while one held her 3rd in her arms and the other was pregnant with her 3rd).

Oh what I wouldn't give for that kind of "stress." 

That's just one tiny example of the level of insensitivity that exists when it comes to infertility.  People simply don't stop to think about how hurtful words like that can be to someone who is unable to have one child, or who had to fight tooth and nail for the children they do have.

Just like any other life-altering disease, infertility isn't something you think about unless you are affected by it.

That's why I talk about infertility.

My friend Thelma said it perfectly in her blog post today (which is a must-read, by the way):

"Awareness is foundational to understanding, which in turn acts as a catalyst for compassion."

I tell my story in hopes of providing understanding to those who don't know what it's like to live with an infertility diagnosis, so in turn there is more compassion and support for those who are facing it.

Infertility is a disease.  True, it's not something life-threatening like cancer, but it is an incredibly difficult, personal struggle for the person who is living it. 

1 in 8.  The numbers don't lie.  Someone you know could be quietly hurting.  Don't push her to share if she's not ready, but I would encourage you to be sensitive with the words you say and be ready to support and encourage her when/if she does choose to open up.  No, you can't take away her pain or heal her broken body, but it would mean so much to her just to know that you care and acknowledge that what she's going through is real.

Going Public {for real}

After years of heartache and infertility, Scott & I are overjoyed to share that we are expecting a baby via surrogacy! It was never in *our* plan to take this route to parenthood, but there is no doubt that God has clearly guided us here, as we have seen His hand each step of the way.

You can read our whole story by clicking through the "tabs" at the top of our surrogacy blog (http://carriedblog.blogspot.com/) and get a little introduction to our amazing surrogate, "Sally" (we don't use our real names for privacy purposes).

We are overwhelmed with gratefulness to Sally, to our family and friends who have supported us these past couple of years, and most of all to God. 

MAY HE BE GLORIFIED through this story and the life of our precious, long-awaited child. 

"The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy." - Psalm 126:3

praise {whether I feel like it or not}

I love country music.  I grew up in a very conservative church and home, so listening to any music that had a {gasp} *drum beat* was forbidden.  When my sister and I were in jr. high, we got a little rebellious and started listening to country music on the sly.  Our parents eventually found out and weren't happy, but like all good parents they gave in.  ;)  Well, my dad didn't but I think he realized he'd already lost us to "the world" so there wasn't any point in fighting.  Or something like that.  (Love you, Dad!)

Anyway...  When I went away to college I was introduced to the new-to-me genre of Contemporary Christian Music and I was hooked.  Dad can blame all my Bible college buddies for that addiction.  ;)  I still listened to a lot of country music over the course of the next several years, but my music "diet" was much more balanced and varied.

A few years ago when our infertility struggle was at its worst (or so I thought!)  I made a purposeful decision to start primarily listening to Christian music.  Since then there have been MANY times when I haven't felt like listening to songs of praise and worship, but I forced myself anyway and consistently found my mood would improve after just one or two songs. That's proof to me right there that there's power in the lyrics of music.

Which brings me to today.  Currently I am at the lowest of lows, physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually...  I am completely overwhelmed and burdened down by everything that is going on in our lives right now.  Scott hasn't been able to find a job.  Our house in KC will not sell.  A close family friend passed away unexpectedly last month.  We won't be seeing our families for the holidays.  I have ovarian cysts that are causing a lot of pain (which is one reason why I'm having a full hysterectomy next month).  Our finances are shot and we'll soon be buried in medical bills.  My depression and anxiety are at an all-time high.

It's just too much.

Yet today I found myself humming a tune, and before I even realized what I was doing I started quietly singing the words:  "You make all things work together for my good."  Repeatedly.

This is why I made the switch. 

Right now I'm not even listening to Christian music as consistently, yet it's still ingrained in my head.  Music is tricky like that -- getting stuck in your head whether you want it there or not.  Obviously in this case that's a very good thing since so much of Christian music is taken straight from Scripture.  What's better than having the Word of God constantly running through your head?

Even on days when I don't feel like praising Him, I find the words on my lips... and consequently they eventually make their way to my heart.

It's not a magic cure.  It doesn't change anything about my situation, but it does change my outlook.  It's hard to wallow in self-pity when you are continually reminded of the truths in the Bible.  Not that I don't still have bad days.  Trust me, I do.  I've had a lot of bad days lately.

Life is not easy, but I am a firm believer that it's easier with God.  So I will continue to rest on His promises and choose to believe the words that fill my head on a daily basis.  And I'll keep praising my Savior, whether I feel like it or not, because He gave me the greatest gift of all.

You stay the same through the ages
Your love never changes
There may be pain in the night
But joy comes in the morning

And when the oceans rage
I don't have to be afraid
Because I know that You love me
Your love never fails

You make all things work together for my good

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.  Romans 8:28 (ESV)

Going Public {sort of}

No, I don't have big and exciting news, but I am finally ready to share a little bit about what's been going on "behind the scenes" in our lives.

What I'm about to share is viewed as controversial in many circles, which is why I've chosen to hold out for as long as I have.  It's also the reason I've chosen to do some purging of my Facebook friends recently -- not because I distrust or dislike certain people, but because I feel the need for more privacy due to where we are on this journey.

The circumstances in my life right now is a reality I never expected to face, but it is my reality and I don't feel like I can fully be myself if I'm not able to be more open about it.

So here we go...

I've mentioned on this blog before that Scott & I went through an IVF cycle back in 2010, and that this cycle failed.  We were heartbroken to lose several embryos in that process, but thankful for the 2 who were able to be frozen for future attempt(s).

Unfortunately, it wasn't long afterward that we found out my body couldn't support a pregnancy.  Ever.  Suddenly we were in a position we had never dreamed of being in.  We had 2 embryos, and no womb to put them in.

Surrogacy was our only option.

After 2 torturous years of waiting and praying, we were finally able to give one of our tiny babies the chance at life that he/she deserved.  Everything went perfect on the technical side, and we even got an early positive pregnancy result, but sadly we lost our precious baby a few short days later.

We are now in the beginning stages of giving our last tiny baby a chance at life.

I have a separate blog where both me and our surrogate have been posting, but I'm not quite ready to go completely public with that site yet.  Right now I would covet your support and prayers as we walk the complex road that is surrogacy.  It has been draining on us emotionally, mentally, physically, and financially.

The latter is what has prompted me to write this blog post.

I hate asking for money.  HATE it.  But our surrogate (who is an amazing gift from God) is heading up a fund-raising campaign and is confident that God is going to provide what we need in order to pay for our next attempt.  I wish my faith was as strong...  I'm working on that (I say that a lot, huh?).  Please don't feel obligated to give, but if you want to...  I would be humbled and grateful beyond words.  I have included the widget below (with our first "mini-goal" total) for anyone who wishes to donate.  You can also donate via our merchandise shop that my talented friend Jenn has designed and created for us.

More than monetary donations though, I would ask for your prayers. 

I so desperately want this little one to live... and right now I can't even muster up a glimmer of hope (7 years of infertility will do that to you).

Losing this baby after waiting, hoping, and praying for him/her for 2 long years has been devastating to me...  and I'm petrified of losing our last little one. 

I know that all I can do is cling to Jesus and try to trust His plan... even though I may never understand it.

Saturday Scavenger

Today I am linking up with Thelma over at Life as Two for Saturday Scavenger!  Head on over to her blog tomorrow if you want to see if I made the cut.  :)

The clues for this week are:

An old book
Something that begins with the letter 'R'
Something in your favourite colour

#1 - An old book:

This book belonged to my great grandmother's sister, Belle Wisehart.  There is no publishing date inside; it simply reads:  "The Holiday Publishing Company, Buffalo & New York."  There is a handwritten inscription that indicates it belonged to my Aunt Belle in the year 1906, so I'd say that's pretty darn old!

#2 - Something that begins with the letter 'R':

How 'bout a Row of Rowdy Roosters?  :D

#3 - Something in my favorite color:

I love purple, and this quilt was hand-stitched by my great grandmother.  Each square is 3/4 of an inch, and with the help of my number-crunching husband, we calculated that there are over 9,600 of those little squares.  That is mind-blowing to me.  She did this by HAND, people!  I can't even imagine how long it took her to do that intricate work... Here's a bonus, close-up picture of the stitching. 

Fix-it Man

You know those guys who can fix just about anything?  That's my dad.  When I was growing up we never called an electrician.  We never used a plumber.  We never took our cars to a mechanic.  He was the house painter, roofer, appliance repairman, jeweler and every tradesman in between.  My dad fixed everything.  Okay, perhaps not *everything*, but it certainly seemed this way from a child's perspective, and there was something very reassuring about that.  Even now that I'm grown and married, I will still occasionally come to him with something that is in need of repair. 

There is one broken thing in my life right now that I know he'd fix if he could, but it's something that not even the best of doctors have been able to cure. 

My infertility. 

Oh how I wish I could place my broken body in his gentle hands, just like I did with a tangled necklace or busted toy when I was a little girl. 

I know my dad's heart breaks for me.  He doesn't have to verbalized this; he and I have a connection that often allows us to communicate without words.  What father wouldn't be deeply grieved to watch his daughter go through the most heartbreaking experience of her life, while he stands by utterly helpless to alleviate that pain?

A few weeks ago my dad was at our house to drop off a bookcase.  As he climbed in his van to leave, he paused and asked me if there was a specific shop where I was planning to take my digital piano to be repaired.  I answered his question about the repair shop and then he said, "I'm going to get your piano fixed."

"You don't have to," I said.

"I know.  But I want to." 

At that moment, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and that telltale giant lump in my throat.  I could read in his pain-filled eyes, words that didn't have to be spoken.  His eyes said he was tired of seeing his little girl in pain, and he so desperately wished he could repair her broken body. 

His eyes said, "As much as I wish I could fix you, I can't.  Please let me fix this." 

Thank you, Daddy.  I wish you could, too.  I love you. 

♥