Everything And Nothing.

I have everything to say and nothing to say all at the same time.

I looked back at the last birthday post for Matthew...one year ago today.

Heartbroken as I was, I was in such a different place.  A place of restored hope and belief that I was again happy on this earth and would get to be happy in Heaven too.

This year, his birthday has hit me much harder.

I've since lost another child.  That certainly colors my optimism of last year, I guess.

Last year, I was 50-50 for bringing home a baby to raise.

This year, I'm 1 for 3.

And done.  No more to come.

Why should that have anything to do with Matthew's birthday this year?

It shouldn't.

But I'd be lying if I said it didn't.

Two weeks ago, out of the blue, I was overcome with emotion.  Standing in church, singing a song I wasn't really even into, much less really moved by, and my mind wandered.

Wandered to the last breath that Matthew took.

What was that like? Was he scared?  Did he know?  Did it hurt? Did he know I wasn't with him?

Thankful that I did not have to be there to witness it.

Isn't that terrible?  I would have given anything in the world to hold that baby as he left this world...let him know his mama loved him and would be with him every second she could.

But I am so, so, SO thankful that I don't really know what that was like because I think I'd have committed suicide that night.  Truly.  The flashbacks and the PTSD I suffer from his birth and death are bad enough.

My greatest regret is not being able to get to the hospital and hold him, and yet, such a blessing to my mental health as well because there's no doubt in my mind I'd have made my last breath not too much longer after his.

I have not been sleeping for weeks.  I've been depressed.  My therapist said it stood to reason...these are pretty heavy-duty days.  My husband is leaving soon.  I should be in the throes of newborn-hood and instead am now mourning two boys and the knowledge that my child-bearing days are over.  I'm still regulating from high doses of hormones and Matthew's birthday is here....but he's not.

Whew.  I guess she's right.

Still, not much to say.
Spend a lot of days going through the motions again.
Wishing I could stop intrusive and morbid thoughts about Matthew from invading normal moments in my life.
Riding the roller coaster I feel like will never end.

Blissful with Luke and debilitatingly heartbroken at the same time.

Not at all how I'd like to be spending Matthew's third birthday.

Some birthday post, huh?

To me, though, every day is like his birthday was.

The best and worst day of my life.

One of the happiest times in my life!  A day to celebrate...

....What should have been

...But Never Was.

Confessions From "That Mom"...

I've never denied it.

As a teacher for many, many years, I saw parenting styles that made me cringe.  Don't get me wrong...I saw far, far more that gave (and still give) me some of the best parenting examples I know.

But some.  Oh, some...some made me so angry.

Sick, literally, if I am honest.  Just complete and total disgust for some people who totally took for granted the precious children they'd been given.

Of course, I knew that would NEVER, EVER be me.

And obviously, it's not.

I've come to realize, though, that I still am "That Mom," and you know what?

I dig it.


You know her.  You know you do.  She's the one you look at and think, "Wow.  The AAP recommends no TV for children under two and that kid is watching an iPad at Olive Garden. OMG."


"That Mom" who gives her kid juice without it being watered down.
Guilty.

"That Mom" who lets her kid stay up waaaaaayyyyyyyyy later than he probably should because we are all having too good a time visiting and as long as he's not crying, good enough for me.  Yes, we may pay for it the next day...but the memories made the night before?

Priceless.

I'm the mom who gives in and gives her kid a cookie at 8:30 in the morning.

He has an iTouch and works it like a champ.

Yep, we take it with us to restaurants, and he plays with it and watches videos (the same handful of Sesame Street, WonderPets and YoGabba we have seen a hundred times).

I bribe him.

With candy.

To wear his coat.  To sit still for half a second to take a picture.  To sit on the potty.  To give Daddy a kiss.

The boy loves his Skittles and Smarties.

I take him to therapy to work on feeding skills.  Yes, there is such a thing.

Yes, people laugh at me and think I am hovering over him and can't believe I'd waste good money on trying to get a picky toddler to eat.

I don't care.

I used to.

But I don't anymore.

My kid is happy.  He is healthy.  Given a handful of cookies or brownies over a handful of cheerios, he'd choose cheerios because they were 'safe' and 'known'.  Don't believe me?  Ask his therapist.  She tells me every time we go that a 'picky' eater would gobble up what he was holding out for and Luke will take a bite of cookie, decide it's not the cookie he is familiar with, and be done with it.
There's more to him not eating than him just being a picky toddler.

And I don't care if anyone believes that or not.


I think I've spent the better part of his life trying very, very hard not to be 'judged' as a parent.  Not to be too overprotective and give people the pleasure of saying, "Well, she's just that way because...well, you know...she needs to get over that so that Luke will have a 'normal' childhood."

Or, I've known that Luke has his little 'quirks', and the teacher in me has been working feverishly at home with him and all sorts of sensory integration exercises so that he's 'normal' to everyone.  To my friends.  My family.  My colleagues.


Every day, I realize more and more that he really is going to be it.  The one I get to raise.  The one I pour everything into.

And I am completely, completely, completely ok being "That Mom."

Life is too short.  And I could be Mom Of The Year and someone, somewhere would still judge me.  There is never, ever pleasing everyone, so as long as John and I raise Luke to be the man God wants him to be, I'm happy.

Luke knows he is loved.  He has a wonderful, wonderful life.  We often joke about how nice it would be to live the "Life of Luke!" because basically, it rocks.

Every decision I make is made in his best interest.  Could I be more hardcore?

Sure I could. And every time I get "That Look" or hear "That Tone" of voice from another mom, I cringe a little and wonder whether or not my "Mom" account just lost a ton of points.

But no more.  Tonight John said something...I don't even remember what it was, but my response was, "So what?  I'm completely ok with the parenting I do."

And I am.

So he has a love affair with Skittles?

He has an amazing vocabulary.  He already has a hysterical sense of humor.  He is focused.  He is driven.  He has a wonderful attention span.  He has manners.  He's sweet to kitties and puppies.  He loves to read and he can entertain himself for long periods of time.  He sings songs about Jesus and smiles at me like I am the most brilliant thing he's ever seen.

Good enough for me.

"This Is Me Now"...A Raffle!

Oh.My.Heart.

I never, ever cease to not cry when I read John's blog Act of Kindness about the missionary work he and his family are doing in Kyrgyzstan, particularly in the orphanages.

This is a small story he posted the other day.  From John's blog:


"There is a new boy at the orphanage today .  He spent some time living on the streets after the passing of his parents.  There is more to the story, but you get the idea.   Life has not been easy for him.  He has had to face more in a few short years then most of us will in a life time.. yet he is not BROKEN.... he is PATCHED.    After spending the afternoon doing crafts, interacting with the kids he began to loosen up, then Andy sat at the piano and started to play , a little honky tonk , a hymn or two then "Amazing Grace"  at which point there was a smile that came over this young boys face filled the room 

  You would think that language would be a difficult barrier , but when you approach with genuine LOVE, it really does not have to be difficult... in fact maybe what this young boy  needed was the security of knowing he did not need to talk, but just be..... Before we left, he did want Andy to take a little message home with him  .. he drew this little picture , then told Andy with a little smile "This is me now"

This child...this sweet, sweet boy who has seen and lives a life so filled with heartache that so many of us can hardly fathom living and still breathing...he wanted them to know that now that he was in the sights of the missionaries and their work, he felt his heart wasn't broken anymore, but patched.

Patched.

How many days have I felt so the same?  Knowing my heart has been broken into so many pieces, and yet miraculously, so much more often than not, the patches that God has given to me have just been...well, like I said--miraculous.

Life-changing.

Truly, my heart has been patched too, and in life-changing ways.

Matthew's birthday is in 16 days.  My sweet boy would be three years old.  Watching Luke run around and becoming such a fun and funny little almost two-year old (gasp!), I can't help but wonder how much like his brother he'd be. 

What would my Matthew be like?

The birth and death of that little boy changed my life.  I've always had a passion to help those who needed it (I wear the title of "Bleeding Heart" proudly), and especially children.  I cannot do much to 'parent' Matthew, but in his memory, I can certainly do things to help other children.

Children with broken lives and broken hearts who need our help to patch them.

John Wright and those who help him restore hope for the future for those children.  They share love with those children and let them know that broken hearts CAN survive...with the blessings of patches given lovingly by those who care.

Where would any of us be without the 'patches' we've been given?

So my sweet friend Karie at Two Kwik Kwilters has again offered a prize to be raffled and all proceeds will go to the Pie Challenge for Christmas parties for the orphans in Kyrgyzstan.  She has offered to make either an awesome iPad/tablet case or an adorable cosmetic/whatever-else-you'd-like-it-to-be bag. 

Some of Karie's creations!  The little bag in the front left is the "Cosmetic Bag."  It is so cute and versatile!

My favorite sample of the "Cosmetic Bag!"

iPad/Tablet Cover example!

Another BEAUTIFUL iPad/Tablet cover!

She is talented, talented, talented and the winner will be able to choose what she/he wants and in what fabrics!  Fun for you, or an awesome way to score a great Christmas gift AND give love to orphans across the world.

To enter the drawing, please do two things for me. First, just donate $5 to the ChipIn I created.  I'll enter your name for once every $5 you donate, and Luke will pick a winner when it's done.  If you'd like to donate directly to the Contest page, you can, just be SURE to let me know you have, so I can enter your name in the drawing.

Second, please go to Karie's Facebook page and "Like" her.  She is generous beyond belief to so many of my heart's desires, and I'd love to say thank you.  Karie is at 125 "Likes" as of the creation of this post.  For every "Like" she gets between now and December 5, I will donate an extra dollar. Even if they are likes that are not associated with the drawing!  How easy is that?  Heck, we could meet the challenge on "Likes" alone!

I know I say this every year, but seriously.  Think about what $5 does for you on an average day.

A cup of coffee.

A breakfast at some fast food place.

A Sunday paper for a few weeks.

Or the most amazing thing you can imagine—smiles on the faces of children who feel forgotten and unloved.  Joy in knowing you are telling them that they are KNOWN and LOVED.

Priceless, friends.  Priceless.

Talk about how cheap it is to patch precious little hearts.

Thank you in advance for your help and support.

Crushing...

Luke has been on this "Mommy Only" kick.

I can't lie; I don't mind it that much.  I love when he wakes up in the middle of the night and mumbles, "Mama, Mama," and then goes right back to sleep.  Daddy is getting a raw deal if honest, because Luke is not being as nice to him as he could...I told John it's a phase, and my time of wistfulness while he's all about Daddy will come.

Which leads me to those moments when my heart is so overwhelmed with love and gratitude for Luke...but mixed with aching and longing for what should have been.

I rocked Luke this evening, as normally I do, and as I started to sing, he started to say, "Night-night..." which is typically his cue to me that he's ready to go to his crib and go to sleep.  Or at least have some "Luke time" and then go to sleep.  So, I put him in bed, said my good-nights and left.

About thirty minutes later, he's still up, and he started to stand up and cry for me.  I figured I might have better luck rocking him and singing when I went back in and I was right.  He wanted Mama, but as I sat with him in and started to rock and sing, he started pulling out all his tricks to make me laugh...raising his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, laughing with squinty eyes and wide open mouth to make me giggle, and singing all his songs so I would sing with him.  He started singing his ABCs, and then giggling to get me to join.  Then he started to sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star ("Inkle, Inkle") and of course, I sang with him.  As he played with my face and was telling me where my nose and my eyes were, he started saying, "unshine? unshine?" and then started to hum the tune...hoping to get me to join.

I did.  How could I not?

But I cried.  As that sweet boy went all out to show me just how darned cute he was, I thought about how I should know what that joy feels like THREE times.

I should have experienced it with Matthew.
I should look forward to it with Trey.

I should get those sweet, priceless moments with THREE different baby boys and I only get it with one.

Which is one more than so many ever dream of...I know that.

But still.

The weight of what I miss with those boys sometimes screams at me the loudest in the quiet, dark, night time moments with Luke..moments when I realize how amazing it is to be able to have those big brown eyes look at me with nothing but pure love and innocence and how priceless those never-to-be-had moments with my other boys would be.

That weight crushes my soul sometimes.

Like right now.

Snippets Of Where I Was...

I wrote this letter to Luke a month and three days before he was born.  Thirty-five months ago, today, his brother was born.  So much different; so much the same.

Sweet Little Luke,

It’s important you know how Mommy was feeling today. I know that you will grow up in a slightly different way than many others, though you should also know that all of us pretty much do!  You, however, will grow up with a big brother you never knew and it’s my job to make sure you know as much about him and his place in our family as you can.

I cleaned out your brother’s room today.  I know it will be your room also, but it was and always will be Matthew’s first.  This is not written to be disrespectful to you; it’s simply the way it is.  I don’t think anyone finds it ok to say, “Well, mom’s dead so the next mom can have all her stuff.”  Therefore, I don’t find it ok to think that because your brother is dead, we need to pretend that room has always been meant for you, or things bought for him were somehow ‘meant’ to be bought for you because he died and you lived.  Acknowledging that it was Matthew’s nursery and Matthew’s things I cleaned out is just acknowledging life.  More specifically, his life, and I won’t ever, ever, ever act as if everything said, done, felt or bought for Matthew wasn’t and isn’t real and true.  The length of life lived does not determine one’s standing in the family, nor is it interchangeable or replaceable. 

But that doesn’t mean that it will not be any less yours.  Several things are in the works for you.  Our sweet friend Miss Amy is making your nursery set.  It’s really adorable, an Under the Sea theme, and your daddy and I love it.  I’ve also ordered some sweet decals for your walls, and Miss Stephanie is making you some awesome art with your name to match your room.  You’ve received several kind and thoughtful gifts, and mommy has been buying things for you since the day we found out you were part of our lives.  I’ve been meaning and meaning to take pictures of things you’ve been given and that I’ve bought for you and I was able to today after I took Matthew’s things down and out of the room.   There are a lot of pictures, obviously, but I want you to always know that you’ve been very loved and very hoped for before you even existed.  I never want you to doubt that.

Though hard, I can’t say that cleaning the room out was the hardest thing I’ve had to do.  I can’t even say it’s at the top of the list.  I’ve had  to hear your daddy say, “He’s not breathing, Lori.  They’re doing CPR,” and “Lori, I’m so sorry.  He’s gone.  I’m so sorry.”  I’ve had to hear the NICU doctor tell me, “Your son is a very, very sick little boy and we’re going to try to do what we can to save him,” as she looked at me knowing that I’d never see him again.  I’ve had to decide what songs to play at my son’s funeral…pick out what he’d wear in his coffin.  I’ve had smile even though my world was shattered.  I bring flowers to a grave that marks where your brother’s body is.

Cleaning out the nursery was hard, but sadly, just one more in the list of things that breaks my heart.  I’m getting to the point where I think I’m just numb to them. I didn’t cry for the most part…but when I came across Matthew’s First Thanksgiving outfit, I did.  When I cleaned out his diaper bag, I did.  When I read what your daddy wrote to him in the book he bought for him, I did.  When I took his curtains down, I did.  When I took all his first Christmas outfits out of the room, I did. 

I guess I cried more than I thought. 

I took a ton of pictures before and took video.  One of my fears is that I won’t be able to remember.  I can’t remember where my keys are most days…I can only imagine how time will chip away my memories of all the happy preparations that were made in anticipation of Matthew.  I don’t want to lose any of that.

So, his room is now ready for you, his little brother.  I anticipate it will be decorated in the next few weeks, and most everything that we’ll need to use with you for the first several weeks is waiting to be used.  It’s been waiting for nearly a year to be used, and unlike me, holds no attachment for whom it was meant to be used.  I can say that as time has passed, I am able to lose some of the attachment as well.  After Matthew died, I couldn’t dream of using just about anything of his for any one else, much less another child.  When your only child dies, the only things he gets to ‘keep’ are those you make sure are only his—clothes, toys, ornaments, shower venues, certain books…different things.  I’ve been able to get to the point where some things I can now contemplate sharing with you.  Not because I probably would have passed them on to you anyway (I HATE THAT ARGUMENT!), but because I know that they are just clothes.  Some clothes are special for Matthew only, and had he lived, would have been that way regardless.  But most clothes do not hold the memories they would had he lived and worn them, and I can see them for what they are—clothes with maybe  a vague memory of me buying them. 

And now your things will go in and wait for you.  It’s hard to believe  that won’t be very long now.  I have to admit that as I was getting things I’ve bought you ready to wash, I found it hard to believe I’d actually bring you home.  There’s no medical reason for me to believe that, it’s just very surreal still.  In any event, know you are loved and cherished and we cannot wait to meet you!

All my love,
Mommy

Struggling...

There's no point in trying to deny it; that's pretty much how I am functioning.

Still, though...I'm struggling.

I can't even pretend that I'm not.  I mean, I can...and sometimes I am just because life has its expectations, and that's what one does.

But I'm struggling.  Struggling to smile.  Struggling not to cry.  Struggling to keep my head above water.  Struggling to sleep.  Struggling to stay awake.  Struggling to eat.  Struggling not to throw up.  Struggling to stop struggling because MY HEAD KNOWS I AM SO LUCKY.  I AM SO BLESSED.

My heart, though?  My heart hurts.  I feel like it's just drowning in wistfulness every time I turn my head.

My mind races...making connections with everything and everyone and I hate it.  Lady in front of me at Target?  A baby about Luke's age and a big brother about Matthew's...and very visibly pregnant.

My heart screams, "It's a boy and that should be YOU!"

New babies and new pregnancies are all around me.  I am thrilled beyond thrilled for all of them.

My heart screams, "NEVER AGAIN YOU.  NO MORE FOR YOU."

We told Shady Grove that we felt like it was time to withdraw from the Shared Risk program.  I was hoping Dr. K would say something like, "Well, Lori, I certainly understand if you feel it's time.  You've been through so much.  If you should decided to keep trying, though, I still feel like we'd have success and this is what I'd do..."

Instead, I heard, "Well, the plus to the Shared Risk program is the more chances you have, the more chance you will get pregnant." (Not interested in the 'Even the Blind Squirrel Gets a Nut Theory'...Maybe our nuts were in January.)  I also heard, "Well, I think we've tweaked the medicine about as much as we can.  We'd probably just hope for better response."

Hope.  That's a fickle word.

The biggest thing I heard that makes me pretty much realize we are done with trying to have more children is Dr. K mentioning he felt I'd have much greater success with egg donation.

Don't get me wrong...blood does not make a bit of difference to me.  Before Luke, I contemplated egg donation and wouldn't blink an eye if that's what we had to do in order to raise a child.

But we don't.  We have Luke.  And while I feel like the desire to raise more children has been laid on my heart since I realized that girls can grow up to be Mommies....I begged and begged and BEGGED God to just let me have Luke.

I plead with Him for 34 weeks and one day to just let me bring that baby home and to love him and raise him...and if He did, I'd never, ever, EVER ask for another thing.

So to ask again...and to go to those lengths—more time, more trauma for my body, WAY more money in medicine and more interruption in our family—only to have either failure, or God forbid, success and then MORE loss?

I just don't know.

Well, I do know.  I have to accept this place.  This person.  This life.

I feel horrible.  There are so many horrible and terrible things going on in this world.  So much pain and suffering and loss.

My days are filled with the love and giggles of the most amazing little boy in the world...planning fall activities and trips to Disney World and things to do when Daddy deploys...

I am so blessed beyond belief, and I am ashamed of just how hard it is for me right now.  I have more than many people dream of in their wildest dreams.

And still...I'm struggling with want and heartache.  I'm struggling with grief for the losses I've had and the realization that every time I rock Luke to sleep, it may be the last night he lets me...he's growing up so fast.  My heart hurts so much missing days that haven't even happened yet.

Ridiculous.  I know all of this is ridiculous and I just have to get through this.  I've had a lot going on in the last few weeks...months...year....three years...and more to come with Daddy deploying and the acceptance of different stages of our lives.  Hormones are still equalizing.  And honestly, I NEVER struggle to smile or be genuinely happy with that precious boy of mine, and I am just grateful that I have him with me all the time.  What a blessing just to be able to stay home with him and not miss anything I don't have to.

Please pray for a sweet friend who delivered her sweet little girl last week and her precious little boy today...and mourns them both as they have both died and gone to Heaven.

Please pray for the children in Kyrgyzstan who will remain there and not with their families because of political turmoil.  To know my child was alive...but without me...would tear my heart out.

Please pray for my sister.  Her lupus is really bad.

Please pray for sweet friends who have lost babies in the last months, and are having enduring complications.  Insult to injury.

Perspective.  Perspective.  Perspective.  Pray for my perspective to come back.

I may be struggling, but it could be so much worse.

Was Looking Forward To...

...another birthday in our family today.

I don't care what anyone says or how anyone feels and I sure has heck don't care about what anyone else's view on when life begins is or whether or not my heart feels as great a loss today as it will, again, on November 28.

In MY family, this little boy is and will always be as much a Big Brother as he is a Little Brother.

Sad I have to explain to him one day how that can be...grateful I'll be able to explain with full confidence where his brothers are.

Numb Is Not Always A Bad Thing...

When my mom died, I was shocked.  We knew she had cancer; knew it was serious...but she'd been in treatment for year, and her oncologist told us that even though her cancer had metastasized, she had 4-6 months left withOUT more treatment, and she was doing treatment.

So when I got the news that she died, only 4 weeks after he said that, I was shocked.

Numb.

For a long time.

When John's dad died, we were not surprised.  He had been valiantly fighting his cancer for nearly 6 years, and when it metastasized to the brain, and he went into hospice, we pretty much knew what was coming...and we dreaded every phone call because it could have been the one.

Not numb.  Wishing we were.  Wishing we had that 'protection' of dumbfounded, if you will.

When Matthew died, shocked doesn't even begin to define our surprise.

Numb for a long time, that doesn't even begin to cover my emotions either.  Intense, raw and the most painful I'd ever known, and yet...

I was numb.

That's how this week has been...sort of.  Intense and raw emotions, and yet, numb at the same time.

I mean, honestly, if you look at the things going on this week, you almost have to just laugh at how ridiculously ill-timed it all is.

All in a week:
Our last cycle? Negative.  No More Babies. Ever.
A lump?  Cancer?  Maybe no more Mommy?
Oh, don't forget...tomorrow would be the big day!  Got my offer from Shutterfly in the mail today for the birth announcements I should need...probably using a picture I'd take tomorrow.

If his heart hadn't stopped beating.

I've sort of looked at this week in that way===> just ridiculously ridiculous.  So much going on it's hard to believe, and yet, nothing in my control, so I might as well remember I'm that girl who puts on the smiley face and makes the funny, often sarcastic jokes.

Coping mechanisms of my whole life...and very successful, for the most part.

So I really was not worried this morning.  Seriously.  What were the odds?  I mean, I know I am GREAT at beating them (except in the last cycle, of course), but still.  Surely, it was going to be fine.

And it was.  I was told I had nice, young looking and dense breast tissue (ha ha) and neither the mammogram nor the ultrasound showed anything but that...a place/band of really dense, thick tissue.  I'm skinny.  That's not news.  Skinnier than normal, I guess, and that means less fatty tissue and more opportunity to feel new, dense tissue.  Throw in the hormones of enormous proportion affecting the shape and molding of the dense tissue, and my ability to feel more in my thinner self...and in the end, there's nothing even really to biopsy.  The surgeon will still consult with me, but really, for measure and not concern.

I've turned off most feelings this week.  Most.  Self-preservation, whatever...grateful for every single second with my boy and focus on the fact that still, my life is so much greater than the lives of so many.

There are far worse things than pouring all your time, love, efforts and resources into one sweet little miracle.  I look at my clinic's FB page every day, and know that I am so lucky.

I could easily say it's not fair that we lost Matthew...and Trey...and that of the four fresh transfers I've done, the one that DOESN'T work is of course, our last.  I could say that losing my mother and John losing his father to cancer isn't fair.

Oh, there's so much I could say isn't fair.  And it is SO not.

Neither are innocent children dying all over the world because their mothers can't feed or hydrate them.
Neither are people who are persecuted simply because they believe.
Neither are those who suffer neglect, cruelty and abuse in epic proportions.
Neither are people suffering life-threatening illnesses...especially little ones with long lives they should live.

SO MUCH IS NOT FAIR.

I am beyond grateful that the pain of so many others is not my pain.

And I'm grateful for being numb sometimes.  It's not always a bad thing.

The End.

I went ahead and had my blood drawn yesterday afternoon.  A few hours isn't going to make a difference.

It was negative.

I will never again carry a miracle within me.  Never know again what sweet little baby kicks feel like when Mommy eats Skittles (which, by the way, Luke loves).  Never be able to scan another face, desperate for any signs of Matthew or what Trey may have looked like.  Never watch Daddy lose all hints of "Manly Marine" and go goo-goo ga-ga over his precious newborn.

No Hannah.  No William. (The names another boy and girl would have had.)

I'm sure many are thinking, "Don't count yourself out...." and have some story of some woman who ended up with a surprise pregnancy when she least expected it.

Yeah, not interested.  When you spend as many years and dollars as we have pursuing just about every modern technology available to bring children into your lives, you don't give 'those' stories credence.

Of course, they happen.

Just not to me.  I'm the story of the lady with babies who die.

************

I'm also the story of the lady who is blessed beyond measure.  A dear friend told me that when she read about how I was saying it would be just my luck to end up with cancer, she was thinking about how lucky I was with Luke.

And she is SO right.  He is the song in my heart and one of the most amazing gifts I've ever been given.  He is proof that God can and does create all things new and I am often just at a loss for words to describe just what he does for my heart and soul.  For his Daddy's too.

I told another friend yesterday...in light of how it ALL has turned out...I still would not change a thing.  I'd do every treatment, go through every heartache and roller coaster ride, cry every tear and plea every plea all over again just for the privilege I've been given to mother the babies I have.  I'd obviously prefer that ALL were with me here on this earth.

Given that they aren't, the joy of knowing and loving them for whatever time I was given is enough to last my lifetime.

And it will.

*************

We have several more opportunities to do more fresh cycles.  We are withdrawing from the program, though.  The last two cycles have been pretty indicative of what is going on with my body as it ages (gasp, I know...39) and my plea to God was to have 'one last shot' at bringing a brother or sister Luke could grow up with into our lives.  Two weeks ago, I was begging Him to allow us to have at least two beautiful embryos to transfer and to accept whatever happened after.

God is good.  I was given exactly what I asked for and more.  Not only did I have two—two BEAUTIFUL, perfect looking embryos (even prettier than Matthew's and Luke's!), I had a third.  God gave that lab a miraculous ability to rescue more embryos and we had a THIRD embryo to transfer.  I didn't mention it, but another embryo actually kept growing a few more days, which was, in itself a miracle and we thought we might be able to freeze it.  Sadly, it arrested right before freeze.  And still, a dear friend told me, "What an opportunity to give God glory."

So right.  Though I would love nothing more than to bring another baby into our lives, I am not willing to put our family (or my body, in light of this lump) through any more trauma...no more interruptions in our lives because of treatments.  No more copious and crazy amounts of money on drugs—money that should and could go to Luke.

We are blessed.  We've always thought raising another child would just be icing on the cake that is Luke.

Not that I would not love more of that icing.  Who wouldn't?  It's so flipping delicious that it makes you CRAVE it.

But I'm grateful for the cake I have...it's sweeter than I ever imagined it could be.

**************

I am so grateful for the most amazing messages and texts and calls and gifts that I've been given.  Facebook has it's faults, for sure, but it also is such a nice way for a girl to feel the love.  I have to share about a gift I received yesterday—I'll ask my friend if she's ok with me sharing her company, but it's one that makes adorable scarves.  I got home from my doctor appointment yesterday and out of the blue, a package was delivered to me.  It had a sweet pink and white scarf in it and the most precious note.  I couldn't even read it because I was crying so much.  The note told me the she'd read my blog for years (we were acquaintances in college) and was touched by my post on the October 3 about how breast cancer and pregnancy loss were close to my heart.  She just felt she needed to make me a scarf, one that had been designed for her cousin, a breast cancer survivor, and that would be able to remind me of my mother when I wore it.  For my heart, and my heart alone, she added two little butterfly charms—one for Matthew and one for Trey—so they could be with me.  I don't even think she knows that my mother was a HUGE butterfly lover (she had a bumper sticker that said, "I brake for butterflies!" and on the day of her funeral, butterflies were EVERY WHERE)....nor does she probably know that when we were looking at gravesites for Matthew, standing under a beautiful poplar tulip tree on a cold, cold December day in Maryland, a sweet little yellow butterfly came by...and we knew that was the spot.  I see those little butterflies all over the place here in NC, and Luke calls them out every time.

My point?  That scarf coming to me in those colors, for that purpose, with those charms, YESTERDAY?????? God-given reminders that He is with us always.

Of that, I have no doubt.

****************

I think that I have a lot of things to process.  I think it will not be easy, as I am a hormonal mess and there are some upcoming dates that are sure to tug at my heart.  Even once the hormones peter out, the acceptance of many things not in my control is one with which I have to deal, as do we all.

So as I do, I appreciate all the love, care and concern.  It is all such a blessing to me.

As are these sweet boys in my life.

A Pregnancy Test In Perspective...

I am not really a big fan of drama, yet I always seem to somehow be in it.

So, I have kept it quiet because I wanted to see what the doctor said.  I saw him a little bit ago.

He wants an immediate ultrasound, mammogram and biopsy.

No, not talking about pregnancy testing...

On Saturday, I found a lump in my breast.  I have not really slept since then.

Since my mom died of breast cancer, I've been very diligent in doing self-checks. As I am basically doing the EXACT opposite of what her oncologist told me: "NEVER do hormone replacement therapy!", I am hyper-vigilant in monitoring myself for anything even hinting of breast cancer.

There is definitely a decent-sized lump and it is definitely new and not normal to me.

I spent most of Sunday Dr. Googling.  There was every possibility this is just something related to hormonal craziness in my body.  There still is, though...the wonderful doctor I saw today feels like it's atypical for me to start reacting to crazy hormones in my body with cysts all of a sudden.

I mean, for real.  I've been doing this a while.  Never had any 'reaction' like this.

He felt it, and was 'encouraged' by the fact that it was movable.  He did not feel it was fluid-filled, and called it a solid mass.  He said that if I was any woman off the street, he'd probably think it was fine, but given my mother's and my history, this was nothing to play around with and so he was going to be aggressive in finding out what we are dealing with and take care of it.

To the extent that we can.

I really do not like the drama factor in all of this...wouldn't that just be my luck?  "Poor Lori...all she's been through and now this?"

But it is what it is, and I'm just going to take things bit by bit as they come.

I go in for an ultrasound and mammogram (unless I am pregnant) on October 19, unless there are cancellations that can get me in sooner.  I go in for the biopsy on the 25th.

Puts a pregnancy test in perspective, huh?  As much as I'd love another baby, I'd sure like to be around for the little boy in his room fighting a nap right now.

As if this was not all fun enough, the room I sat in this morning was on the other side of a woman who was almost 39 weeks doing her NST.

THAT'S what I should have been doing there...listening to my baby's heartbeat and getting ready to deliver him Saturday.

Not all this mess.

Twenty-One Months of AMAZING!!!!

I find it harder and harder to believe that my sweet little Luke is closer to a two-year old than he is a one-year old.  I don't know how these days go by so.flipping.quickly.

He is 21 months today.  Twenty-one months!!!!!!  He is seriously more and more fun every day.  He has brought us so much joy and happiness, and I honestly just don't know that I ever would have believed I could be so madly in love with him.  There has never, ever been any doubt that I would love any and all babies entrusted to me as a mother, but the healing that Luke has brought into our lives and in my heart is nothing short of miraculous.

Truly, I was given a new heart, and this little boy has every single inch of it covered with my devotion.

He is a funny boy.  He loves to laugh, and somewhat sadistically, he laughs at us when we 'cry,' or rather, when we pretend to.  We joke about how he shouldn't get so much glee out of us bumping our knee on the table and screaming, "Ouuuuuuuccccccchhhhh!" but he does...and it's hard not to laugh at his laughing at us.

More, he does NOT like it when I cry.  He gets a very, very, very uncomfortable look on his face, and it's because he does not really ever see me cry and it makes him feel unsettled.  This makes my heart so happy—not that he is unsettled, but that me crying is such a foreign thing to him that he doesn't know what to make of it.

And let's face it—there is never any reason but to be completely joy-filled when I am with him.

He is talking, talking, talking.  Non-stop.  All the time.  Babble, words...makes no difference.  He just talks or sings  all.day.long.  I could not be happier.  I joke that when he starts making sense, I am in big trouble!  He repeats the last word of EVERY thing he hears and everyone notes it—"Wow, he repeats everything, doesn't he?"

Yes.  Yes he does!  Still not putting too many two-word phrases together, but I'm not really worried.  His vocabulary is strong enough and he talks so much (and so quickly, again, like his mama) that he could do just fine communicating with individual words for the rest of his life.

Like his daddy, ba dum dum.

He is thinning out...still has his chubby little chipmunk cheeks, but his little body is getting leaner and leaner.  We are calling him "Droopy Drawers" because his little bum won't keep pants up for anything. Adjustable waist is our new best friend!

Eating?  So.not.fun.  He just doesn't want to eat more than his 6 or 7 staples.  Nothing.  No way, no how, nothing doing.  I've tried EVERYTHING, believe me.  We've joked that he's a lazy eater, his teachers have commented that he's definitely pickier than most and may have an issue with chewing, and frankly, the list of things he will eat is getting too small for my comfort level.

Add that in with some sensory issues I feel he may be having and I've decided to have him evaluated by our local Occupational/Speech Language Therapists.

I put this out here fully expecting to hear, read or know that people are thinking, "She's nuts.  Every kid is picky.  It's a battle of the wills.  Leave him alone.  He'll eat when he's hungry.  She's being neurotic."

I hope all of the above is what his lack of eating and issues with clothing and textures turns out to be.  I would love nothing more than to be told, by professionals, that I am just worrying over nothing.

But I'll let them do that.  And if they have to tell me something different, and that there are things we need to work on, well, then, that's what we will do.

It's my responsibility as his parent to do so.  Whether I'm being neurotic or not, I'm tired of worrying about being thought of that way and then regretting not doing something I wish I had.

Call me crazy.
When the professionals do so, I'll listen.

He loves doggies, trucks, his daddy and all things outside.  One of his favorite things is to get in Daddy's truck and jam in the driver's seat to some crazy tunes.  Currently, it's "The Lint Song," and let me tell you, that is one weird song on a kids' CD.  But he loves it.  He loves, loves, loves music and to sing and bounce to a beat.  Yesterday, in a parking lot, a truck drove by blasting some rap song.  He was in the cart as we were headed to our car, and he just started bouncing up and down to the beat.  The people got out and were laughing and I said, "What can I say?  The boy loves a good beat!"

All day long, yesterday, he kept saying, "Beat? Beat? Beat?" and bouncing.  He cracks me up.

Still a big reader.  He climbs in his chair, opens his book (Still loving Llama Llama!), makes sure it is oriented the correct way, and starts "reading."  I know I am biased, but as a reading teacher, I'm impressed with his ability to mimic our reading at just the right places when he is 'reading' the same book.  I am so glad he loves books like his mama.

I adore him.  Just adore him.  He's starting to realize that he doesn't have to actually listen to me or what I say, and when he tries to exert his will, he's pretty easily redirected.  Oh, we have our little tantrums here and there, but they are few and far between.  And really, when they happen, I find it so easy to just get down on his level, give him a hug, tell him I know he's upset and that we can work on making it better, and just working through it.  I want him to be parented with love and mercy and grace and he makes it very easy to do so.

Except when he's whining, ha ha!  A new thing he picked up from school.  He just has this ghastly moan...not a crier, which has always been nice, but this moan!  Oh.my.word!  Working on curbing that!  He does love school, though, and though I miss him, I am glad we did it.  He learns things and is always happy and his teachers are both really wonderful.  I feel fully that he is in great hands and since he loves it, I love it too.

Happy 21 months, sweet boy of mine.  You are the most amazing little thing in the world and I am so, so, so grateful you call me Mama.

So grateful.

A Lot Going On, Not A Lot To Say...

I know, I know...I've been quiet.

Not really, I've just not been very public.

Lots of thoughts...Breast Cancer Awareness, Pregnancy Loss Awareness—dueling cause month.  Of course, as there are only 12, every month is dueling cause month, but these two causes are obviously sensitive and close to my heart.

It's hard for me to not look at every.single.little newborn and not think about how that should be me in ten days.  It's not really jealousy...just wistful.

Wishful.

Happy for the new mom.  Sad. For me.


When we were told by our adoption agency that we were a week away from a referral, we bought a stuffed sunshine that plays, "You are My Sunshine."

John and I used to sing or write that to each other a million years ago, and we thought a little Emma would like it.

A year and a half later, we prayed a little Matthew would like it and I'd play it for him while he was in my womb.  He definitely recognized it, as he'd always start kicking with glee when he heard it.

A year later, I put it to my stomach every night just praying I'd see a little Luke take a breath...him liking this little sunshine would just be gravy.

When he was born, I played it for him over and over.  He seemed to recognize it, and every now and then, I'd sing, "You are my sunshine," to him.  I won't lie; I could never sing, "My ONLY Sunshine..." I'd replace it with, "My LITTLE Sunshine," because that was such betrayal in my eyes....Replace Matthew with Luke as My Only Sunshine?  Couldn't do it.  He doesn't even know the difference in the words.

I used to, a zillion years ago, know the second verse.  Or, I thought I did.  Something about when skies are cloudy, I think of you, dear, blah, blah, blah.  Luke has a renewed interest in the song; he lights up when I start singing it, so I wanted to see what the second verse really was...

Felt like a punch in the gut.

"The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping...I dreamed I held you in my arms.  When I woke up dear, I was mistaken...so I hung my head and cried."

Dear Lord.  I'll never, ever be able to sing those words.  To type them makes my throat fill up with a softball-sized gulp and big tears on my cheeks.


Lest we forget about the hormones that are outrageously running through my body right now, I'll say that they don't help emotions right now.

John's been crazy busy and every day seems like his career may take a new direction.  It makes my head spin, but it keeps us busy, so that's nice, I guess.

Which all leads to the fact that the pregnancy test is a week from today.  No feelings whatsoever.  Whenever I feel positive, it's negative.  Whenever I feel negative, it's positive.  I sort of feel like it's positive, so I'm not sure how I like feeling that way with my record, but whatever.  It's way too early to tell and next week will be here soon enough.

Funny, huh?  I'm in no hurry for next week.  Either way, it changes a lot of things in my life.  Pregnant...all the emotions/anxiety/and really, expectation of loss that comes with that.  Not pregnant?  The last of our attempts for another baby, and that point in life that every woman comes to, regardless of her fertility issues:  Accepting that a phase in life is over.  Gone forever.  And all that comes with that...

So, yes....lots going on, and not a lot but a ton (in looking at the length of this post!) to say about it all at the same time.  A good friend told me that God told her I needed to rest.

I like that, and am taking that to heart.  Time for me to be still.  Be quiet.  Enjoy all the mundane and crazy and take time to rest and recharge.

Thanks for all the messages!  Hanging in and doing ok. xoxoxoxoxoxo

Secrets....

I am a GREAT secret keeper.  Seriously.

You can tell me something that you want to be kept secret, and it really will go NOWHERE.  Not even when you out yourself...I'll play dumb.

I have a few secrets too.  Some will go with me to the grave.  Some get shared every now and then down the road when I feel like they are no longer "secret-worthy" because really, I think keeping some secrets can make one sick, and I try not to have many.

I also try to be pretty transparent when writing on this blog because I'd like Luke to know it's ok to feel what one feels, but also because I realize other people read and have been very kind in sending me thanks for being 'real' and 'honest.'

I was planning on keeping a secret, though.  This morning, I got a phone call from Dr. K, with a report and his recommendations.  It made me nervous, but I trust him, especially since he is UBER conservative with me.

I know lots of people were watching FB for updates as to what we are doing, and so I made the post that we were transferring the two little engines that were still chugging along.

And we did.

We also transferred a third.  Three embryos.


I wasn't going to tell anyone that.  Dr. K recommended it, based on my age, history, the fact that the third was rescued, this is our last cycle etc...he, who has always said, "No more than two, no more than two," now said three.  The lab concurred.  The transferring doctor concurred.  No one feels like this is overly aggressive.

I don't either.

But I wasn't going to say anything publicly because frankly, people can be mean.  They can (and are) be very, very, very kind.  Very supportive.  Very encouraging.

They can also be very, very mean and judgmental and honestly, I didn't want to hear anything should there be any multiples and/or any issues.

I can see it now..."You brought this on yourself..."

That's not how I feel, but I can certainly see people throwing that at me.  So, in the interest of not hearing, "I told you so," down the road, I was just going to keep it very closely to a few that we transferred three.

I feel good about it.  I prayed for clear and purposed decisions and there was exactly that.  I am not feeling like multiples will be an issue, and I will not have the, "What if..." regrets.

This is the "No Regrets" cycle, and I feel really peaceful about it.  Would have liked less stress to get here, but this is just what I was praying for.

October 10 we find out.  A long time, but when looking at days left with John, I will not even think about wishing them away.  For now, we have time together and I was able to welcome some little embryos back 'home'.

Here they are....The two in each corner are the original little engines that could...and the one in the middle is quite a fighter.

The three pictures from my three 3-Day transfers...Matthew's in the middle and Luke is on the right.  Have NO clue how they compare, but hearing they look great is good enough for me.

I Need A Miracle...

I hate even saying that, though that's how I feel.  In light of all of the goings on of the last few days,  though, and despite  the constant churning my stomach has been enduring, there is a little girl named Marissa who is suffering and I am just so distraught over the ordeal that precious baby and her family has gone through.  SHE NEEDS A MIRACLE.  She's one of my 'adoption' friends...and she's precious.  She has had so many, many, many setbacks with her hydrocephalus that I can't imagine how her mother can even breathe sometimes, and literally, she needs a MIRACLE.  Please, please, please pray for her.

That said, the miracle I feel like I need is for guidance and peace and growth.  The original two that fertilized are still dividing and that's wonderful.  The other three that were rescued (can you believe that??????) all are also dividing.

So, we've gone from 2 to 5.  Which is a blessing.  Still, the stomach churning.  Dr. K now wants to do a Day 4 transfer.  This will allow the three rescued ones to have their extra day in the sun and show themselves to be strong and survivors or not.  The problem with that, for me, is that I worry about the two original ones...that needed no rescuing or anything.  If THEY are both beautiful and look good, I'd rather just put them back inside where they belong tomorrow and pray as I did with both Matthew's cycle and Luke's cycle that pregnancy will happen.  My hope in all of this was that we had at least two good looking embryos to transfer and feel like if meant to be, would be.

I know it sounds like I have over that, and in a way, I do...but it's more complicated than that in that though pregnancy can of course result from rescue fertilizations, the stats back those that don't need rescue more.  So, then we are also faced with the big issue of putting the two original ones back AND the best of the rescued in hopes that ONE will implant and stay.

Dr. K is worried about multiples.  As am I.  My husband is leaving very soon.  For a good bit of time.  I  have a busy toddler.  A multiple pregnancy that left me bedridden would be very, very, very tough in North Carolina.  Of course, it's done all the time.

But I'm not sure how many people actually would CHOOSE it that way if they didn't have to.

I'm not as worried about multiples.  We transferred two 8 celled-embryos with Matthew and Luke and both were singletons.  My body is older.  My eggs are older.  My embryos don't do as well at this age.  I can't for the life of me see how if there were no multiples THEN, there'd be now.

Then again...we all know how that thinking works for me.  Frankly, I am not really interested in losing any more babies in a higher risk pregnancy for the hope of bringing another child into our home to raise and love.

I've said it before and again and again...no child is interchangeable with another.  None.  Should a multiple pregnancy occur (and I'm doubtful), I'd want each heartbeat to beat as long as mine did...and longer.

So, driving today, I switched the station from the news to the Message.  Third Day's song "I need a Miracle" came on and I couldn't have needed to hear it more than right then...

That's pretty much been me today.  On my knees praying for the right things to be clear, clear, clear and for another brother or sister to raise to be in our home.

"There will come a time when you can’t make it on your own
And in your hour of desperation
Know you’re not the only one, praying
Lord above, I need a miracle

I need a miracle."

Thank you for praying with me...and please, add Marissa.  That precious girl needs a miracle and I am begging God for one for her.

See What High Expectations Get You?

I was all excited last night because we got eleven eggs and surely, surely half of them would be ok, right?  That'd be great.

Yeah, well, not so much.  Five were mature.  Only TWO fertilized.

Please don't give me the "Only takes one..." line.  I know.  I know.  I know!  We've been down to bare minimum (or so we thought) with Matthew and Luke and those embryos obviously were perfect.

But we had more to start with.  More that we could bank on at least one or two making it to day three.  Not so much this time.

Three more became mature overnight, and the amazing lab did a procedure where they basically tried to fertilize those as well.  I won't know until tomorrow how the first two are doing (though initially looks are that they look good, thank God!) and how the other three are—whether they even fertilized.

So some prayers are appreciated...prayers that we have two, very clearly purposed embryos to transfer on Tuesday and that they stick around for a long time.

I'm going back to expecting it to be crappy.  I don't mind writing about how I was wrong in those situations.  I'm more than happy to eat humble pie if it means that I was pessimistic for nothing!

I don't love, however, writing about how wrong I was to be excited in the first place.