...but she out of her poverty...

Some days are really difficult.  Whether you are a parent or not, everyone has difficult days.  It can be brought on by nothing more than a difficult night of sleep, sleeping past your alarm, not eating breakfast, or traffic slowing you down.  Everyone has difficulties in life. 

Sometimes though, there are people that have more difficulties than others.  Whether mental illness like depression, bipolar, or schizophrenia, or a physical illness like chronic back pain, fibromyalgia, cancer treatments or foot pain (psh. lets just say any pain.. because anytime there is pain, there is just difficulty!)  - so  Let's just say that - when people are in pain, life is extra hard! 

What about those suffering from an emotional heartache?  Infertility, miscarriage, death of a loved one, a struggling marriage, concern for your children -

In Luke chapter 21 vs 1-4 we read the story of the widow's offering -

As Jesus looked up, he saw the rich putting their gifts into the temple treasury. ² He also saw a poor widow put in two very small copper coins. ³ “Truly I tell you,” he said, “this poor widow has put in more than all the others. ⁴ All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.”

I read this and thought about how I could give out of my poverty.  I cannot claim to have ever experienced true financial poverty.  Even as a child when my parents were at their poorest, we still had food and shelter, warmth, and clothing - by this worlds standards, I have never experienced financial poverty.  I wondered what it would be like to give out of my poverty. 

And then as the morning progressed it came to be known that one of my kids was having a really hard day. I was doing my best to speak life into this little one - but she really didn't want to hear it.  I told her that even in hard times we can make the choice to have a good day or a bad day.  This day was her choice, regardless of whether or not it went the way she had hoped it would.

And that is when it struck me - what about giving out of our emotional poverty?  When life is really difficult and we show grace to someone who needs it.  Or when we choose to be joyful despite difficult life circumstances.  When we bring peace even though we feel that our world is in turmoil...  Might this be a little like this widow giving out of her poverty. 

When life is going easy, when the money is there, when we got all the sleep we needed, when we woke up on time and our hair was perfect, on the days that we absolutely LOVE LIFE - it is so easy to spread joy and love, and grace - and on those days it is so easy to be full of patience for those around us and to respond softly to harsh words. 

But on the days that our hormones are OUT OF CONTROL, on the days we want to eat our feelings and punch other people in the face (c'mon I can't be the only one right?), on the days we just don't feel like we can summon the energy to play with our kids, or make a decent meal, or focus on our work, - but yet we give our very best in that day... our best might be yelling less than you wanted to and making boxed mac and cheese - but might our best on our worst days be worth more than our best on our best days? 

Just some thoughts tonight. 

I would love to hear what your thoughts on this might be!  Have you ever felt like you had nothing to give, and so you gave the very best you could even when it felt pitiful?

Comment on this blog, or comment on Facebook - I would love to connect with you!

It's the week before Mother's Day and I have been thinking -

I haven't logged into Blogger in so long I was worried I might have to reenter my password... and then the hassle of trying to remember my password. 

I almost didn't put forth the effort. 

But here I am - so far past my last blog.  

It is the first week of May already and we are on our spring break before we head into our final 9 weeks of school.  Ending the last week of July, just in time to take a 4 week break and start again in September.  Woohoo!

Homeschoolers love making their own crazy schedule to fit their own crazy needs!
  
It has been an emotionally strange week for me.  And by that I mean that I have cried this week.  To a friend, not my husband and that was weird.  Not because crying is weird, I'm just not one of the people in this world who can make the tears come out.  I feel them inside, but rarely do they work their way out of my eyeballs.

Whoa - that was off.

This whole post is off.  Who knows if I'll even post it! 

Monday was the 3 year anniversary of our loss of Isaiah.  Monday Aaron left for France for 4 days (work trip, mostly travel time.), Wednesday I finished reading Ghost Belly, which is a memoir written by a mom regarding her stillbirth.  And Mother's Day is Sunday.  

All of this just wraps its way around my heart. 

Isaiah's loss, Aaron gone, emotionally exhausting book, Doron's birth mom.  My heart is feeling pulled at.  

I don't know.  That's it I guess.  It all is just surrounding me and I'm trying to process while I live and breathe and mother and purge and manage this.  all of this.  

I started a 2000 Things Clutter Free Challenge, and I'm decluttering spaces - 15 minutes at a time, 15 minutes a day...

That's really about all I can handle.  But I look up at the top shelf of my closet where 5 baby boxes sit.  5 boxes of memories representing 8 babies who never took a breath on Earth but live full and beautiful lives in heaven - I don't know what to do with them.  And I know that right now, I'm leaving that space to be purged later.  I'm not sure what to do with them.

A paragraph near the end of Ghost Belly rings through my mind - 

"It's supposed to be comforting to know that overwhelming grief will not last forever, that it will fade and you'll feel normal again, that sadness will become something that remains within measure rather than covering the universe.
It's certainly practical that this happens.  It makes it more tolerable to correct page proofs for a book that has been in production far too long.  It's even good that this happens: It makes it possible to laugh at baby giggles.
But it's no comfort.  Even when I was in my deepest despair about Thor's death, I feared the day that despair would lessen, because I knew it would feel like a betrayal: a betrayal of a child already grievously betrayed."

- I feel that, towards each baby box.  Even though I know they were there for me.  For Aaron and I to process our grief better and to remember the journey of each child of ours.   But here now, almost 10 years after our first loss - Seriously, 10 YEARS?!  I can remember that day like it was yesterday.  

10 years after our first loss... almost 3 years after our last...  I'm healed, healing?  healed enough?  I don't think of our little ones every day, not even every week.  I remember their lives.  I can mention 8 miscarriages without feeling the angst in my soul.  And even then, I have forgotten the most wrenching parts of the pain surrounding it.  

I sat yesterday morning reading in my devotions from 2 Corinthians 1: 3-4  "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. "

I was reminded in this.  I don't speak as much about the years we walked through our miscarriage journey, I have felt out of place in this world having now moved to the other side of that journey and have followed God's leading into a new and different (albeit still hard) journey of motherhood.

There was a time when remembering the pain, plunged me into feeling the pain so deeply all over again - and now that that has past, remembering the pain just reminds me of God's faithfulness here on this side of our journey.  But as I read those verses in 2 Corinthians I was reminded, yet again, that I was comforted in all of my troubles and because of that I can be a comfort for those who are facing the same sorts of troubles.  I took so much strength from God as I walked that hard hard road of loss.  And it propelled me to lean into him for strength during the hard hard road of life.  The hard road of adoption and unknowns, the hard road of surgeries, the hard road of respiratory illnesses, the hard road of separation disorders, the hard road of night terrors, the hard road of an incorrect ADHD diagnosis, the hard road of making hard decisions, hard phone calls, and asking the hard questions - the hard road of all of the unpredictables that are bound to come our way.

While the journey I am currently walking is important and valuable and holds great significance - the journey we have already endured has not lost its importance, its value or its significance.  While speaking about miscarriage is no longer a daily part of my life, the role it has played in my past can still make an important impact on someone else's life.

And then there is Mother's Day - and tackling this day as an adoptive mom for the very first time.  I am currently processing that - remembering and honoring Doron's birth mom on this day.  I remember her nearly every day because our boy is so incredible.  I look at him in awe and wonder and I love him, his past, his present, his future.  All he is, all he will be, and where he came from.  This woman, who loved our son, but couldn't mother him - I am processing her this week as well.  I suspect she will be in my heart for the rest of my life.

God bless,
Brie

Remembering and moving on.....

In all that is going on around us right now, it is hard for me to blaze past tomorrow without remembering what the day is for us.  It was on May 2, 2013 (just 1 month after our sweet Doron's birth) that I was suffering my 7th miscarriage.  Losing Isaiah was difficult, he was by far the longest pregnancy I had ever carried and still lost, and because of a tumultuous pregnancy we had spent the 5 weeks we had known of his existence getting to know his little body inside of me.

Isaiah Michael 9 weeks gestation

You can read about Isaiah's pregnancy here and his memorial service here.  I remember those few days between losing him and his service on May 4 as a sort of limbo I lived in.  It was the world of grief that I knew from previous losses that I would come out of but I didn't know when or how.  I just knew that somehow Jesus had always carried us through and he would only continue to do so.

Isaiah came as a surprise, halting and interupting our adoption plans.  We had seen him as an answer to prayer as to what we should do when we didn't know where to go. And when we lost him, it gave us more time to think and prepare.  We had made the decision to wait until Isaiah's due date before pursuing adoption any further.  I never wanted to replace a child I'd lost with a new child.  I wanted to be for sure that I had 100% grieved Isaiah's loss before we moved forward with bringing another child into our home.  

For months I would rock Zemirah to sleep and wonder when I would get to hold Isaiah and rock him to sleep.  I mourned him, long and hard.  His due date came and went and still I would have to remind myself that Isaiah was never coming to my arms this side of heaven.  It is strange the way grief can grip you.  It holds on to your heart and while slipping into the shadows it will alert that it is still there at the most inoportune times.  I would sit and wonder about the child we would adopt someday and in my mind say "When I can rock Isaiah..."  

As time passed eventually I stopped thinking about rocking Isaiah.  I stopped wondering what he would have looked like or smelled like.  I stopped picturing him in my arms.  By this time we were ready to move on with our adoption from China, and finally we are ready. 

It was a few months ago when I realized that when I rock Zemirah to sleep, or just sit in my rocking chair while she falls asleep by herself, I wonder what life will be like when Doron is in my arms.  I remember Isaiah but he is not who I yearn for anymore.  My heart has healed and I am ready and willing, excited, to bring home a different little boy, one who has his own dreams and passions, one uniquely created to be himself.  No strings attached.  No previous agenda.  Doron for who Doron is.  

Someday all my children will play together in heaven, our 8 babies who have gone before us and the 3 we have here on earth.  I can't imagine what it will be like, but it will be a beautiful day.  

Remembering all that you have done....

We're at the start of the hustle and bustle season, the one that reminds you that there is no such thing as a quick trip to Walmart, or getting everything on your to-do list accomplished.  It's cold outside and blustery and I could stand in a hot shower until the hot water runs out and my back itches, but its so worth it just to feel WARM.

It's that season, the one without a free second to think about anything other than what you have to do today, tomorrow, and before then next Christmas party.  The one that makes me consider giving up homeschooling because I'm not sure how to do school when there is so much Christmas to do.

I do love this season, though.  It's full of crafts, dancing, singing, joy, and so much sugar.  All in celebration of something truly wonderful, the birth of Christ.

Today, though, as I stood in that shower much longer than I should have, I was remembering dear friends.  The ones that have moved away, or life has gotten between us.  Our friendship still runs deep but its been so long since we really talked or spent time together,  Many live too far away for this to happen, and a few, we just can't find time in our schedules.  But each of these dear friends have impacted my heart so deeply in so many ways.

I have the good friends who came up to visit impromptu, the day they heard I was miscarrying, the friends that went swimming with us while we waited for an impending miscarriage, the cousin that sent me cards for months after my first loss, just to let me know she was thinking of me.  There was the impromptu box of sunshine that appeared at my door two weeks after we lost Isaiah, and the blue and yellow flowers that showed up on his due date.  There are the friends that were with us when we started to miscarry our second baby, the ones that held us as we cried and prayed over us as we headed for home.

It is strange to me that these would be the things that come into my head while I'm in the midst of the Christmas season and in the midst of all our adoption preparations. But I guess I am reminded that people are what really matter.  Whatever impact you make for a family who has lost a child, you are making a lasting impact.  Whether your relationship with them is close or not, they will never forget your kind gesture.  A card, flowers, a meal.  They go the distance in healing a hurting heart.

If you know a family who is experiencing, or has experienced the loss of a baby, in pregnancy or soon after, do something to show that you care.  It doesn't have to be showy or expensive, even a simple card to show you're thinking of them can bring some level of comfort.

As always, follow these guidelines for things NOT to say and TO say when someone has lost a baby.

Isaiah, we remember you.

It's hard to believe where we were just a year ago.  The weather was certainly nicer than it has been, but the weather isn't really what's on my mind.  It was a year ago that I woke up early in the morning to cramping in a regular pattern.  The cramps became more and more intense: paralyzed by pain, my mind couldn't comprehend what was really happening, while my husband prayed for a miracle.

Isaiah, we met you too soon.  You're not just a number in a line-up of recurrent miscarriages for us.  You're a God-given reminder of life given and life taken away.  You put life to the lives of those like you that have been lost.  You put a face and a name to children whose faces and names have not yet been seen or heard.

We have survived, although I wasn't sure I could.  We have recovered, but will never forget.

As we move on to the next phase and stage of our lives, we see reminders of you everywhere we go.  Spring brings blossoms of bleeding hearts just over where your body rests.  A small statue will be placed outside soon, to mark where we laid our eyes upon you one last time.  Oh little boy, you were wanted.  You were cherished.  We live full, happy lives here, but yearn for the days when we are a complete family; when in heaven there are no more tears, no more sadness; where we see all of our children, completely whole.

It is hard to believe, with where we are now, that it has only been one year since we felt so much pain.  It was so difficult for me to imagine being the same again.  It was difficult for me to imagine not saying your name every day.  Darling, I still think of you, nearly every day.  I still miss you, nearly every day.  My days and life are full, but you are still missing.

I am happy, I am joyful, but I will never not miss having you in my life.

11 weeks gestation

I'm struggling to not start this post off like the last several... "Well, it's been awhile" ?

But seriously, it has.  You probably haven't noticed the absence as much as I have.  My blog following is very small and probably for the very reason that there is little of interest to read.  This could be because my life is not interesting or dramatic - OR - (and this is probably more true) I am swarming in lists of things to do and the catharsis of writing falls low, and then often times my writings are more for me than for you.  Sorry to say (well, not really) but some things are private and most of our lovely lives has not met the eye of public scrutiny and for good reason.  Also, if my children are awake and I'm trying to write, either one or both of them thwart my attempts at getting them to play nicely with each other and I end up with either one or both of them on my lap.  Such has happened now, so I may have to abandon this post at a moment's notice, thus leaving it unfinished and further proving why the posts are so few and far between.

I don't even know where to start an actual post.  I have a lot on my mind right now.  As far as the adoption plans go I could talk for hours on what God is teaching me through all of this, and tell you in about 5 seconds that nothing has changed at this point.  I don't know exactly how this journey is supposed to look, but each day it is a little more glaringly obvious that it won't go the way I had planned it to, but I guess that's how our lives have always been.  Brie's playbook never did have all the best plays.

As far as miscarriage, loss, all that is and will be in the world - today my heart is sad.  A friend got crushing news today and I find myself wishing I could fight this battle for her.  Wishing that somehow, someway, in all there is in this world - this was not the news she received today.  That her world would be full of tears of joy and rejoicing and triumph instead of a crushed and aching heart.

It just makes me want to cry out!  Why does it have to be like this for her?  And I hug my girls, I dance with them, I laugh with them, I sing to them, and I hold them and my heart aches.  I have two miracles, I can not ever take that for granted.  Loss after loss, heartbreak after heartbreak; I have these two.  Why can't she have this?  Why not?

In all of this, in all these years - I have learned more than ever the value in loving, and treasuring what you have.  Do I want more?  Oh yes, I want more - but if I don't, if I never - these two, they are enough.  My heart is more than full.  And if, oh how my heart would break, if I lost these two - I hope that I would say that He is enough.  That the creator of life, the giver of all good things, He truly is enough to fill and satisfy me.

Please pray for my friend today.  Her heart is breaking.  She needs an overwhelming amount of love and support.

Step-by-step...

I knew I would blog this week, there is so much to say, but I haven't known how to say it.

Really, there hasn't been a whole lot to report.  I made a surprise trip to Arkansas two weekends ago to surprise my mom for her birthday!  (and if I was really great at taking pictures I'd have some for you, but wrangling two kids by myself for a 12 hr drive was enough).

On our way to Arkansas we got the news that our application had been accepted by the agency and we were ready to move on with the next step!  That step was signing a lot of paperwork...

Officially, the paperwork has been signed and mailed, and according to the United States Postal Service should arrive at our agency's head office on Thursday.  Woohoo!

I really feel God's hand in all of this.  Down to every last tiny, seemingly unimportant detail like our paperwork arriving on Thursday, November 21.

A little over 6 months ago we miscarried a little boy, Isaiah.  Many of you have seen our posts and have shown us so much support.  Amazingly, our hearts have healed so well from this loss, which I know is nothing short of God's divine goodness.  We were blessed to have a memorial service for him, and because of this, his loss helped bring closure to us from 7 years of miscarriages.

We had begun looking into adoption in January of this year, long before we knew we were expecting.  With our pregnancy we put adoption off to the side for awhile.  When we lost Isaiah, and were ready to pursue adoption again, I knew I would not be fully ready until we had passed and mourned his due date.  This Wednesday, November 20, is Isaiah's due date.

He sees us, he hears us.  He knows exactly who we are, and where we are in our journey.  God does not take a single thing for granted.  

Sunday, one of our pastor's reminded us that "Our God takes impossibilities and makes them possibilities."  That is so true.  From step one he has taken what seems impossible to us and opened a door and made it a possibility.  He has closed doors that we may have wanted to step through, knowing it wasn't the right plan for us.  We are completely trusting Him as we take one more step toward our possibility.

Today we also remember our 2nd miscarriage.  Our little baby, Tiny, was miscarried on November 18, 2006.  Sometimes I wonder when I will stop remembering these anniversaries, but my heart feels that as long as we live, we won't.  These little ones, a part of our lives for an incredibly too short amount of time, are a part of us.  We lost Tiny while at a FamilyLife Marriage Conference, we were a little over 6 weeks along.

So, this week is strangely bittersweet.  We mourn a lot of loss but look forward with tempered anticipation for all that is to come.

Help me find it

Wasting time on facebook tonight, a friend had posted this song.

It is by Sidewalk Prophets, and not one I had heard before, but it fits exactly how we feel right now.

I can't remember who I have told what to, so if I'm repeating myself I will edit it later.  Our final test results for the last blood test we needed done to check for an immun...  uh, there are words I don't know or understand about to be said - immuno - something...  Essentially, here's the down-low:

In January of 2007 we had a giant gammot of blood tests done to determine potential causes for our recurrent miscarriages.  They checked for things like Lupus, MTHFR, and some other things...  Something to the effect of, if your immune system attacks the baby it causes tiny blood clots in the placenta and the baby cannot get the oxygen and nutrients it needs and dies, and then you miscarry.  Well, back in 2007 they didn't know as much as they know now, so there is another test in that protocol that I hadn't had done.  The Beta 2 Glycoproteins test.  I had another test done (and I can't remember what it was called either) - because in 2007 my results tested "intermediate" which really doesn't mean anything, and would not be a cause of miscarriage but they retested it anyway.

Because the things they tested this time had a treatment, if I tested positive for either of them my miscarriage risk would drop to 15 -20 % (normal for most women) if I were to get pregnant and follow the treatment protocol.

However, I tested in the normal range for both of these.  Which is good, I'm glad I don't have anything wrong with me, but it still leaves us looking for answers.  It also leaves us with a miscarriage risk of 30-50% because of our history.

So, now we are at a crossroads with big decisions to make.  And to be honest, for the first time in months my husband and I are on the same page.

We both agree, we're on the "wait and see" page.  We don't know what to do.  So for now, we wait for what God might show us.  Praying for big answers in the next few months - the kind with giant flashing signs that say "THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO DO!"

This song says exactly what I'm thinking and feeling tonight.  Thank you so much for all of your prayers on this journey, we really do appreciate all of them!

Just one of those days

Some days my heart can't help but hurt.

I don't know why.  Maybe it is the rain just like the day of his service, the unusually chilly weather for early May, wearing the same sweatshirt as the day we lost him, the abundance of pregnancy announcements and photos on facebook...  Lots of little things can all add up, and I ache to hold my baby.

Strange to say, isn't it?  If he were still here I would feel him moving around my tummy.  I'd be tired, taking this opportunity to lay down and marvel at the way God creates a child inside his mother.  So, it is very strange to say that I ache to hold my baby.  I wouldn't just be holding him now, I'd be enveloping him - surrounding him with my whole person, nurturing him as he grows and becomes all that he needs to be to be healthy outside of me.

Instead, I take a few deep breaths, listen to some sweet songs, and weep.  Then I pick up my feet, and move on.

Each day I move on...

What the future holds....

There has been so much rolling around in my brain these last few weeks about the future and what it holds for our family.

I have ideas spinning like you would not believe and I am sure it is only a matter of time before they are available for all the world to see!

On the miscarriage front -

We have an appointment this Friday to meet with the Genetic Counselor, a MFM, and a MFM/Geneticist.  I am excited and nervous about this appointment.  I'm sure there will be more genetic tests for us to undergo and hopefully there will be answers.  However, I am trying not to get my hopes up as from what I've read 60% of miscarriages remain unexplained even after genetic testing.

My heart is still healing from Isaiah's loss.  Moving on is much harder this time and I've had to be careful to guard my heart against things that might cause me more grief.  It is frustrating to feel limited, but I have been instead pouring myself into some ideas I have and looking forward to the vast realm of possibilities that God could have laid out for us.

There is so much inside of me I just might burst!  And every day brings us one step closer.

I wish I was in my second trimester.

I'm happily away visiting my parents house for the next few weeks.  Us girls have left hubby alone to fend for himself as we vacation in a little slice of paradise... 

I can't help but remember how I had envisioned this trip a few months ago.  Expecting to be nearly 20 weeks pregnant by now, clearly showing and feeling all those kicks and rolls of our 3rd baby. 

Instead, I open my facebook news feed all to often and see posts from pregnant friends that have passed me on my journey.  The ones that stayed pregnant.  I wouldn't wish for anything different for them, but a little piece of my heart aches a tiny bit every time and I sigh and think:

 'I wish I was in my second trimester.' 

I'm stuck in a strange world.  The world at peace, and the world so sad.  The world that forgets that Isaiah will not join our family and the world that is so thankful I was able to spend so much time with him and have a beautiful memorial service for him. 

To think that I was supposed to be so pregnant this time of year, and now it is sometimes hard for me to remember I even was pregnant just a few months ago. It baffles me. 

People ask me how I am, and truly, genuinely, I am good.  Really good, God is so faithful, so constant, so true.  He has never let me down or abandoned me.  I feel his strength when I don't want to go on and his peace when I think the road ahead is too overwhelming.  But in the midst of all of that, I just miss Isaiah. 

That's all there is to it.  I miss him.  The little boy I never had a chance to meet.  The one we didn't plan but were so excited to have.  The one who could have been a playmate for his older cousins and whose big sisters would have dressed him up in fairy costumes and hair bows while he ran around with a sword in his hand and built lego houses. 

I miss him, a lot.  Every day, I miss him. 

So if you ask me how I am, and you can see that I'm truly good, its because I am.

But I still miss my son. 

Set-backs, hurdles, & hoops

All around the merry-go-round the monkey chased the weasel...

Yep, that's how it goes!  I'm the monkey, another child is the weasel... one day it will just POP!  There's the weasel!

But we could be chasing it for a very long time.

Let me start at the beginning of yesterday.  I received a letter in the mail from my insurance regarding the out-of-network provider referral.  In it, I discovered that I was not approved for testing or treatment by and MFM, I was approved for a Consult Only. (Bolded and Underlined, just like that).

After that I called to reschedule my appointment with UofI because of my out-of-state schedule conflict.  After several phone calls, and transfers - I found my way to the right people.  But, they were out for lunch.

A few hours later my call was returned by the Genetic Counselor to just schedule my appointment herself.  Which I thought was pretty nice of her.  I found out that my appointment is not with an MFM only.  My appointment is in their once a month Genetics Clinic, in which my husband and I will meet with the Genetic Counselor, a Maternal Fetal Specialist, and someone else...  (unfortuanately, my mind was a little blown during our conversation to retain what type of doctor the third person is.)  They will sit down with us for an hour, go over everything there is to go over and then give us their recommendations.  We then can go somewhere else to get the tests done if we need to.

Anyway, it sounds hopeful, but also a little disheartening. Since its a once a month deal and I can't make the June clinic, I have to wait until July.  But even then I don't really have a new doctor, or a follow up appointment, or a clear vision of where we go from here.

So there you have it - more chasing, more dreaming.

All for the best I suppose, I'm not ready yet to begin trying for another baby anyway.

Acronyms and MFM

In the years since I joined the vast blogging world, mostly reading, sometimes typing - my repertoire of acronyms has greatly increased.

I now know LOTS of acronyms for words people just don't want to type over and over again.  It's like being on Facebook when someone rights SMH and you think "what?!"

It's "Shakes My Head" - I know because I googled it.

In the TTC (trying to conceive) world, you'll see acronyms you never knew existed from CM - cervical mucous to RE - Reproductive Endocrinologist.  Everyone who's TTC sees an RE - or so it seems.

But when I mentioned the idea of seeing an RE to my MW (midwife) she instead suggested I see someone in Maternal Fetal Medicine - and what did I find out - there's and acronym for that too!  MFM

She thinks I should see an MFM because my issue isn't TTC as much as it is RPL (recurrent pregnancy loss)

So - I am on the hunt for an MFM, one that is awesome, and my insurance covers.  Good luck to me - because according to the provider network search on their website - this does not exist.

So, tomorrow I call the insurance just to verify that they do not cover MFM's and that I do, indeed, need my midwife's office to fill out an Out Of Network Provider Referral form.  And then call my MW office to request they fill out those forms for me...

I hate being a pain in the tush.

Life Lately

I should go to bed, seriously.  It's 11:30 pm and Z has gotten into a frustrating habit of waking up at 3:15 am and just hanging out for awhile.  I'll be regretting this later I'm sure.

But, I've spent my evening pouring over the memorial pictures, with the song He Weeps by Fireflight running through my head.

Appropriate really, although I haven't done much weeping the last few days, just you know, sighing.

My husband and I finally celebrated our birthday tonight.  It was especially wonderful since I enjoyed a huge steak, medium rare, a couple of sweet teas, and way too many Texas Roadhouse rolls.  It was delicious.  (Thank you parents, we appreciated it!)

I feel like I should give you an update on how we're doing.  We're doing good?  Good is such a strange way to phrase it, but we're not doing bad?  I don't know.  I guess, we're moving through this.

Aaron and I were talking to night about how God has strengthened us through this, how he may not have given us the miracle of Isaiah living on Earth, but he is working a miracle through the pain of losing Isaiah.  (We worded it more eloquently when we were talking about it earlier).  Just that we have seen his hand on our entire pregnancy, from the moment of conception and the several weeks we were clueless to his pregnancy - through to even now.  Even now.

When I posted the memorial piece yesterday I posted the song Sunshine by JJ Heller - well yesterday I received in the mail from a friend this:

The card read: Sending you some sunshine in the midst of your storm

She sent me a box full of everything yellow, it definitely brought me a lot of sunshine and made my day.  Everything was yellow!

Sometimes are really good, sometimes I'm really sad.  I'm having an especially difficult time with little boys.  I miss not having mine.  There was a tiny, newborn baby boy in the waiting area at Texas Roadhouse tonight and I just wanted to snatch him up and take him home.  I tried to keep that thought to myself though as I'm sure his mother wouldn't appreciate knowing there was a crazy stalker baby stealer in the restaurant.  I restrained myself, I did not steal that woman's super cute baby. 

But I wanted to...

okay. okay. not really. 

but kind of.

Anyway, here are a few pictures of the last few days - As much as there has been sorrow, I've enjoyed my little girls even more.  A loss always punctuates a gain and my sweet girls are a big gain.  Treasures I tell them, precious treasures.  

This little girl adores her daddy!

How Zemirah manages to smile while being squished by her big sister is beyond me, but she loves it!

This is how I spent my Mother's Day afternoon, tickling my girls and really really laughing.  It was a hard day, but I really did enjoy my babies.

Yes, that's a booger on Zemirah's chin; it had apparently dried there during her nap and she wouldn't let me pick it off.  

So that is a bit of our lives the past few days.  God has been very good to us, he has blessed us immensely and as we heal from the loss of Isaiah we will continue to know and feel his blessings even more.  

Isaiah's Song & Memorial Service

I am a big JJ Heller fan.  I like to sing "When I'm With You" to my girls and "The Boat Song" to my husband.   So it is only fitting that we have a song by JJ Heller for sweet little Isaiah too.

At the end of his memorial service we played "Sunshine" and while the music played my beautiful 5 year old daughter, completely enamored with her tiny baby brother and with a perfect perspective of the wonders of heaven, danced through the whole song. 

 It was perfect.

While this song plays you can scroll through a few of our memorial pictures.  These pictures were taken by two amazing photographers from Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep.  What a beautiful organization, thank you for capturing this day for us.

Isaiah Michael Kellett

May 2, 2013

7:50 am

This was engraved on Isaiah's white keepsake box that we have and also on the inside of the heart shaped box he was buried in.

This box was fitting for our butterfly baby, engraved on the outside was "expect miracles...they happen every day."  It speaks well of the short and miraculous life Isaiah lived.

Isaiah's statue

My girls

You'll see in the next few pictures that Amariss was quite the comforter.  She loved and adored her little brother very much.

My parents

A prouder big sister, I have never met.

Aaron's mom holding Zemirah; our parents did a wonderful job keeping her occupied and taking turns holding her.

We read:

Isaiah 49:14-23

Isaiah 65:17-24

Isaiah 66:7-13

Our final goodbyes

Amariss loves to finish her dances with a big full Mommy hug

*Isaiah was buried near our Bleeding Heart plant.  We found it fitting as it is in full bloom in early May.  We were also gifted with a Japanese Maple from Aaron's mom and a Blue Hydrangea from my parents.  In addition I received a wind chime from a wonderful group of friends and our once empty shade garden is now very full and has come to possess much meaning.* 

Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day and in many ways I feel Isaiah's loss more poignantly today then most other days.

Although, I've noticed that as the shock of this loss has worn off, my heart is aching more deeply.

I have so many emotions and am doing such a poor job expressing them.  Maybe tomorrow I'll be more able.

For all the women out there with aching empty arms this Mother's Day, my heart is aching for you too.  Praying you feel God's grace and presence wrapped more tightly around you today.

The last 6 days....

I can't believe that tomorrow marks 1 week since we lost our sweet Isaiah.  Time has moved slowly and at warp speed at the same time.

1 week ago I got the muffle fixed but it feels like months ago.

1 week ago I bought maternity clothes and a blue whale sweater in anticipation that Tic Tac would be a boy. It feels like just yesterday.

Today was similar to last Wednesday, marked with perfect blue skies and warm sunshine.  Only today I could walk to pick Am up from school, and today my neighbor took my girls to the park with her kids so I could have some time to myself.  Last week we all laughed and played together on a blanket under the big maple tree while our 5 year olds put on a play about kitties again.  We talked about Rat's miscarriage (their cat) and I made a gesture and said "I feel ya sista" as a joke.  Oh how true the next day would make that statement.

Thursday was, well, overwhelming.  In every sense of the word.  I haven't yet decided if I'll post the details of that awful morning, from the early morning cramps to the very end just a few hours later.

We were so blessed to spend 2 1/2 days with our sweet Isaiah, memorizing him, holding him, counting his fingers and toes - loving him just like we would any other baby.  Our time with him was just too short.

A few have asked just how we knew Isaiah was a boy, it was quite obvious when he was born.  Although it wouldn't have been visible by ultrasound, there is no doubt about it.

My parents made a quick trip up - I say quick because they left within 1 hr of my mom getting home from work, but the 11 hour trip was certainly not quick for them.  But they came - and they mourned with us.

We had a beautiful service on Saturday attended by just us and our parents.  It was exactly what we all needed and brought healing full circle.  We called Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep, and were blessed by two wonderful volunteer photographers who came out and took pictures of our memorial service.  They were truly a gift to us as we were able to experience Isaiah's service without thought as to whether or not we would have pictures to remember it by.

My parents had to head back home on Sunday, really - they spent almost more time traveling to get here than they spent here, but I can not thank them enough for making the trip.

These last few days with Aaron back at work have flown.  I don't really know where they've gone.  I know that there are going to be many emotional battles in the days, weeks, and months ahead.

I will begin teaching again this summer, and was hoping to be able to spend an afternoon a week at the pregnancy center.  November will probably be the most difficult, with the elation of Z's birth still pulsing through my veins, my heart will ache on Isaiah's due date more than the others.

I miss him so much already, as I have him pictured as a little boy laughing, running, playing.  I can see him jumping off of furniture with a cape and scaring me with snakes and spiders.

Life is full of crazy ups and downs, twists and turns.  Heartache and joy mingled into one.

TMI post - you've been warned.

I'm about to divulge more information than the average person would like to know - so if you're not interested in hearing about my "flow" or "discharge" please, divert your eyes.

At about 10 1/2 weeks pregnant, and beginning to see my own small version of a pop I am starting to get excited and relieved about little one joining our family in November.  Yesterday was awesome.  Seriously, My husband has been incredibly supportive the last few weeks, encouraging me to take it easy and picking up all the slack around the house.

I had virtually no spotting or cramping yesterday, it was awesome.  However, by the time I went to bed at 10 pm I was bleeding again.  And this continued most of the night, as I saw every time I was up to use the restroom.

I had horrible dreams all night about miscarriage, c-section, a hysterectomy.  Oy, my brain was really running wild with it.  And today, my family has ventured to Peoria to visit a family member.  I have decided to stay home and really take some R&R and hopefully coax my uterus into being finished bleeding.  1 1/2 weeks until 2nd trimester.  I've been hearing a lot that bleeding is common and if baby is fine, often a sign of no problem whatsoever.  I'm banking on that, but not taking any chances at the moment.

In between the lines

I'm in a very strange place right now.  I live in a constant inner struggle between excitement and panic.  Logic over rules emotion at some moments and at others emotion wins over logic.  I can't wait for the day when logic and emotion are in sync with each other - barring that the emotion and logic are good and not disastrous.  I start to feel joy and happiness and then another memory or story triggers the fear that can cripple a person and tie them to the couch for weeks at a time.

My only solace is know that at the end of this I will have survived, however, knowing how I've survived is still questionable.  Will it be tears of joy, elated at the miracle unfolding before me - or tears of anguish that my heart has been shattered yet again and another precious angel joins his siblings in heaven?

There is truly no way of knowing at this point how this will turn out, and I never ever thought that this far into a pregnancy I would still have so much confusion.  Nearly 10 weeks along, but still bleeding, still cramping.  However, the ultrasound shows a healthy baby, growing perfectly happily bouncing around in there.  And now I know, it really is me.  All these years, and all these miscarriages I've wondered if maybe it was something genetic.  That maybe my two little girls are truly miracles of genetics lining up perfectly because there was something faulty with the connection.  But no, we have a perfect baby growing in there, nothing wrong with the connection.  The bleeding is me, but there is really no explanation, no reason, and possibly no problem.  There is just no way of knowing right now.

I laid down and took a nap with my sweet Z this morning.  She is 11 months old and cutting some teeth, which has induced a snoodly nose.  I listened to her heavy breathing, traced her perfect face and for awhile stared into her beautiful blue eyes.  If you've met my girls you can see that even though they're 4 1/2 years apart they look nearly identical.  And from our ultrasound we can already see that little Tic Tac carries the same profile and face shape of his/her big sisters.

So you see, if I lose this one it will be different from all the others.

It won't be just bleeding; I will see the baby.

I will hold our baby.

I will kiss our baby.

And oh my heart, I don't know if I can take that.

For now, we continue to wait and oh, how I pray this story has a happy ending.  How every moment of every day my hand is over my womb, praying for a safe environment.  How just a few weeks ago I had normal perfect pregnancy discharge and now I'm thankful for the moments when it is just light spotting.  The bleeding comes in the evening and early morning.  The cramping hangs around on and off all day.  Yesterday's bleeding was lighter than the day before, I hope today's follows the same pattern.  And oh, how I pray that two and three weeks from now I'm joyfully updating my facebook cover photo with a cute announcement that baby #3 is on the way!

 It's so hard not to be envious of those who post those pregnancy announcements early on, knowing their world has never been tainted with the difficult feeling of loss.  

** Please if you do read this, I have not made this pregnancy public.  Please do not share this information with anyone or mention it on facebook or in person at church etc.  Thank you very much!!

PAIL Blogroll

You may have noticed a new addition to my blog - An adorable little linky over in the sidebar to the PAIL Blogroll. 

What is this Blogroll and what does it mean you ask?  Good question! 
PAIL stands for Pregnancy/Parenting After Infertility and Loss, and a blogroll is a list of LOTS of us who are all in very similar situations. 

The whole reason I started writing The Delicate Balance was because I found myself caught between two worlds - the fertile world, becuase of my daughter, and the infertile world because of our losses and secondary infertility.  If you'd like to read my very first post you can find it here.

This world has gotten a little more muddied in the past 6 months when we found ourselves unexpectedly pregnant 6 weeks after our 6th loss. 

This pregnancy has been interesting as I wonder where I stand with my TTC friends, but yet my heart still aches, yearns for, and desires their companionship because believe it or not - this journey never ends, I still miss my babies. 

I don't know what will happen after baby #2 is delivered.  I don't know if we will once again enter into the TTC world or if our hearts have been so damaged we'll be looking elsewhere to expand our family.  We just don't know. 

But for now - we enjoy our 4 yr old, and all her joy, and we look forward to the arrival of our 2nd miracle, even when it still seems so unreal. 

Please check out the PAIL Blogroll and find other people just like us who find ourselves navigating this oh so confusing road.