Babies or By-Products?

Ok, I admit it.  I can hold a grudge.  For a really long time.  The particular grudge I'm talking about today is against two people I haven't even met.  But when I read this article, my skin felt like fire.

If you don't have time to read it, I'll give you the short version.  A couple (Mary Beth and Michael Brummond), in suburban Chicago are protesting a fertility clinic's proposed opening.  Fair enough.  But they go a little too far when they start name-calling children.  Had the Brummonds said this in my presence, it would have been difficult to keep from pushing them into oncoming traffic.  I thought I'd get over it.  I still haven't; so I decided to write about it.

In all seriousness, I understand and respect the right to freedom of speech.  I'm glad that the Brummonds can say how they feel.  I'm also glad that I can tell them (or write about how) they are absolute, complete and total morons.  I can also respect that Mr. and Mrs. Brummond don't feel it is right to pursue IVF.  However, they have zero right to tell me I can't.  And to call the tens of thousands of children born in the US every year via IVF "a manufactured commodity....an object, a product" shows me that the Brummonds and I do not know the same God.  Just ask all the men and women who are not lucky enough to "manufacture" a baby.  If only it was as easy as manufacturing.

This is life we are talking about.  My son would not be here if it wasn't for IVF.  My precious child.  How on earth could you possibly deny fit parents the opportunity to pursue one of life's greatest joys?  How dare you imply that he should not exist.

I promise you this, Mr. and Mrs. Brummond:  If you are ever lucky enough to meet Dane, "product" is the last word you'd use to describe him.  He's happy, healthy, beautiful, vibrant, wonderful, and perfect in every way.

Broken Hearts Healed

Sunday is Easter.  It also happens to be our sixth wedding anniversary.  (Happy Anniversary to the best husband ever!)  As happy an occasion as an anniversary should be, when April 8th rolls around, I am always a little sad when I remember our second anniversary.

We were in Florida at my grandmother's funeral.  I was positive that our second IUI attempt had failed but was having trouble reaching our fertility clinic for confirmation.  I had just learned less than a week ago that my sweet sister-in-law was pregnant.  As excited as I was to be an aunt (to the world's funniest, most handsome nephew), I was completely heart-broken.  When the preacher mentioned my sister-in-law's pregnancy during the funeral, I didn't just feel a "lump" in my throat.  I felt like my throat had just been ripped out -- Patrick Swayze - Roadhouse style.

I was trying to be there for my dad, but I was coming apart at the seams.  I managed not to cry during her funeral.  I didn't want someone to think that I was crying for myself and not my grandmother, even though very few people in attendance knew about our fertility struggles.  I temporarily pulled myself back together for the car ride to the cemetery.  Just as we parked our car, I received that phone call I'd been waiting on.  Yep, not pregnant.  I felt like I could handle it though.  I had been taking home pregnancy tests this whole time and I was well-practiced at seeing ONE line.  I knew I wasn't pregnant anyway.  I could deal with this.

As I stepped out of the car and walked toward the burial plot, I saw my dad.  The weight of it all hit me.  The best dad in the world was burying his mother.  On our anniversary.  And I may never know what it's like to be a mother; I may never give him a grandchild.  My spirit was crushed.  The tears came.

My dad and grandmother her last Christmas (2007)

This year's anniversary plans:  Easter egg hunting and celebrating springtime and being alive with my sweet son. I hope one day he understands how much he did for us just by coming into our lives.  He reminds us how joyful life can be.  When Dane was one day old, I updated my FB status to read "My heart is healed.  Three years of disappointment and broken dreams were worth it.  This is the child we were supposed to have all along."  I still feel this way.  I can't believe our blessings when I look at him.

Isn't this face just the definition of "joy"?!

I wish you and your family the kind of joy that Dane brings us every day.  Happy Easter!

He's the Only One for Me

We worked hard for Dane, no question about it.  From the day we found out we were officially classified as infertile, it was exactly 3 years, 6 months, and 8 days until we got to meet the cute little guy.  Then there was the three surgeries (between Jonathan and I), hundreds of medications, insane stress, and... oh yeah... $55,000.  One day when Dane asks why we won't buy him a car, I'll bring this up.

So naturally, people are shocked when they learn that we are doing everything in our power to prevent another pregnancy.  I mean, what are the odds?  Well, even with IVF, it was only 50/50 -- which works out about right, since we got pregnant on our second IVF attempt.

People ask me all the time if finding out I was pregnant was one of the happiest days of my life, wouldn't I love to be pregnant again?  The answer to that is yes, I would love to be pregnant again - with someone else's child.  I would be a gestational surrogate in a heartbeat, even for a stranger.  But I don't want to be anyone else's mother.  Dane is enough.  He's been enough since the moment we found out we were pregnant.  You see, Jonathan and I had always dreamed that if we ever did get lucky enough to get pregnant, wouldn't it be amazing if we had twins?  However, the very day we learned we were pregnant, and remembered those two embryos that had been transferred just 9 days earlier, the reality of all of that hit us.  I am positive that if we had twins, we would have been overjoyed and as absolutely in love with our life as we are now.  But I would be lying if I said we didn't breathe a small sigh of relief when we saw one precious heartbeat.  I have plenty of friends who have twins from fertility treatments and I can honestly say that they handle everything so very well.  I think it was certainly meant to be that those couples had twins and we got one perfect Dane.

There's also the absolute raging postpartum depression I experienced.  I kept thinking that I wasn't supposed to be feeling this way.  I had literally begged God for this child and poured every part of my self into him.  What I didn't realize then is that women who undergo fertility treatments are actually more likely to develop PPD than other mothers.  We have years to fantasize about motherhood and babies and pregnancy and how perfect it will all be.  This doesn't mean we're stupid or irrational about parenthood.  I fully expected to be up all night, peed on, pooped on, all of the stuff that comes with newborns.  What I did not expect was an infant that could not be soothed.  By anyone.  He was like the perfect storm of babies.  He liked being swaddled, but hated being hot.  He was born in July, so this was not easy.  One time, I put him swaddled, in a swing, on top of an ice pack.  He also liked to breastfeed and was a great latcher, but I had nada to give him.  I would rock and sing to him for hours.  He was miserable.  So I made myself miserable.  I felt like I needed punishment for not being able to be a good enough mother to make him feel better.  After 6 weeks at home with him on maternity leave, I couldn't wait to go back to work.  I was terrified of him and how inadequate I felt.  Once I did go back to work, he got kicked out of home daycare  after a week because he cried too much.  We had to find a new daycare in just a few days.  Months later, after I got better and forgave myself, a daycare worker from the room he was in from 7 weeks old - 11 months old told me, "you know, I've worked here for several years and taken care of hundreds of babies.  Your's is the first I have ever seen that truly has colic.  I had no idea how to deal with him.  I just thought other babies were difficult."  This sounds awful, but I felt validated.  All those months of feeling clueless, and a woman who takes care of babies for a living couldn't calm my child.  On a side note, I highly recommend the book The Ghost in the House by Tracy Thompson.  I cannot begin to tell you how much it impacted my recovery.  It was like looking in a mirror.  (Note to readers:  I have debated "publicly" sharing the fact that I had PPD for many months.  I finally decided to for the same reason I decided to share our infertility struggles: so that someone else would know they are not alone.  Please respect this.)

The final reason we're 99.99% sure we're done with one?  Pretty simple, really.  We like our family dynamic.  Mom and Dad will be there for each and every performance, graduation, and baseball game - no splitting up and "you take Jill to soccer practice and I'll take Jim to the band concert."  We like the "tag team" style of parenting.  It works for us.

I jokingly told two of my sweetest friends a couple weekends ago that "if I could birth a 15-month old, I'd consider having another child."  But since I don't see medical advancements catching up to that point before I'm well past my child-bearing years, I think we'll just stick with Dane.

To all you non-believers who tell me "you'll change your mind" - well maybe.  But I'm pretty confident that when you and I run into one another at Target in ten years and you ask me how many kids I have, the answer will still be "one!"

What Almost Wasn't

Tonight when Dane was letting me rock him to sleep, I thought back to the days when we found out that having a child wasn't going to be as easy as we had hoped.  See, Jonathan and I are in the minority of infertile couples in that we found out before we ever started trying to conceive that it was going to take a miracle.  We had a small suspicion, had some testing done, and what we feared was true.

In the months prior, we had picked out names (one boy name and one girl name) for our hypothetical child.  It was so much fun imaging what he or she might be like, and I (not so secretly) wished he or she would have brown eyes.  What can I say?  I am a sucker  for some brown eyes.

We were sad enough on the day we learned our test results, but a few days later, when we recalled the names we had picked out, it made it all the more real.  The names made our "child" a real person, and so the wound was fresh again.

When I was smelling Dane's hair tonight as he snored on my lap, I thought "wow, if I had only known that this  would be the child we were missing out on..."  I'm not sure I could have functioned with that grief.

We are so blessed to have been given the chance to experience infertility.  I say that in all seriousness.  I don't wish it on anyone, but infertility has brought me wonderful friends, infertility has taught me how to hope, and infertility has made me stronger.  Granted, I say this as someone who is on the other side of the fight now.  I didn't feel this way three years ago, and I don't expect everyone who goes through it (even those who are as lucky as us and have a child) to have the same opinion.  But in this moment, I'm grateful for...well, for being grateful.

And if you're wondering, yes, "Dane" was the boy name we picked out over three and a half years before he joined us!