Birthday Blues

     So, yesterday my mom and I went to a Just Between Friends consignment sale event in town. I know there are a lot of items I cannot purchase right now (like a car seat or clothing) because I do not know the age of the child we will be adopting. But, I thought I could at least get a crib. So, I was a little late getting there and my mom was waiting impatiently. She was pissy because she had to wait for me. So, we were starting this adventure off on the wrong foot. She snapped at me about being late and that they were letting people in earlier (to which, I said we were not allowed in until 5 and it was only a few minutes after 5, but she insisted that was not true – whatever). We were there as first-timers for the pre-view sale, so it was not a crazy mob like it will be this afternoon and tomorrow. Outside of the main room there were strollers and car seats. Inside the large warehouse were the other items. Rows upon rows upon rows of clothing. Many tables of toys. Bouncy seats, high chairs, pack-n-plays, infant items, etc. And, a sea of pregnant bellies. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me ahead of time, but literally everyone (except me, my mom and some of the other grandma’s) was visibly pregnant or carrying an infant. I had a visceral reaction when I stepped inside. My eyes welled up with tears, my throat tightened, my stomach clenched and I wanted to run screaming for the car. I had a “what-am-I-doing!!” thought. I literally felt ill, dizzy even. I felt like a fish out of water, desperately gasping for air and flopping futilely on the ground. “I do not belong here,” I thought to myself. I have never felt like such an interloper in my life. I knew, at any moment, someone would call me out as a fake. What was I thinking? I don’t belong in the mommy club. 
     I fought through these feelings and stumbled after my mother to the area where it looked like they had cribs. Instead, there were bassinets and changing tables. They had toddler beds but no cribs. We searched in vain for cribs and my mom kept pointing something out that I “might” need, but “you don’t know because if it’s a toddler, you won’t need it.” I felt like Hester Prynne, shamefully wearing my scarlet letter for all the world to see. We left empty handed and I cried all the way home.
     My 30th birthday is in two days. My period is due in two days. I’m not sure which I am dreading more. I thought, rather than sit home alone and feel sorry for myself, I would invite out all my favorite people to a local tapas lounge to hang out for my birthday. Really, I was hoping my sister and mom would throw me a huge birthday bash, but that was wishful thinking. So, apparently everyone and their mother is getting married this Saturday. I know at least 5 people I invited who are going to a wedding. Others simply cannot make it (and I know some friends who are far away cannot make it but I already knew they could not, I just wanted them to know they were special to me by sending them the invitation). I am thinking about canceling the whole dam thing and reverting back to my original plan of extreme intoxication in the solitude and comfort of my own home. I don’t want to be thirty. I feel like I have relatively little to show for the 30 years I have been on this earth. I know celebrating another birthday is better than the other alternative. I know some friends who would have loved to see their brothers celebrate their 30th birthdays. But, I am struggling so much with this birthday. Everyone well over 30 makes light of how I feel. “Oh my god! Thirty is no big deal!! Wait ‘til you hit 50!” or “Thirty is still so young!” Great, these things do not make me feel any better. I wanted to have at least one baby before my 30th birthday. I wanted to be living in my “forever” home – a house I didn’t plan on leaving, with plenty of room for several children and space galore. I thought I would be making more money and have a higher position in my career (that has more to do with the lousy economy) or at least have figured out what I want to do with my life. I am just simply down in the dumps this year. And, I stupidly thought that gathering the people I love around me, would help to ease my birthday distress. Instead, I feel like a heel. And, as childish as it might seem, I feel very unloved and unimportant to the people I consider important in my life. I feel like there is simply no point in even trying to get out of this funk. I mean, even my own husband can’t come! (It is impossible for him to get off of work on a Saturday night). No body likes me, everybody hates me, I guess I’ll go eat some worms.
     This afternoon, after work, I am getting a hair cut. My hair (when pulled straight) is nearly to my waist. I have been growing it out for about two years so that I can donate it to Locks of Love. Initially, I was going to wait to cut it when I got pregnant, but since that is not happening anytime soon, I decided it’s time for the hair to go. My hair is very thick and hard to manage because it is somewhat curly and mostly frizzy. It takes a whole lotta hair gel to keep my hair in place. And it’s so long, that I can’t really even straighten it with the flat iron. So, tonight I am getting it all hacked off. I don’t really like my hair very short because I have a more round face, but it is for a good cause. But, my hair grows fast, so it won’t be short for long. I have done this once before. After college and before I left for the Peace Corps, I got all of my hair cut off. My hair then wasn’t quite as long as it is now, so the new ‘do ended up being just below my ears. I think the cut made me look really young, and not in a good way for a recent college graduate. It was easier to take care of, giving myself bucket baths in Nicaragua, but it was also very, very hot because I could not pull it all back off of my neck. I am thinking about getting a more funky hair cut this time. I am nervous about the new hair cut because I don’t want to hate it (especially, considering how I am already so miserable about my birthday). I guess I will have to wait and see. I trust my hair dresser, she does a good job. And, I have looked at pictures, but I don’t think I want to take one to her because last time I did that (I was in 4th grade) I got a modified mullet (business on top, party in the back). And it’s hard to tell what would work for my hair, because I don’t have 15 hair stylists doing it for me every day. And I have thick, semi-curly hair, so some of the choppy styles won’t work unless I straighten it every day, which is futile when it is humid or rainy (which pretty much describes the month of September with all the rain and flooding we’ve been getting). I think, in some aspects, the hair cut signifies getting rid of some of the dead weight in my life. I am not one who frequently waxes philosophical, but in this instance, cutting my hair just before a birthday I have been dreading, might help me to cut out the feelings of inadequacy in my personal life. It’s like my own private make-over, outside and (hopefully) inside as well. 
     So, on Saturday my mom and sister and I are going to get pedicures, then go to the mall. There is a department store where my mom said she has seen convertible cribs (apparently, she has been looking at cribs since last year – for the love!). With my sister along (my sister is 5 years younger than me and her main concern right now is getting ahead in her career and getting her boyfriend to propose – she is really not into the baby “thing”) this should be interesting. I just hope it is a more fruitful endeavor than yesterday.

Final Training

     Yesterday (9/24) Flaco and I had our third and final training at CHOR. It was shorter than the other two and we finished early before lunch and at the end of the day. We learned about the different mental illnesses the children in foster care might have and what the symptoms are and what treatments might be used to help them (by professionals, of course). Then, in the afternoon we learned about what happens if a child accuses a foster family of some wrong-doing (like hitting them or neglecting them) and how to avoid such accusations. The last part of the day was Consuelo asking two women in the training, who are already foster mothers, various questions about their experiences.
     After the lunch break Consuelo scheduled an interview with me and Flaco for Monday, October 4th at 5 pm. I am not sure what she will be asking us or what we will be talking about, but it is the next step. At that appointment, we will then schedule our home inspection. Which means we need to get our crap in order and like now!
     I was talking to my friend from work about what we need to get for our baby, as far as furniture. She recommended just getting a crib,a pack-n-play, and a dresser and that is pretty much it, until we know more about the age and gender of our baby. In addition to that we need other things, like cabinet locks and a place to lock up our medicine. And we need to move things out of the room to make space for a baby.
     I don't know why, but for some reason I am really nervous about the interview. I am terrified, in fact. I have been having nightmares that they will not "accept" us as adopting parents - that we will be denied for some random reason and NEVER NEVER get a baby. This started Friday night. After the terrible doctor's visit. So, hopefully the interview will calm my nerves. We will have to see. . . . .

Right Back Where We Started

     I went to see Dr. F. today, in the office where my mom works. It was a mistake. I suppose I was hoping that finally someone would be willing to help me. To figure out why I am not getting pregnant - the whole story. I want to figure everything out. That is not what happened. What did happen makes me feel even more hopeless and sure we will never have a biological baby.
     So, the doctor had me explain what other doctors have tried. He mentioned that my hemoglobin was high and when I asked what that meant, he said my body can hold a lot of oxygen. I have no idea what that means. He said my blood pressure was a tad high, which I said always happens at the doctor's office. Most of the time I was with the doctor, he talked about losing weight. He didn't ask me about my irregular periods. He didn't care that the nurse documented that I pass clots sometimes as large a half dollars during my period. He didn't really seem concerned about the spotting sometimes a week or more before my period. And he did not do an exam (which, actually I was glad about, since I have a head cold and feel worse that 3 day old shit). No, he just kept harping on my weight. Hello! I know I am fat. I have a mirror in my home. I have known I need to lose weight since I was a chubby kid - the only girl wearing a bra in third grade. If I had a dime for every person who felt it was their job to tell me I should lose weight, I would be so much prettier if I'd lose weight, I'm fat, I'm too heavy, I'm undesirable because I am not at a weight that is "normal," I have such a pretty face to be so over-weight, for every backhanded compliment like "you should be a plus-sized model" - if I had a dime for every time I have looked in the mirror and tried to imagine how I would look if I were thinner, for years of hating, loathing, and detesting my body, for every time I get so frustrated trying to find something to wear, for every pound I lost only to gain back. For the kids who tormented me about my weight in grade school. For the Nicaraguans who would ask, "You're so fat, arent' you?" For every time my husband suggests I should try herbal tea or diet supplements or some exercise equipment to lose weight. If I had a dime for every single one of these things, I'd have more than enough money to pay for IVF. So, now I can add to that list, the fact that I can't have a baby because I am too fat. The doctor actually suggested lap-band surgery. So, all the feelings of peace and over-coming the pain of not having a biological child - it's gone. I felt so terrible about myself, that I didn't eat a dam thing for dinner. I wish I had not gone to this doctor. And I am scheduled to go back in a month. For a weigh-in. Great.
     The doctor did put me back on Metformin - which I hate. My body never got used to it last time. I will fill the prescription on Monday. I will suffer some more or some ridiculous pipe dream that I don't even believe in. And I will try to lose weight. I will start walking and eating tiny portions. I will agonize about every morsel I put into my mouth. I will feel miserable and deprived and worthless. But, there really is no point. Now more than ever I don't believe I will ever have a biological child.
     So, tomorrow we have our third and final adoption training. Generally, I have looked forward to our trainings because it takes us one step closer to actually adopting a child. But, now I don't feel like doing a dam thing. I feel so disheartened. And the fact that I have a cold is not helping. And I was just beginning to get excited about adopting a baby. Next week my mom and I are going to a Just Between Friends event, where there are a lot of great gently used baby and children's items. I was really looking forward to it. Now, I don't really want to go.
     I am right back where I was so many months ago - hopeless, miserable, broken. And now, I can add self-loathing to the list. Dam it all to hell.

Playing both sides of the Field

     On Saturday, September 17th  Flaco and I attended our second adoption training at CHOR. There were a few new ladies in the group and this time we were the only couple and Flaco was the only male. We learned about attachment issues children in foster care might have and child development, both physical and emotional. We handed in our Child Abuse clearances and our FBI background clearances. We are inching forward. Consuelo told us we would need to set up our interview at the next training (which will be 9/24) and we will also have to set up our house inspection. We are woefully unprepared for the house inspection. We have nothing in our home that suggests we are prepared for a baby to move in. We did clean out the “office” but there are still several pieces of furniture we need to relocate to make room for a crib, changing table, etc. We also need to get the immunization records for the animals, which means we actually have to take Jackson (the kitten that is now a year old) to the vet for his shots. Flaco loathes spending money on the animals, thus we have neglected to take Jackson to the vet up to this point. But, that’s a whole other conversation.  I feel like we are still very far away from adopting a child or having a child placed with us. Perhaps I will feel differently when we have the room all set up. Part of me fears setting the room up and then having to wait and wait and wait and wait. . . . We have been waiting since January 2009. In the real world, it’s not that long. In the trying-to-conceive world, it’s a lifetime. At the training we talked a lot about the biological family and how we might have to interact with them, why it is important for both the child and the family to have visitation, what reactions the child might have immediately before and after the visitation. For Flaco and I, this was a curious thing to think about. We are not going to be foster parents, in the normal sense – we are going to be making this child our own. We will be his/her parents. Consuelo told us we would have the option to allow family members to interact with our child and we could set whatever parameters we choose for them. Flaco blurted out that we would not permit the biological family to interact with our child. Later, I clarified with him, that it would depend on the situation and how comfortable we feel with that family member. He cautiously agreed. 
     Last Thursday we got our records from the infertility clinic. My mom has scheduled an appointment for me to see Dr. F on 9/23. I still have more hope in adoption than I do in having our own biological child. It seems more like a sure thing to me. I feel extreme trepidation in stepping back into this infertility world. I have been doing ok lately, really keeping calm (even despite last month’s idiotic “feeling pregnant” episode). I think I have transferred my infertility obsession to my 30th birthday obsession. Yes, on October 1, 2011 I will be 30 years old. And I’m freaking out about it. It doesn’t matter how many people tell me that “age is just a number” “you don’t look 30” “age is how old you feel,” etc., etc., etc., ad nauseum. These things do not make me feel better. For the most part, my 20’s have been pretty dam great. I celebrated my 21st birthday while studying abroad in Greece, graduated college and then celebrated birthday’s 23 and 24 in Nicaragua. I got married and bought a home. But, I thought by the time I was 30 (why does this still feel old to me?!) I would have a career, not just a job, and I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY wanted to have my first child before I turned 30. I had to give up on that idea 9 months ago. Now, I am realizing that if I don’t get pregnant in the next 3 months, I will be 31 before birthing a child. Why does this bother me so dam much? I don’t know. I guess it all stems from me still thinking that 30 is freaking OLD! I wanted to be a “younger” mother – not like I had my kid when I was 16 young, but younger. I don’t want to be 80 years old with a kid in college. I guess, it just rubs me the wrong way that things haven’t gone exactly as I have planned. I don’t know why deciding to start at family at age 27 did not result in my desired outcome. I don’t want to leave my 20’s. I don’t want to be 30. Even if 30 is the new 20. Even if 30 is really not all that old. Even if I could become a mother in my 30’s. I think too, I struggle knowing that the infertility battle only gets worse once a woman hits 30. It’s all down hill from here for my eggs and reproductive organs. The expiration date is looming on the horizon. But, there is no stopping the march of time. Oh, and Aunt Flo is due on my birthday. Guess who is going to be a hot mess on 10/01/2011? 
     This Saturday is our third and final adoption class. We will be setting up our home visit. Next Wednesday I will be attending a Just for Friends event in town to find some gently used items, like a crib and baby seat. I tried to make a list of the things I think we might need, but I feel wholly incapable of determining what new adoptive parents might need. And, we won’t be registering anywhere for baby items, because we don’t know the age of the baby we will be getting. (Also, I don’t expect to have a baby shower. I don’t think I want one. Not that I don’t want to accept gifts and well-wishes from friends and family, but I associate a baby shower with being pregnant and birthing a child. If we did have a baby shower it would be after we have the baby. I don’t know, I’m sure there are many adoptive moms out there who might disagree with me, but right now the thought of a baby shower breaks my heart. Is that crazy?) I am going to ask my mom if she wants to go with me. I haven’t really told her that we are now exploring two options of having a child. Somehow, I think she would find it disturbing that we are continuing in the adoption process while simultaneously attempting more infertility treatments/options. I’m sure she will see it as tempting fate – we will adopt and immediately get pregnant. Maybe, I am just projecting my own fears onto my mom. I am just trying to take a leap of faith here and believe that God will help our child to find his/her way to us in the appropriate timing and the appropriate manner. It has taken me well over a year to stop being angry and bitter, blaming God for not giving us a child, for making us miserable with this infertility. It has taken me a long time to accept that things happen in God’s timing and not our own. In fact, most days I don’t think I have accepted this fact. So, I have to carefully nurture this fledgling of faith. I don’t ask “Why God? Why?” or “When God? When?” (if you ever watch Joyce Meyer’s broadcast on TV or the web, she says this a lot) as much as I used to. Instead, I try to say something like, “God, things happen in Your perfect timing and not my own.” Sometimes it pisses me off – the waiting and the agony. But, more and more I am resting in the peace of God that surpasses all understanding. Again, to quote Joyce, “I’m not where I need to be, but thank God I’m not where I used to be.” I just hope this tranquility will continue as the doctor begins the poking and prodding and I start taking medication and vitamins and counting days and having planned sex, as well as other despicable things I’m sure I haven’t even imagined. So, the door is closing on my 20’s and opening on my 30’s. I pray that I can welcome this new decade in with open arms. Surly, all the good things in life are yet to come.      

Complex duality

     (Before I start on my actual post, I want to apply to Amy's comment on the last post. I don't know what the flip is wrong that I cannot comment on my own dam blog, but apparently I am not tech savvy enough to figure it out. This might have contributed to my delinquency in posting - that and the lack of anything happening. So to Amy: "It occurred to me, after reading your comment, Amy, that I was thinking of adopting and having a biological child as mutually exclusive. I guess, it just seems foolish to be trying to have a baby by two different means. I know that some of the adoption agencies would not accept a couple who are still trying to get pregnant through infertility options. But, I think, ultimately this is what we have decided to do.")

     So, Flaco and I spoke. Flaco, in his simple man terms said, "It's ok if we adopt and then get pregnant with a baby." So, it appears I will be getting our records from the infertility clinic and handing them over to Dr. F. where my mom works. Then, we will start this game all over again.
     I think, I am willing to give this another go because I feel so let-down by the process up until this point. Although we gave up on infertility treatments, not long after first seeing the infertility specialist, I never felt like we had tried all that we could to get pregnant. My mom and I had a very long discussion about this on Monday. She didn't understand why my gyno didn't start with the hsg to see if my tubes were open. She said, if my tubes were opened (as the doctor indicated) during this procedure, then it's like we have only been trying since April. There was really no point in having me take Clomid and ovulate, if the the portal to the uterus was closed. And she also didn't understand why the infertility specialist didn't have us do a post coital test (bump nasties and then run to the doctor's office to check the progress of the little swimmers in the cervical mucus - yes, this does sound just like a day at the spa). I feel cautiously optimistic. I don't want to get my hopes up, but if I had absolutely no hope then there would be no point in seeing yet another doctor.
     So, it feels weird to be in the process of adopting while also attempting to get pregnant. I guess I do think of these things as mutually exclusive, mostly because the end results could be two babies at the same time - like having twins! But, I am adjusting to this idea and there is no certainty in any step we take. I am trusting in God to make our perfect family (something I should have been doing all along, but I spent a lot of time being very angry with God for "putting" us through this infertility debacle) - who knows, perhaps God's perfect plan was for us to be doubly blessed?
     Saturday is our second adoption class. We spent most of Monday preparing the room we call our office for the baby. We still have a long way to go. We have no baby furniture and the room is still full of our stuff. Flaco and I have not decided what we will do with these things, but I am sure we will figure it out. At least, we purged some things and organized everything else. So, onward!

Here We Go Again . . . .

     Life is peculiar. My last post, I wrote about intense feelings and even (what I thought were) symptoms that I was pregnant. I was so, so, so sure! I let myself reach the height of jubilation and joy – I guestimated the due date, began picking out names, and I even called up my mom to share the news. I mean, I went all-out in truly thinking I was pregnant. Whole-hog. The whole enchilada. I don’t know how to explain it other than “feeling” pregnant. But, my body and mind fooled me and I am once again left empty-handed. Not to be too self-congratulatory, but I am not as devastated as I have been in the past. I’m mad at myself for a) letting myself truly believe that “this” time it was actually happening, I was pregnant and b) telling my mother. I regret telling my mom because I know she hurts and is disappointed almost as deeply as I am, when Aunt Flo finally arrives. I know that it is almost like opening old wounds for her, because of her own infertility struggles for 5 years, nearly 30 years ago. And she is so ready and so excited to be a grandmother. Just as I am jealous of friends who have babies, she is jealous of friends who have grandchildren. But, I guess to both of us, this time felt different. In fact, my mom almost bought diapers! She said they were on sale and she too felt, this must be IT! When I called my mom to report that my period arrived with a vengeance Wednesday morning, she simply said, “Shit!” It kind of sums up all this mess, really. I feel bad that she suffers along with me. I told my mom this whole thing is stupid, that I am adopting a baby and I really shouldn’t be worried about getting pregnant. My mom then revealed that she believes we “gave up” too easily and that there is so much more testing that can be done. My mom is friends with my nurse practitioner and she said she is very disappointed that they did not perform more testing, even before sending me to the infertility specialist. She told me to get my medical records from the infertility doctor, so she can show the doctor where she works and see what might have been missed. I called the office this morning and will be picking up the records on Thursday.     
     But, I keep having this feeling of what-the-heck-am-I-doing?!?! I thought I was done with all of this! I thought I had sufficiently driven out the idea of a biological child from my mind. I had given up on the possibility that by some miracle, Flaco and I would manage to conceive. I made peace with this whole new scenario. There would be no baby bump pictures, no how-did-we-tell-them stories, no hospital, no birthing classes, nothing like that. In place of ultra-sounds and doctor’s visits, we would be getting profiles of children and a house inspection. But, in the end, the most important thing would be the same – we would have a baby. Now? I feel guilty. I feel guilty for considering another round of testing for infertility issues, for meeting with a different doctor. I feel like we are letting down the child who is out there somewhere waiting for us to adopt him or her. And I feel confused. I don’t know how to have hope and yet still be ok with reality. I don’t know how to think I might get pregnant each month and not be utterly devastated when I am not every time. I just don’t know how to strike this balance. I stopped taking the Metformin. I stopped taking the pre-natal vitamins. I stopped worrying about how much caffeine I was drinking or if I wanted a Corona or two with Flaco. I stopped tracking the “fertile” days of my cycle. None of these things mattered if we were adopting. Getting Flaco on board for adopting was nothing short of a miracle itself. I haven’t let Flaco know that I might be seeing yet another doctor for infertility assistance. I don’t know how he will feel about it. Flaco does seem to be on Team Mom though; he told me the other week that he still believes it will be possible for us to have a biological child. This statement floored me because I feel like Flaco was the first one to give up on us ever conceiving a child. Now, he thinks it will happen that elusive “someday.” Just when I think I have it all figured out, this whole issue comes roaring back to life!      
     So, what do I do? We do have some time and money invested in the adoption process. And this feels like more of a sure thing to me. Flaco and I are good people, I don’t see a reason why CHOR wouldn’t want to give us a baby. Yet, there is that teeny, tiny little part of me that would truly love to have the whole experience of conception to birth; to have a baby that will resemble his/her mommy and daddy, to see the beauty we can create. At this present moment, we will continue with the adoption classes. The next one is September 10th. I will get my records and pass them along to my mom, who will pass them along to one of the doctors where she works. I’m sure he will want me back on the Metformin and pre-natal vitamins. I’m not sure what other tests there are that can be done, but a fellow PCOS infertility sister told me that in order to truly diagnosis PCOS the doctor would need to do tests on my liver enzymes. I don’t know if this was done. I do know that my father is missing a liver enzyme that his body needs to break down alcohol and he can’t drink because the alcohol goes right into his blood stream and makes him itch like mad, sometimes he even breaks out in hives. I know this happens to me too, although not quite to the extent of my father’s reaction. I know that the doctor told me he saw cysts on my ovaries and that my fasting glucose levels were a little high. I know that I should lose weight, which might help the process. I have conflicting reports from the tests on my tubes – the doctor who performed the test said the tubes were blocked, but he opened them. The nurse from the infertility office who called me to report the results of the test told me everything looked fine with my tubes, no lesions or blockage. According to the tests done, Flaco’s little spermies are ok, not all-star Olympic athletes, but good enough to get the job done. He had no issues to contribute to the infertility debacle. And that is it! That is the extent of what we know, really. I don’t know what the doctor might decide to do with this information. My mom thinks he might do some kind of test that involves scraping out my uterus  - which sounds like loads of fun! I guess I won’t know until I get there – IF we decide to go down that road again. At this point, I simply don’t know. I hope and pray we can make a wise decision. . . . .