Conflicted...but keeping my promise.

I'm conflicted...again...about this blog. What to do? I'm not sure who is still reading, I'm not sure if the story has come to its natural end (and..............scene.) I mean, I know that the story continues but really? Maybe I am done sharing. I know we are in the midst of some complicated stuff though.

But I like to keep my promises and at the end of my last angst ridden post I did say the next blog post would be full of pictures and so without further ramblings...I give you the past few weeks in photos, with little captions, too, because I can't really ever just shut.up.

Cupcake bites...

My little piece of heaven-turnaround point on a long trail run (I'm uber sweaty!)

Second piece of heaven...lounging by the river at a friend's river house. Ahhhhhh.....

A trip back in time...recently acquired pic of the night at the airport...after twenty-four hours of travel and very little sleep....

Those same little babies (much bigger!) goofing off in their cribs.

At the pool--I made them wear ridiculously bulky swimsuits with flotation devices sewn in....

Lounging by the pool sans bulky swimsuits....!

At the park in the tunnel...so fun!

Coloring with Dad in the playroom!

Dogpiling Dad on the floor--a common activity around here :)

And finally....what powers me along (I know it's a weird pic and it looks like I'm more into the goldfish but I promise you, I am not).

Do you see the giant Diet Coke? I am willing it into my mouth...and if anyone knows how to get this display from Target I want it.



And on that note, peeps, I am out.

Split Self...Again.

I have so many half written posts.
So many.

I finally figured out why.

I feel like I am straddling two worlds right now, that I've split into two selves again. (note: not in a literal sense, no worries that I'm becoming Sybill).

World one: the one I posted about last time. I'm keeping it together. I'm baking again. I'm running. I'm parenting. I'm lucky lucky lucky lucky lucky. I have two amazing toddlers who challenge me and light up my world in new ways each and every day. I have Mother's Day to celebrate as a mother, not a 'wanting to be a mother' not a 'kind of a mother but my kids are not with me they are on the other side of the world' mother like last year, but an actual in the trenches day to day mother. I am lucky. I am happy. We hang out, we play, we read, we swim, the hubs and I get to go to the river, we go trail running, we go to work, I see patients, I earn money, I come home to a home I love, we eat delicious food, I live my life. I love my life.

World two: The agony of so much of the world. The poverty. The death. The starvation. Sickness. Things I cannot write about here because I will protect my children's privacy but suffice it to say we are in the midst of some deep, deep stuff. And let me tell you that mothering as an adoptive mother, more specifically as a transracial international adoptive mother is just like any other mothering except it isn't. Not in the least. It never will be.

Each day I love them more. And more. And more. And each day I hurt for them more deeply than the day before.

Split self.

But tomorrow is Mother's Day. I will be happy, of course. I promise you that I fought too hard to get here to not be happy.

But I will also be sad. We infertiles know all too well how we can be both happy and sad all in the same breath. It's just who we are.

Because I am my children's second mother. We are their second family. And I will be celebrating their first mothers tomorrow and also grieving for them.

And to all of those still in the trenches, my heart aches for you too. You deserve nothing more than happiness and light in your lives. The women I have met along this journey are some of the most beautiful women I know and although I'm not around here much anymore, you are never far from my thoughts and my heart. I do remember.

I promise you this: my next post will be chock full of photos. And happiness. And goodness. Because there is all of that, and more. I promise.

The post where I'm all over the place

First of all, thank you for your kind words on my last post. I should clarify that the discontinued meds were in no way life-sustaining, just deemed no longer necessary. It just felt so concrete, to discontinue those meds.

I will now commence with using bullets to give you some random updates from my life recently, some noteable notes, if you will:

• I guest lectured at my alma mater the other week. It was strange walking those halls again, being the supposed expert, answering the questions about my career. The faculty that introduced me told the class about the adoption at the end and that ended up being the thing they were most interested in...go figure!
• I ran a half marathon the other morning, on a whim. It wasn't an official race, mind you, I just kept running and running until I hit 13.1 miles and then I stopped. I did the whole thing in the dark. I texted the mister at mile 12 just to make sure he was fine with the kiddos (they are early risers!) and he said to keep on going. So I did. Now I wish I had just run until I couldn't go anymore vs. stopping at the 13.1..you know, just to see how far I could've gone. Maybe 13.2? Ha.
• We sort of got back to volunteering at the shelter. I say "sort of" because our nanny got sick after she started and after we were already almost there, so the hubs had to go back home and I stayed behind. It turns out that one person can serve 100 homeless men if the situation demands it--but I'm sure I was quite a sight racing back and forth between the entree, the salad, the sides, and getting the hot trays back from the dishwasher. I did have some help from one of the homeless guys who has permission to work in the kitchen and he was quite a character. We're going to make another attempt soon.
• We found a new babysitter--a local high schooler that is a lot cheaper more economical than our nanny for nights out. She basically sits there on our sofa while the babies sleep. We are endeavouring to go out more at times when they are asleep so as not to take away from family time. I am very excited about this endeavour. We need to get out more. If only I didn't have such an early curfew :)
• I am reading three books right now:
• The Center Cannot Hold: riveting.
• BossyPants by Tina Fey: hilarious.
• Left to Tell: ok I haven't actually started it yet but it looks intense.
• OK by 'reading' I mean every night I crawl into bed at 8:30 (!) and read for max thirty minutes before I'm out like a light until my iPhone wakes me to run at 3:45.
• We saw a movie! An actual movie! Yes, it was "The Hunger Games." I gave it an 8.
• The toddlers (I can't call them babies anymore) continue to thrive. I need to dedicate an entire post to their updates, but suffice it to say they run everywhere and chatter up a storm and mostly sleep like a dream. I say mostly because right.this.very.second as I type I can see them on the monitor, rolling around, kicking, talking, etc. and they have been in their cribs for 45 minutes. Very unusual as they usually conk right out at night. No se.
• We went to Ethiopian Culture Day with them and it was amazing to be surrounded by beautiful Ethiopian people. It is good to be in the minority every now and again and see your children in the majority.
• Our cat is going back on Prozac. Um, yeah. That's all I'll say about that. OK I'll add: does anyone want a cat?
• I decided to make Hello Kitty cakeballs the other day. We were going to a three year old's Hello Kitty birthday party and I realized how much I miss baking and creating and voila! Here you go:

And that about sums up the past couple of weeks around Casa de MTL. What's new with you?

Gone From My Sight

Today they took my Dad off of most of his medications.
He doesn't need them anymore.
Comfort care only.

I understand, I really do.
I want nothing more than for my Dad to be released from this existence; while he's not in acute pain, he's suffering.  Anyone who disagrees with me please don't comment here. If you saw him and had any idea, I don't think you could be a compassionate human being and disagree.

He doesn't know me. He doesn't know my babies. He only sometimes knows my Mom. He barely talks, he sleeps away most of his days. He's eating less.

Signs, all of them, but we really never know.


Soon, he will be gone from my sight. I do know this.

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!"
"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear the load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!" There are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: "Here she comes!"
And that is dying.

Thank you, Henry Van Dyke.

Lessons from a night runner

Five days of the week, my alarm goes off at 3:50 am. I am usually out the door by 4:05 am running.

I remember those first few runs where it felt awkward to be running in pitch darkness. I wear a headlamp around my waist but even still, it was disconcerting to only see a few feet around me.

But now.

Now I love that intense darkness. The solitude. The stillness. The fact that most of the world around me is still sleeping but I am running.

Night running reminds me of our journey to parenthood.

During our infertility struggles and treatment I could only see the immediate ground in front of me: get pregnant. Get pregnant get pregnant get pregnant. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other even though you feel like you're blind and don't know what lurks in the darkness, keep going. Keep focused on the goal. Stumble. Fall down. Skin your knees, bruise your shins, but by God get back up and keep going. One foot in front of the other no matter what.

I ran a million miles in the darkness, sometimes it felt like I didn't have a headlamp. Sometimes I was gasping for air. Sometimes I could only walk. Sometimes I could barely crawl. The darkness of infertility threatened to bring me down. But I was determined to keep going on that path, looking down down down at the ground, at the few feet in front of me, focused on the very next step always.

Until.

One day I decided to look up.

And I saw the stars.

The brilliant stars--millions and millions of them--across the dark sky.

Where we live there no streetlights. Obviously there is no traffic during my night/early morning runs. It is me and sky and God.

And the occasional deer.

It took me a few weeks of running in the dark to get comfortable enough to look up and notice the stars. And now I see them constantly; now I run with my eyes turned upward, sure-footed and confident.

And nearly every time I go I see a shooting star.

Ah, my babies are my shooting stars.

I was so focused on looking at the ground for so many years I nearly missed them.

Sometimes you have to look up and see the stars guys.

I know there are many reasons people give for staying on the most common path to parenthood, for not considering adoption, but having been through it I will say that barring simply no interest in adoption or perhaps a criminal background, there really are pathways for most to adoption if your heart is ready. The adoption tax credit makes financing an adoption far easier than financing fertility treatments. It's not an easy journey and it most definitely doesn't end when the adoption paperwork is complete ( do not want oversimplify this incredibly complex emotional journey for all parties involved, most importantly, the adoptees who had no say in their adoption), it's an unconventional journey, but in the proper cirumstances, it can build a family.

I can't change my infertility road. But one day, I anticipate some painful conversations when I might have to explain why it took me so long to see my stars. Because I never want them to think they weren't the best choice I could have ever made, because they are.

My beautiful shooting stars. H&H.

I'm so, so glad I looked up.

EDITED: I re-read this post after it published and don't want to sound like I'm pushing adoption. I'm not. Of course I think it is under-considered because it stings to be told to consider adoption when you're not ready. I get that. I was there. But I want to be a light for anyone seeking this option, and maybe even open some hearts to it. That is all. Motives pure. Promise.

Also edited to sadly add: We were lucky with the adoption tax credit. With current legislation it won't be as good for adoptions completed in 2012 and 2013. At all. I need to figure out what is being done to extend it. Man, were we lucky.

On March 23, 2011 we stood in a waiting room of an Ethiopian court.

It was crowded. There was no room to sit. It was hot; no air conditioning.

There was no specific appointed time, just a time that the court opened that we were told to arrive.

We rode over in the back of an old Toyota, through streets crowded with cars and livestock and people, over horrible roads that jangled us about in our seatbeltless back seat. The air was full of smog and burned our lungs as the windows were down. When we first arrived our car was immediately surrounded by school aged boys who weren't in school because instead, they begged for the chance to polish our shoes for money to feed their families. Women approached with babies on their backs who looked at us with malnourished and hollow eyes as they signed hunger, bringing their tiny hands to their open mouths.

We went before the judge as she sternly asked us questions. We were nervous. It was over quickly.

Today, exactly one year later, we went before a judge again.

We rode over in our comfortable car, on a super highway, with food in our bellies and clean air in our lungs. As we got out we were met by my sister and mother in the parking lot. No one was begging. No one was hungry. We went into a comfortable building, air conditioned to the point of being uncomfortably cold, and waited our turn. We carried our well fed twenty-six pound toddlers in front of the judge and sought her approval of our adoption.

I am happy.
I am sad.
I have so many mixed emotions as our so many of our 'moments' have been literally presided over by a stranger.

But that's minor. It's just part of the nature of adoption.

We have full bellies. We have access to health care. My children have the chance to frolic in the bluebonnets versus begging someone for a few coins for polishing their shoes.

Some days it all hurts so much, the reality of the direction our lives have taken. Because once you know, you cannot un-know.

Tonight I have a grateful heart. I want my heart to always be bursting with gratitude.

Today the State of Texas recognized my children as my children. But they are the world's children, and there are literally millions more who do not have any luxuries in life, not a single one. And we can't forget them.

I don't want to end on a sad note, so I'll share some photos of the day.

Earlier this week I saw a patient that I have been seeing for six years. I only see her yearly and I must admit, I don't immediately recall details of patients by a name on my schedule alone. But her face.

The second I saw her face I remembered.

She's a sister in this fight.
Only she never won.

She's 50 now.

I had to go through her electronic chart trying to find some information and as I clicked entry after entry the 'chief complaints' zipped by. I went back to the beginning, when she was 40.

I felt sick as I watched those years go by, literally clicking through them with my simple mouse clicks.

"A 40 year old female presents for..."
"A 41 year old female presents for..."
"A 42 year old female presents for..."

and so on and so on until now.

"Are those your babies?" she asked, gesturing towards my two small photos of the babies on my bookshelf in my office. I will not plaster the place with baby photos. I would hope I am more sensitive than that.

"Yes."

She knows I know her history. We've discussed it as it has related to the reason she sees me.

But she doesn't know mine.

She might have an inkling now, seeing the faces of my two adopted babies, but she might not.

Oh but my heart broke.
Her social history will always say: Number of children: zero.

I worked hard. I fought through so much. Year after year I hurt, a pain so raw and ragged there were days it threatened to take me right under. And she waged a war, too. For reasons unknown to me she stopped at medical treatment. I have no idea if she had any interest in adoption. If her mind wasn't open to it I wished it had been. But I"ll never know.

Life is not fair.
It will never be fair.
Everyone has pain.

"A 44 year old woman presents for..."
"A 45 year old woman present for..."
"A 46 year old woman presents for..."

Damn the years just keep ticking by and some are no closer to their dreams of being a parent.

It is a simple dream. A simple dream. The simplest, when you think about it, to be a parent. Most people take it for granted.

And I will never understand why it is denied to so many good souls out there.

Keep fighting ladies. Do not give up. Remember there are many paths to parenthood, and each one of them is beautiful and unique and none is better than the other.

Different--sure. But not better.

Hugs to you all, my fellow ladies in the battle. I haven't forgotten, even though I don't hurt so much anymore. For what it's worth, I promise I haven't forgotten.