Lost

I've always wanted to adopt. It's a beautiful metaphor for what God's done with us- His children. Really though, its not just a metaphor... its literally what he's done for us- taking us out of sin and the threat of Hell, and into His outstretched arms. Its a beautiful thing.

But now that its looking more and more like that's the only way I'll ever be able to have kids, I'm reluctant.

I want my own. I want to carry them in my tummy. I want the anxious excitement- who will he look like? Will she have hair or be bald like I was until she's 2? I want to be able to call my parents and say, 'hey mom! You're going to be a grandma!'

Maybe I'm being selfish. But every negative test feels like a punch to the stomach. More like a punch to the heart. And I'm not ready to consider that fact that maybe God's plan has always been for me to adopt.

I'm heartbroken. And angry. Why is this happening to me?

If anyone has the answer, feel free to share. Because I'm lost. I'm lost in the dark and I can't see any light.

Baby Bump in the Road

Pesky Aunt Flo is back.

That, in and of itself, is frustrating. But then I go to have my clomid check only to find out that insurance does not, in fact, cover these monthly visits to my doctor. I was blindsided by a whopping $95 charge from my last visit. Let me repeat that- from my last visit. Not the appointment I was there for that day. So when that appointment was over, I had to pay another $115. GAH! Talk about taking a serious beating to the wallet. Oh, and did I mention that doesn't include the medicine costs? Yeah. Trying to have a baby is a lot more expensive than I thought. And that's just trying to have one.

So, I find all this out and I start crying. No, not crying- blubbering in the middle of the waiting room. Tears streaming down my face. Unattractive snot bubbles pouring from my nose. And no tissues to be seen. Aren't I in a doctor's office? Shouldn't there be tissues somewhere?

But I honsetly can't help these emotions. I think my last round of clomid made me a little hormonal turned me into a raving lunatic. I submit into evidence exhibit A: crying blubbering like a crazy woman in the middle of a crowded waiting room. Women all over the place moving away from me. Mothers with babies or young children holding them closer- and thus shielding them from me.

Once the snot cry ended (and the hiccups began), I was able to, somehwhat rationally, evaluate my behavior. Looking back, I know that bursting into tears was not a reaction I would usually have. At least, not in front of 50 or so strangers. Usually, I would just wait until I was in my car to begin the waterworks. But not that day. No. My emotions have not been my own. Clomid has taken over my body like the Germans invading France all those years ago. And just like the French, my poor body is not allowed to speak its own language anymore. I hardly know who I am anymore. And that was just round one. This time, the dosage was upped. Sprechen sie deutsche?

John is thrilled. (Heavy on the sarcasm)

But to give him credit, he has been incredibly supportive. Dealing with my mood swings like a pro. I wouldn't be able to do it. Mother Theresa may have even had a hard time putting up with me. And my dear hubby, a saver and penny pincher economical spender to a fault, told me that he would spend whatever it takes. He knows I want this. And I suspect he wants a baby just as much as I.

So we trudge on. Just another bump in the road that will hopefully lead to a baby bump sometime in the near future.