Infertility Doesn't End with a Baby

It has been two years since I had to walk through the doors of a reproductive endocrinologist’s office with the hopes that when I passed through those doors on the way out, that we had been given hope.  The last time I walked out our doctor’s doors, I was nine weeks pregnant with the Dragon.

And now, I have an active two year old and a husband finally home from deployment and we are about to start the process for baby #2 again, because infertility doesn’t end even when you have a kid sleeping down the hall from you.

The Sir and I don’t have the luxury of having a brief discussion about stopping birth control (which I haven’t been on in five years anyway) with the hopes that we get pregnant just a few short months later.  We don’t have accidental pregnancies or unexpected surprises and there’s no ”let’s just see what happens” options when you have an infertility diagnosis.

We have to have months of discussion about timing and his availability to accompany me to doctor’s appointments on a work day or who’s going to tame the Dragon while we’re gone.  We have to talk about how we are going to pay for this next round when we haven’t even paid off the procedure that resulted in the Dragon.  I have to get mentally and physically ready to get back on the hormones that will be prescribed and go through all the uncomfortable, and sometimes painful, procedures once again.  We have to be prepared for the fact that we only have one embryo left---one last shot---and that there’s about a dozen steps that have to work out before we even get a positive pregnancy test. We have to step out in faith and surround ourselves in prayer to fight this battle one last time, to not lose hope, to trust that God will remain sovereign in the midst of this once again.

I wish the Sir and I could share a bottle of wine on a Saturday and have a good ol’ fashioned romp in the bedroom to make this baby, rather than heading to the hospital and holding hands while a doctor inserts this embryo.  The first option is definitely a lot more fun for both of us.

But for whatever reason, God has lead us down this path.  He was faithful and generous in giving us our Dragon, and now we pray that He allows us to meet this little boy that we have been waiting and praying for over the last two years.

So this Christmas, we ask that you send some prayers our way, because we hope by next year, someone will be handing us another baby.

Falling Short

Parenting during a deployment is hard.  Parenting during deployment with a strong willed, high needs dragon toddler seems nearly impossible.

There’s no way to sugarcoat it---it sucks balls.

Dragon has never been an easy kiddo to raise.  She feels every emotion to an extreme level, and that includes anger and frustration and sadness.  She needs a constant combination of mental AND physical stimulation and rarely can sit still for more than a few minutes before she wanders off to find something that suits her fancy more than what she’s currently doing. From the moment her little wide toddler feet hit the ground in the morning, it is full speed ahead until bedtime with few stops in between.

So running at 100MPH every day, all day, starts to wear a person down, particularly when it is a mama that already has extra responsibilities on her plate with the Sir being away.  There is no one to hand off responsibility to when Dragon is on her fifth tantrum since breakfast or when mama is in the midst of another storm related migraine.  There is no one to tag in when you’re at the end of your rope.

And it is wearing on my heart.  So often I end the day wishing I had done more, been more, loved more.  That I had taken time to do another craft or made a more nutritious meal or stopped folding the third load of laundry to read Cora’s favorite book another round.  I judge the time we spent at the park versus the time we spent at the grocery store, the effort I put into pulling the weeds versus creating chalk art in the driveway, the amount of my day I spent disciplining versus snuggling.  And when I finish the calculations in my head, my sum as a mommy always seems to fall short. 

But, Praise God, He seems to remind me over and over that He and Cora are not measuring me up to my own expectations.  That God sees my heart, hears my prayers, and is with me each step of this deployment journey.  He speaks through my sweet encouraging friends, who tell me I’m doing a good job and hug me when I have had a tough morning as a mommy.  He speaks through my husband, who manages to send me flowers from around the world to remind me that the Sir sees my struggle and loves me all the same. He speaks through my big headed dog, who somehow manages to know the exact moment his mom needs him to jump on the bed so she can cry into his neck.

And my God reminds me through that tiny, feisty dragon that her little eyes see a mommy that loves her to the tips of her fat toes.  When she successfully climbs a big ladder at the park and immediately looks over to give me a big hammy grin.  Or when she “helps” me pull the weeds amidst the rocks in the front yard and then comes over to put her dirty hands in mine as we go back inside for lunch.  Or after being disciplined for what seems to me like the hundredth time just that day, she brings me over her favorite book to read while we snuggle in the corner of the couch. 

Dragon sees what my heart intends as a mommy, and I pray that someday, I can see it, too,

Missing in Action

Dragon was running around my bedroom, scavenging through the side tables while I put laundry away and puttered around.  In the Sir’s drawer, she found an old picture of he and I from when were first married and ran over to me waving it in the air like she had found a golden trophy. She came to a screeching halt in front of me, held up the picture, and then put both hands in the air ready to pose a question…

“Dada, go?”

I don’t think I realized how much this 19 month brain had been processing that her dada has been MIA for the past two months.  That she had noted that he wasn’t there to wrestle with her and the dogs or give her a bath or tuck her into bed while still in his uniform from a long day at work. 

I’ve tried to fill the hole of Dada being gone.  We have pictures of him all over and our walks up the stairs always take twice as long as she points out his smiling face on the wall and talks with me about him.  I make sure she regularly wears her Star Wars gear, that she says “Go Cardinals” when we watch a baseball game, and that when we see another man in uniform, that we say thank you.  Every night when I put her to bed, I tell her that her mama AND dada love her before I shut the door.

And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I didn’t want her to remember that her daddy wasn’t here.  Because that seemed easier to bear to not have her missing him as much as I do each day. That maybe one of us could get through this deployment without being so sad.

But clearly that’s not the case and even this little toddler realizes that things within our house are awry.  That we are missing a very pivotal piece to our family and things are not quite right, as hard as mama tries to be both a mommy and daddy.

Fighting back tears, I squatted down in front of my dragon and held both her chubby hands. “Dada loves you SO much,” I said.  “Dada is working but he will be home and give you a big hug.” 

I gave her a big hug myself and she quickly wriggled away with her newfound picture of dada, scampering off to get into more trouble with the worry of her missing dada behind her for now.

I wish my heart was comforted as easily as a toddler’s.  It’s not that easy for mama.

Someone handed me a baby and she misses her dada, too.

Don't Ask

I struggled (and continue to struggle) with infertility and through that I have learned all the things not to ask or tell a woman trying to have a baby, whether it is her first or tenth.  Don’t ever tell a woman to “relax” and things will just naturally happen.  And don’t ever ask that woman if she’s cutting out caffeine or eating organically or reducing her sugar intake.  I wouldn’t have known to avoid these topics, that these words meant to help can cut someone right to their heart and cause pain, until I was in those shoes myself.

And now that I have been living a military wife life for almost six years, I realize that people seem to think it’s ok to pose similarly harmful questions to those of us married to men in the service. The biggest, most rampant one I am tired of hearing?

“You knew what you were getting yourself into when you married an [insert military branch here] man.”

Sure, I knew the moment I walked down the aisle to a man in uniform that my life was going to be a lot different than I had ever imagined.  I knew that there would be a few moves in our future and that we wouldn’t always be home for 4^th of July.  I knew that he would be gone sometimes and deployments could come.  I knew it would be rough some days, just like in any marriage, but the thought of a man in uniform coming home to me each night seemed like the ending of a happy tears romantic comedy and I was ready for my happily ever after.

So when someone comes up with that response when I am struggling with my husband being gone for the majority of a year, it cracks my heart open and causes me to feel like I am unjustified in missing my husband.  That just the fact alone that my husband’s occupation is “Soldier” nullifies any feelings associated with that profession in itself or all of the rough aspects that this life entails.

Because you don’t really know the nitty gritty of things until you live this life.  I never foresaw four moves in five years or always having to find a new pediatrician, hairdresser, dog groomer, eyebrow waxer, mechanic, or the best Target every 12-18 months.  I couldn’t have imagined how many trips to the PX I would make to get name tapes made or having to pick up ten copies of his newest rank to get sewn onto every uniform he owned. I didn’t realize how during a deployment you rarely have a full conversation with one another that never gets passed “I love you” and “Sleep well” before someone’s schedule demands that the conversation be over.  When I signed that marriage certificate, I wasn’t aware I wouldn’t hear my husband’s voice for weeks, and possibly months, on end.  I never realized how lonely this life could really be and how many meals I would end up eating at the dinner table by myself.

So yes, I partly knew what I was getting into and as for the rest?

I would do it all again just to see him walk through my door in that stinky, sweaty, red clay covered uniform every night.  I jumped into the unknown all because of him and I would do it again in a heartbeat.  

And someone handed me and that soldier a baby, and even if we didn’t know every detail of what this roller coaster of a life would entail, we’re on this ride together.

(For those of you new to my blog, you can read more about our struggles with infertility in a previous post, In the Beginning)

What I Really Miss

I knew I’d miss a lot of things about the Sir over the course of this deployment.

I knew I would miss his smile and him walking through the door in his uniform for dinner, while the Dragon and dogs simultaneously ran up to “dada” to get the first hugs.  I knew I would miss his company on lazy Sunday afternoons and wish he were here to see the Dragon and her daily shenanigans.  I knew I would miss his help with the yard work, the smell of his sandalwood aftershave, and being the little spoon when snuggling in bed on chilly winter mornings.  There was a list in my head a mile long of all the things I anticipated missing…but one thing has caught me by surprise that I wasn’t expecting.

I never expected to miss his opinion as much as I have over the past few weeks.

Not that he’s a man who isn’t chalk full of good opinions, but who doesn’t occasionally want to make the dessert choice or choose the decorating options or pick the nightly Netflix show without having to balance the differing opinion of someone else?

But now that I am going on 40 days without having the opinion of my husband, I realize how much I really enjoy having him as a sounding board in my life for all the little daily things that occur.

When the Dragon has a rash that no doc can figure out after three appointments, I wish he could be there to ask the pediatrician questions, too.  When the Hound keeps peeing on the new deck, I wish the Sir was here to help me brainstorm how to prevent it without staring at the dog every second he’s outside.  When I get the call that the person who hit my parked car a few days ago can’t be found in the insurance system that she told me she had, I wish he were here to help me figure out the next step. 

I want his opinion on what flowers to plant out front and how I should revive my poor lilac bushes.  I want his opinion on what movie to rent at Redbox on Saturday night.  I want his opinion on how to keep the Dragon in her crib now that she’s channeling Spiderman.  I want his opinion on if my new jeans make my butt look weird.

It is all of those little things that come up during a normal day and can’t be discussed over a message or a letter or the few brief phone calls we've had, when I would rather be talking about the Dragon or how the Sir’s day has been halfway across the world.

I am capable of doing all of these things and making all these decisions on my own, but how I miss having my favorite co-captain here to help me with the load.

Someone handed me a baby and the only opinion she has is that we don’t eat enough snacks.

Lots to Appreciate

Grab your balloons, go buy some fireworks, run to your nearest florist to pick up a spring bouquet, and then head over to your nearest military wife’s house and celebrate National Military Spouse Appreciation Day today.  Not trying to boast, but there’s a lot to appreciate about a military wife.

They have an inner strength and resolve that is unmatched, even in their soldiers.  Soldiers get months of training to go into battle: they have basic training, field exercises all throughout the year, and commanders to lead them, but there’s no course or pamphlet they hand out when these women are standing at the altar with a man in uniform. 

No one instructs them on how to say goodbye to their family and friends every two to three years, or their husband for months at a time. No one gives them instructions on how to get pen ink out of camouflaged pockets or red clay off of tan boots.  There is not a YouTube instructional video on birthing a baby alone while someone holds their phone so their husband can see his new child from the other side of the world.  No advice for how to stand strong when someone is handing you a folded flag in front of a coffin.

These women have learned to be unintentional single mothers that help usher their kids into new schools after another summer PCS move and pour extra love on those same kids when Dad isn’t home for bedtime.  These women continuously have to adjust their jobs to their new locations yet still manage to thrive because of the hard work and dedication they put into their careers each day.  These women complete degrees while watching their husband pack his ruck again and stay up late writing papers while waiting on another text from halfway around the world. While their husband’s work long hours and are often away, these women find the inner resolve and fortitude to not only be great wives, but amazing women within the community.

And personally, the most important facet of the military wife life that I so appreciate, is the friends that quickly become family when your own family is a three hour plane ride away.  You build a team of people that cheer you on and encourage you when your husband is unable to.  You celebrate each other’s birthdays and anniversaries and new jobs with as much excitement as if the same blood ran through your veins.  These women will come over in pajamas with wine and let you weep and then remind you of your own strength and that you are not alone in this marathon race to the finish line.  Each time you move, you find new friends and celebrate with the old ones that you once again find yourselves crossing paths with.  These women become your lifeline in a life that so often has choppy waters.

I can tell you from personal experience that I have never seen strength like I have in the community of Army wives, Air Force wives, Navy wives, Marine wives, and Coast Guard wives that I have a privilege to call my sisters every day. 

Go find one and give them a hug….it may have been a long time since they’ve had one.

Someone handed me a baby and she is blessed to grow up surrounded by a whole host of military wives.

Life Goes On

My first night home after the Sir left, after a few days being wrapped up with love at my parents’ house, I only had one pervasive thought:

Why didn’t I hide all of his stuff?

His socks were next to the couch, his deodorant next to my sink.  My laundry hamper was filled with stinky PT clothes and his favorite hoodie that still needed to be washed.  His books on early Christianity were in my car and his last cigar butt from the night before he left was abandoned in an ashtray on the deck. His stuff surrounded me like a voice on a loudspeaker repeating over and over, “He’s not here and won’t be back anytime soon.”

Days fly by with all of the usual and Dragon keeps me on my toes.  Additionally adding the chores that are usually the Sir’s responsibility with (dishes, trash, dog poop hunting) makes the hours go by even more quickly.

But then night comes.  I wait up through the dark until the very last minute, hoping the Sir will be able to wish me good night from the other side of the world before he starts his morning.  Sometimes I hear, sometimes I don’t.  When I do, I often feel like my topics of conversation are too shallow for what may be our last conversation for the next month.  Shouldn’t we be talking about serious topics like global warming or how to teach Dragon how to be a good human, rather than the fact that I completed two loads of laundry? And the good-bye is always drawn out but never long enough, never knowing when I will hear from him again.

And then where I would normally expect sleep to come naturally after such a busy day, I lay awake listening for any sound that shouldn’t be there, which used to be the Sir’s job but I now have to take over. My brain goes into autopilot and nothing short of complete exhaustion will shut it down.

And when exhaustion finally pulls me under, my dreams are rarely dreams at all.

The next day begins, whether my sleep deprived brain is ready for it or not.  And each morning, I lift my prayers up to God that He will give me the strength needed to meet that new day.

For God handed me that baby, and He will watch over us both whether the Sir is here or not.

Goodbye Doesn't Say Enough

I often see those military reunion videos on my Facebook feed, particularly around Veteran’s Day or Memorial Day.  The ones where a kiddo is surprised by their military dad at a school pep rally or a wife on the evening shift at work, a surprise reunion after time apart from one another.  They always leave me needing a towel to dry all of my happy tears and a rush of joy intermingling with those of the happily reunited families on the recordings.

What I have never seen, however, is a video of the goodbye 6 or 9 or 12 months before these happy reunions.

They don’t document stress filled weeks leading up to the departure day with one hundred trips to the military supply store to get all of the gear that is needed for the venture.  The packing lists that keep changing as the day gets closer and the random gear spread throughout the house, ready to be put on the airplane to some far away place you’ve only imagined of in your head.

They don’t show all the opportunities for friends and family to say goodbye to the soldier, too. The going away parties filled with American flag balloons, the dinners with friends and good bottles of wine, or the prayers at church for the safety of your soldier.  No one wants to miss an opportunity to give your soldier a hug and wish him well.

They don’t display the fear that builds up as the day to say goodbye draws near.  The desperate need to spend every minute together, to make every second count, because you know there will be many days before your family is reunited again.  You pray these aren’t the last memories you have of him.

They don’t show the conversations that no one wants to have about what he wants you to do if he doesn’t come home. Or what happens if he comes home, but it isn’t him anymore.  Because he isn’t going on a business trip, he’s going to a war zone.

They don’t show your little one toddling around the front room asking for dada and you know they’re too little to explain that dada isn’t going to be home for a very long time. How you crumble every time you look into his closet and see every uniform gone….how you long for a pair of boots to be taking up space next to the door to the garage.

They don’t capture those last few hours, just the two of you in his office, not wanting to break down but knowing it is only with God that you will have the strength to hold it together until you see him walk away from you.  Wanting to say every word you’ve never said but unable to speak without emotion clouding your voice and tearing apart any words that try to come out.  You don’t want to stop holding his hand or memorizing the wrinkles around his eyes or reminding him how absolutely adored and loved he is and that you will be waiting when he comes home. No one's there to capture your good-bye, where neither one of you has the strength to take the first step away, but you know that it is inevitable and you shut the car door behind you and drive away.

There’s no Facebook videos of the sobs as your heart breaks on your drive home and he’s not in the front seat next to you. You pray that that isn’t the last time he holds you that tightly.

No one wants to watch those videos…they’re too hard on the heart.  I now know from personal experience.

Someone handed me a baby, and for the next nine months, it’s just the two of us.