Bruises

I mentioned in this previous post that it took D and I three years to conceive. That's a long time. Although, for me, it felt more like 1,095+ days. Looong days. It wasn't just 1,095+ days, either. It consisted of days being so consumed by the fact that it was taking a lot time, wasn't going to "plan," what-ifs, when do we draw the line, and the how far are we willing to pursue this? On top of that I majorly went through all stages of the grief cycle.

Yep... all 1,095+ days.

The time from September 2010 up until a couple months ago seemed to be the hardest. For the first time ever in my life I couldn't even be near a baby nonetheless look at one. There have been a couple times that I've had to drop everything and leave a store because I saw one while grocery shopping and just couldn't handle it. Even hearing one cry from across the store could trigger my anxiety level in .5 seconds.

And don't even get me started on baby showers.

Ingrained in my head was the idea that it things weren't working because I didn't deserve it. I know, I know- so not the case. It took medication and working with a counselor to retrain my brain to not feel that way. Then- ever so slowly- I took a huge leap and met up with a friend who had a little one. It was a success... a small one... but I'm glad I did it. I ripped the large band aid off and exposed my open wound.

Now that I am pregnant I've found myself in a strange place. Part of me is over the moon. Part of me is in disbelief... still. Part of me still feels the infertility bruises. I wasn't one who simply stopped birth control and was pregnant three months later. I had to work for this. Hard. The part that feels the bruises is worried that it could all be taken away as fast as it came. I feel as if this is the crappiest thing about infertility- in one way or another it never leaves you.

During those 1,095+ days I never allowed myself buy anything baby related if it wasn't a gift for someone else. In fact, the baby section was an area I frequently avoided in stores. Occasionally friends would hand me down a few things but 90% of the time I would end up donating the item. (Minus a couple things) I always thought that I would buy up a storm if we ever became pregnant. Well... at least something to commemorate the pregnancy. But, no. I've actually avoided it. I can look and browse but something has held me back from buying. That really bothered me.

Once again... I braced myself as I ripped off the band aid exposing a re-opened wound, hoping that the fresh air would do it some good. I popped into a local children's store and made my first purchase: a little cream snowsuit.

I hate that bruises of infertility may never fade away... but I also love how infertility has made me immensely grateful for the little one that is to come.

Tomato Sauce & Chocolate

New Year's Eve and New Years has never been a huge celebration for D and I. We've never put on fancy clothes to go to dinner or dancing. I guess it's just not our style. We tend to be the stay-home type. (In all honesty the thought of driving on holidays that focus on drinking keeps me indoors.) This year was no different.

Lately I've been waning food with tomato sauce. A couple days ago, on a shopping trip to Costco, I quietly concocted a plan to take as many free pizza samples as possible. I even walked around the entire store again to get a second scoop had seconds. At the end of the trip D ended up with healthy items such as greek yogurt, almonds, and vitamins. Me? A 12-pack of mini pizzas and a giant vat of ketchup. A GIANT vat.

So, when D came home from a bike ride this afternoon and asked me on a little date, "to a place with tomato-y stuff," I was thrilled. We dragged along our friend, E, with us to our favorite, local pizza place. (Top 50 pizza place in the country? Yes AND please!) D and E split a pizza while I stuck to an order of breadsticks with a salad... and might have used the marinara sauce as salad dressing.

We topped the night, and dinner, off with some fancy-pants desserts from a beautiful, ocean front restaurant.

Yeah- we're really good at being low key. There's no place else I'd rather be than where I currently am: sitting on the couch with a sleeping husband, cuddly dogs at my feet, too lazy to stop watching a movie that I hated the first time around, the smell of my favorite Anthropologie candle burning and pouring myself a bowl of cereal after publishing this post.

Happy 2012.

Yep... two posts in a row again. Scroll yourself on down to the previous one.

Christmas

This was our first Christmas sans family. Despite that we had a really great time with two of our best friends. Just like Christmas Eve, Christmas was more cooking, eating, and Settlers of Catan. We were blessed with a lot of great gifts this year but it was hard to top the wee little gift I've been carrying.

D and I couldn't stop thinking about how this was our final Christmas as a duo. It's hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that there will be a little person bossing us around, stealing our hearts next year... but, oh man, we can't wait. 

It's also hard for me to think of how we'll get another person to pose in our Christmas picture since we have a hard enough time taking one ourselves. 

Hope your holiday was merry and bright. 

The Eve

 Emma

 Our tree. I'm pretty sure it hated us. It fell over twice and shattered a few special ornaments, including our star. 

 Prepping some basil

 A classy, young gentleman

 A crazy fart head

 AH-MAZ-ING Greek spaghetti prepared by Chris.

 Lovin' the Christmas cards we received. Between sleeping and baby excitement I didn't have time to get our out this year. 

 Lots o' gifts!

 Cookin' a sweet potato

 My famous Brie En Croute. So famous that a certain dog got up in the middle of the night and ate the remaining half. HE will not be named. 

 Chris and D. 

 Boys are creative wrappers- especially when a poop bag is involved. 

 My favorite bag from my favorite half-Jewish gal. 

 Inside joke

 Another creative wrapping example. (And, might I add, that it contains only ONE shoe. Not a pair. Just one.) 

 Mmm mmm!

 The dapper cook.

Full tummies all around. 

...

Two posts in a row?! Yes it's true. The first one is here. 

There Are No Real Words...(Especially)

...to describe seeing the following image:

Especially on a Saturday afternoon after unpacking your entire house. Especially on a whim. Especially when I had an extremely special dream about this type of thing two days before I tested. Especially since there was a reason why D got hurt and had to come home. Especially after three long, painful years of trying. Especially after being diagnosed with a progressive disease- one that I can never get rid of, was surprised to learn I had, and one that is one of the main causes of infertility. Especially since I had become used to saying the word "infertility"... a word that I despise. Especially since I went through six months of hell in the form of a shot, seven rounds of Clomid, two rounds of Femara, had surgery, and went through nine months of terrible depression/ therapy/ anti-depressants.

The whole previous paragraph was worth it after thirty seconds of the taking the test. All the stress, fear, anxiety, anger and sadness disappeared as D and I stared at each other, with disbelief, and said, "What do we do now!?" I would do it again. In a heartbeat.

I am a daughter by birth, a sister by blood, a wife by marriage and, now, a mother by God's grace.

Six weeks

Risk

On Sunday night a thought popped into my head as I was getting into bed: "Tomorrow is going to be either really good or really bad." Being very tired and realizing that nothing I could do could change the situation, I focused on the upcoming Friends episode on my tv. To my surprise I fell asleep really fast.

Hubs has been gone for two months for specialized training. In a prior phone conversation on Sunday he warned me that he might be coming home sooner than he wanted to. Not because of a failed test, poor performance or anything of that sort. His shoulder was giving out and the the remainder of his training "fate" rested in a military doctor's decision.

Monday morning came fast and his fate was relayed to me via text message- he was coming home. He was not happy. A quick bout of anger on his part, tears on my part and we were quickly reminded that the military moves fast, and we had to keep up. A craigslist search and a dozen phone calls later we secured a new home in a new location.

via

Back to Sunday night. In the moments prior to checking out, mentally, to watch Friends I thought about all of the risks that we've taken this past year. Especially the past couple of months. All of the risks were very calculated, weighed and obessesed thought over: we packed up our entire house and uprooted two states away knowing that he could come home early. We knew that being separated during the holidays would be extremely hard. We knew that me living out of a suitcase, dragging two dogs around and bouncing between two sets of parents would have some pros but a lot of cons. Et cetera, et cetera, etcetera. I didn't prepare myself to risk picking up broken pieces of someone who tried but didn't succeed.

That's a risk I should have prepared for. And I'm very bad at math.

Hubs is my absolute best friend. He reads me and anticipates what's coming before I'm even ready to let it out. He's spent the past two years comforting, reassuring, pushing me forward, pulling me up and positively reinforcing me... sometimes multiple times in an hour. He's also put up with some very crappy side effects- both mentally and physically. I had become so used to it that I'm guilty of forgetting how to return the favor. Apparently it doesn't take that long to remember how to return the favor.

The best part about risk? It's antonyms: secure, safe, shelter, save... to name a few.

Without the risks we've taken in the past couple months I wouldn't have been reminded how safe I feel in my hometown. I was reminded how absolutely secure my marriage is. I wouldn't have been able to save some of my childhood and family items that would have been given away. I wouldn't have had the most stressful two hours priviledge to negoiate a rental agreement for a condo we haven't really seen. I would not have had the chance to rely emotionally on a person who's growing more into family than friend.

Yeah... I guess risk is okay, afterall. Let's hope I still agree with the previous statement after all the risks we plan to take this coming year. My fingers will definitely be crossed. D exposed himself to a ton of risk... but I'm so glad he did.





Sass

Sass

noun
1. impudent or disrespectful back talk: Both parents refuse to take any sass from their kids.

verb (used with object)
2. to answer back in an impudent manner: Don't sass your mother.

adj (used for a person) but also a noun
3. a dark haired, dark eyed female born in 2003: Wifey's nickname for her niece, Ky.

It seems as if it was just a couple years ago that I was watching her move and kick from the inside of her mom's stomach. Shortly after that I was teaching her dad how to hold a baby, bringing her home from the hospital in my rinky-dink saturn, and watching her turn two people into parents. A few months ago she was carting her security toy- a green rubber alligator named Sandy- around e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e., marching around like a duck, and ordering us into time out for being naughty. Last week she refuses to call me anything but Auntie Erin, went through a I'm-a-dog phase, demanded to watch Home Alone a hundred million zillion times, and found any excuse to eat icecream.

And, yet, it wasn't just the other day that all of this happened because now she's eight. Eight. Now her clothes cannot keep up to the rate her body is growing. She's traded calling me Auntie Erin for just "lady." Most everything she says is laced with sarcasm. Her favorite show is Bones, and she dreams about living on a horse ranch. She says sassy things that I swear I've said when I was her age. She has her own style and isn't afraid of showing it. She's stolen my heart from the minute she was born and I have no intention of ever letting go of her.

This small-fry is amazing. Nothing less. She pushes me to want to be a better aunt, person and mother. I look up to her for her perserverence and resilience... especially since she was born into a less than optimal environment that has only gotten worse in some ways. She's proof that family is worth fighting for, no matter the cost.

And yet... she's eight.

The BEST part about being back in California is being near her. There were many, many a few times that I bawled on the phone with my mom because it was just. so. hard. to be away from this little girl. Now, she's a five minute drive away. We've been two peas in a pod lately:

 

California has been good to the dog-dogs and I so far. But this little sass has made it even better.

For the record- all of these pictures were taken with my cell phone and are mine, and mine only. If you take them- in any way- I will be forced to hunt you down and karate chop you. Or something similar.