Helping My Sweet Friends Adopt a Baby

I am really hoping that you feel Carri's presence in this post. She was such a proponent for women whether they wanted children or not. She didn't even care when her car was stolen while she was at Meeting because she figured whoever took it needed it more than her. I'm appealing to you, my West Coast friends because they need all the help they can get. Please learn  about this couple with links to their blog and also to their gofundme.com campaign where, even if you can't or don't want to leave money for this adoption process, you can write words of encouragement.
Deep Breath.
Here goes:

Hello, friends of Leanne and Wes Munn! (And the friends you will become with them once you read their story.) My name is Tanya and I'm a friend of this wonderful couple- this Mommy-and-Daddy-in-Waiting and I just wanted to talk a little bit about this adoption journey from the point of view of this mommy who never felt it laid upon her heart to go that route the way the Munns have.

Getting pregnant was easy for my husband and I. Staying pregnant was another story. We mourned our losses and even thought that parenthood might not be in the cards for us. We only considered adoption once but once the financial aspects of it were explained to us we realized that parenthood might always be just beyond our grasp. I was beyond hurt and the hole in my heart seemed to grow every day.

For some reason, I was under the impression that you just needed to be a good person and a good couple with a steady income and a desire to be a mommy and daddy in order to be considered by a potential birth mother. What I've learned from my limited glimpses into the Munn's journey through the adoption process is that A) In the ten years since I made my first call to the adoption agencies, the financial aspect has only increased and B) Now, thanks to the Internet and sites like gofundme.com. It is now easier than ever to be a part of bringing together one of the greatest gifts God ever intended for a lot of our lives. I mean, if a man can get thousands of dollars from annonymous donors online to buy supplies to make the best potato salad ever, surely we can help to find a forever home for a sweet and needful baby. What's that saying? “It takes a village to raise a child.” Will you or someone you care about be a part of that village? Oh, how I hope you will. Once upon a time we didn't have to ask for a village to help. It was expected; it was freely and happily given and appreciated and absolutely essential. This is an essential time now. What will your loving heart have you do tonight, next week, next month? You mothers and fathers who remember that first cry, that first giggle, that first terrifying fever, that first time you left them in the care of someone else for just a couple of hours so you could feel like a grown up again.

What was your first step toward parenthood? Perhaps you were taken by surprise and you tripped over your dog and fell into the bathroom sink. Perhaps you used charts and thermometers and gave each other an obligatory hug before scheduling little Ryan's entire life on your ten year calender. Perhaps you put it all into the hands of God. No matter how it came to be, I'll bet that no one did a background check on you when your stick turned pink.

For Wes and Leanne the first step was to get Wes well after he was diagnosed with CML (a form of leukemia) five years ago. He's done it! We are all so glad he's still with us! The next step was to complete a long $500 preliminary application where they paid for fingerprinting, undergoing background criminal checks, a couple of adoption classes and , because they are going through a Christian Adoption Agency, they had to write out their testimonies. They've passed all those tests with flying colors. (I knew they would...) But now they need to move forward because, let's face it, they are stuck. Stuck in the financial adoption doldrums. Stuck in their beautiful home with an empty crib. They need to take the next step which is the Home Study with a Social Worker. However, the home-study is not inexpensive.. In fact, it's 3 times more than the application. Ouch!. And let's not forget, if they're chosen they will have to come up with at least $10,000 at the moment the baby is handed over.

I think back to when I was finally expecting my first child and how thankful I was that my co-pays and blood testing and ultrasounds were covered by my insurance. Nothing was due up-front and once my special son, the boy I waited my whole life to meet, was born I was able to make a payment plan that didn't strain our budget.These babies are already gestating in their adoptive parents' hearts. I wish this meant that they could get the kind of coverage that a biological parent can get but maybe one day...This is a very real concern for potential adoptive parents, as I see it, anyway.

The Munns are not only a loving couple, they are a hard working couple who both work at the same college. Wes teaches Anatomy and Physiology to Nursing students and Leanne is Assistant Director in Assessments. They give their jobs everything they can and take pride in working to help others. They put nothing, however, before God and they delight in making surprise dinners for each other, taking their dog for walks together, leaning hard on faith and are often quiet in their prayers for their hearts' greatest desire. So let me, their loud, unabashed friend, put it out there “They are ready for that baby!!! They are financially, emotionally and maritally stable. They are creative and loving and they share these gifts with each other and anyone who's lucky enough to stand in their light.” They simply don't have all the funds needed at one time. Again, think back to your own pregnancy or a friend's and ask yourself “Did I have to pay off that $10,000 at my check-ups?”

Wes is the best photographer this side of the Mason-Dixon Line (ok, that's just my opinion.) with great prices and a willingness to work wherever you need him to and Leanne often goes along as his more than able assistant. This is a couple doing all they can to get on that Waiting List. They're not just sitting around waiting for you to donate your hard earned money. They are thankful for every penny and all the love they feel everytime someone or their donation says “I believe in you and your family. Here's my donation.” It takes a village to raise a child. Yes, it does. But sometimes, it takes a village to make a family.

Here is the link where you can help out with either donations or words of encouragemnt.:

http://www.gofundme.com/5q94hw

Here is a link to Leanne's heartfelt blog:

http://calltoadopt-wesandleanne.blogspot.com

P.S. August is Leanne's birthday month and she is the biggest coffee lover. For her adoption challenge she and anyone who wants to help with a donation is being asked to forgo the cost of one cup of coffee a week until September 1^st. Thanks so much! I know you'll give it much thought and if it feels right to you, you'll find a way to help. It's the one thing I remember the most about the people out West.

Meltdowns, Melancholy, Mental Illness, Mania and it's Flip Side

Having a bad day....So bad that I just typed half a page and my pinky hit THAT button, THAT vengeful, hateful, spiteful key that I can never identify which erases all I've written and by the time I realize that I've made the mistake I've made another keystroke that prohibits the whole "Undo" icon process.
So now, to add to the drama of the day I'm mad at an inanimate object.
Earlier today I was on Cloud Nine, typing away on my laptop, excited to be writing something for some friends of mine (that they never asked me to do) that I hoped would help change some lives. These folks have been so good to me for a few years now, I thought maybe my words could make a positive difference at this juncture in their lives.  They so deserve to have some more blessings tossed their way after fighting CML (a form of leukemia) for years and hoping year after year to have a baby. I got all big-headed and realized that I didn't just want them to be blessed, I wanted them to be blessed because of something I did. See, me and God have had a unique relationship. I tell him what I want and He either loves me and gives it to me, doesn't love me and refuses my request, looks down on me and says "Meh. Next please." This time, though, I was certain He would be so impressed with how much energy and thought I put into it, even praying over it, that He'd bind it up with a gold ribbon and hand it over to all the good people waiting to be blessings to this couple.
Then I read someone else's blog whose topic was similar as my essay and hers was...better. So much better I almost ran out and bought the gold ribbon myself as a gift for her.
And then....
From the next room, a commercial (one of those extended ones that make you think they're an actual program) for Cancer Treatment Centers of America came on. All at once I was spiraled back to that time when I arranged for Carri to go check them out. She really only went to humor me. She really felt that she had all the same amenities in her hometown, just in several locations versus one. Because she was so smart I went along with her even though inside I was screaming "Please! Look at their statistics! Give it a try! Do it for me! Please, please, please!" (I did a lot of internal screaming back then. That might be why I turned into even more of a basket case than I started out as.)
Hearing the commercial, the deeply moving voices, stilled my fingers on the laptop. All of a sudden, for the first time in four years I felt something deep in my belly. I couldn't really identify it. Whatever it was, the lid was trying to come off and something was trying to come up. I began to be afraid. What was this? Oh, God, Oh Father, Oh Lord, please save me I think I'm dying! (It was at this point my husband looked up from his video game and ran to my side begging me to tell him what was wrong but I couldn't speak now.) A gasp escaped all on its own. Oh, no! What was happening to me? I'm on new medication. Could it be an allergic reaction? I couldn't even hear the commercial anymore. Ian's mouth was moving but nothing was coming out. Another gasp, this one more forceful followed by a sound my vocal chords have never made-a guttural wail that lasted about twenty seconds which terrified my husband and kids. Thankfully, daddy ushered the kids to their play area and turned up the tv and closed the door before repeatedly asking "Will you tell me what's wrong now? Tanya! Snap out of it and answer me! What's wrong?!"
"I....can't....talk....I....can't...I.... can't...do...this"
"Do what? What can't you do?"
"I...can't...let...it...out....it's...going...to....hurt....so...much!" Another wail.
"Please stop, baby. Please. What brought this on? I thought you were fine."
That's one of the problems, I guess. I've gotten very good at being "fine."
All of a sudden, I heard a voice in my head I haven't heard since the middle of the night phone call telling me that Carri died. "She's gone." I took it really well back then. I barely cried. I was just glad she was free of the pain.
Oh, God! She's gone! She's gone! (Mind you, this is years after the fact, 3 years
 to be precise.) I can't breathe! She's gone! We'll never see her again. Oh, how I want a trip out west just to stand  in the air she used to breathe, just to be near her friends, just to visit her favorite haunts and hikes and hot springs and try all those new crazy things that no one else ever got me to try.
The wails kept coming, the lid was blown, along with my cover of being just "fine".  Here's something funny: with all of my loyalty and love for her I've been accused of being in-love with her. Yesterday, I found a card from her that said "I don't know what makes this long distance love affair of ours last but I sure am glad that it has." We were best friends. We were blessed. And now I'm here and she's not. And I don't know how to put the lid back on. Do I talk about her to my new friends to keep her memory alive? Do I keep the memories to myself so as not to hurt my new friends?
So, it was GRIEF that exploded from the depths of my belly. It didn't kill me. It. Did. Not. Kill. Me. It did hurt like crazy but once it left my body I felt lighter than I have in a long time.
Now for the crazy part. In case you hadn't picked up on it: I'm bipolar and my meds are being adjusted. So far so good. I only sleep about three hours a night but my living room and kitchen have never been cleaner. My kids are happy they have a mom who doesn't go to sleep at 7 o'clock pm anymore. I'm even getting creative with food menus.
Well, I've stopped crying now so I think this catharsis has done it's job.
May all of you be well in every aspect of your lives. You are loved!

Birth of a Mother (Part 13) Wake Up Call

Part 13

Wake Up Call

Beneath heavy eyelids, the hazy room slowly came into focus. I was so groggy I was seeing double of everything and everyone but my baby. Where was my baby? Where on earth was I?

I saw Mom and Dad first, close together, their shadowy faces etched in worry. Mom? You look like you've been crying. You never cry. Oh God, what's happened? Where is my baby?

It was then that they looked up and saw my eyes opened and I saw the relief flood their faces. I saw Todd, my husband's best friend and the godfather of my new baby and he wasn't his normal joke-cracking self. Finally, I saw Ian.

I managed to croak out a weak, “What happened, Ian?”

“There was a problem but it's been taken care of, “ my husband said.

“I don't understand. What problem? What are you not telling me? Did I have surgery? What did they need to do surgery for? And where is Tommy?” my questions assaulting the quiet of the room.

The pitch of my voice was getting higher with panic. I was imagining the worst possibilities and the fact that no one was very forthcoming with answers was leading me to believe my fears were true. Dear Lord, I thought, please don't let them have done a hysterectomy. Inside, I was screaming for answers but my voice sounded faint.

“Ian, tell me what happened!”

“We'll talk about it later. You need to rest now, little one.”

He was talking to me like I was a child.

“No, you need to tell me now. I can't rest until I know.”

He brushed my hair off my forehead with his fingers and leaned in close to me with a pained look. “No more babies, little one.”

I began to cry.

“They did a hysterectomy?” I asked through my tears.

“No, baby. They didn't do a hysterectomy.”

My mom leaned to explain.

“Honey, the doctor says it's just too dangerous for you to have another baby. Another pregnancy could be fatal. I'm so sorry.”

I still didn't comprehend.

The doctor approached me.

“Tanya, I'd like to give you a shot of estrogen to help stop your bleeding. It will also help your uterus to heal without as much scarring. The only downside is that you won't be able to breastfeed.”

I had been looking forward to nursing my baby since my breasts had begun to swell. I had even dreamt about it. I knew how important nursing was in bonding and we had already been separated for several hours since his birth while I was in surgery.

“Do I have to get the shot?”

“It's entirely up to you.” replied Dr. Smith.

“I don't want it, sir.”

I looked up at Ian and asked if he was okay with that.

He said he was okay as long as I was.

I was thinking to myself that I needed to be as grateful for this baby I had been allowed to give birth to. He was what we had been waiting for all these months. All I wanted was to hold him.

Finally, everyone but Ian filtered out and I was taken to my room. Everyone kept trying to get me to fall asleep but I demanded to see my son.

Ian left to get the baby from the nursery.

The moment that tiny creature was placed in my arms, I was one hundred percent, over the moon, head over heels in love. I felt so guilty that he had spent the first several hours of his life with strangers in a bright nursery. I never wanted to let him go.

It was time to nurse.

Tommy had other ideas.

I went through three nurses and two lactation consultants and he only latched on once. I had two IV's full of strong antibiotics and who knows what else and I was convinced my colostrum must have tasted awful. After his first eager taste, he scrunched up his face and began to scream. (After a week of trying and constant crying-from both of us-we gave up on nursing and I pumped my milk for a month into a bottle which he had no problem taking.)

That first night in the hospital, I barely slept. I kept trying to feed my son but my efforts continually failed and the nursery gave him supplemental nourishment. By the next morning, I couldn't keep my eyes open. I had decided to have the baby room-in with me but Ian insisted that night that I needed to sleep or I wouldn't be any good to the baby. He took the baby to the nursery and the nurse slipped something into my IV.

I woke up, crying, to darkness and Ian's voice replaying in my mind “no more babies, little one. No more babies.”

One of the things that had gotten me through this difficult pregnancy was the thought that maybe next time it wouldn't be so bad.

I had spent so much of the last eight and a half months miserable with vomitting and back aches and heartburn and sciatic nerve pain that I'd been so ready for the baby to hurry up and be born. Now, he was here and I was never going to feel another baby moving inside of me. I would never have the chance to try and enjoy another pregnancy.

I began to sob uncontrollably.

Ian woke up from the tiny uncomfortable chair wedged in the corner of the small room.

“What's the matter cutie?” he asked attentively.

“I should have tried to enjoy this pregnancy more. Why didn't I try to enjoy it more? I'm never going to have another baby. My body is still defective! Our boy will never have a brother or sister. He's going to miss out on so much because of me and this stupid body of mine! I can't even nurse him! What kind of mother am I?” I blubbered.

I knew I was being self centered and that my hormone levels were going crazy and everything, literally, EVERYTHING, made me cry. The thought that my baby wouldn't nurse and I'd never have a chance to try again with another baby somewhere down the road was too much for me at that moment. I felt as though all my choices had been taken away.

Then they brought Tommy in and I held him close as I thought, “You are the only child I need. You are HERE and I will never let you think you aren't enough for me or anyone else.”

Birth of a Mother (Part 12) The Big Day

Part 12

The Big Day

The next four months passed quickly. I was still a bit nauseous but the medicine was doing it's job and laI finally put on some weight. As the baby got bigger his kicks got stronger and finally, Ian could feel him. He loved to rest his hands on my belly in bed at night. Sometimes, we would just lie there and count kicks and movements. The only problem at seven months was that my back began to hurt between my shoulder blades and eventually I had to sleep sitting up. For a few minutes each night though, I would lay on my side and let my belly touch Ian's back as we spooned. The baby would kick so hard, Ian would feel it in his back. (And I was thinking to myself that it was his turn for a good back ache.)

At eight and a half months, I was certain I was about to give birth. My due date wasn't for another two weeks, Veteran's Day but I could tell something had changed. I had to climb two flights of stairs at work every day and I felt like the baby's head was just about to pop out with each step. My belly felt heavier than usual and it seemed as if I could almost feel his head on my pelvis. I went to the doctor and told him my concerns. I was happy that I got Dr. Smith again. He was very compassionate and never treated me like the neurotic person inside that kicked into high gear during this whole process. He said what I was feeling was entirely normal and that most first babies are born past their due dates. He asked if I wanted him to examine me anyway just to reassure me. Well, of course! He had me pegged pretty well, I'd say.

I was right and I think he was surprised.

I was four centimeters dilated, 100% effaced and at a “0” station. While examining me he paused for a moment and asked “Did you feel that? That, my dear, was a contraction.”

I hadn't felt anything at all but it seemed that my baby was ready.

Dr. Smith offered to augment my labor in the morning if I hadn't gone into active labor by then. I certainly didn't want to chance going from 4 to 10 centimeters and delivering on the way to the hospital so I agreed to check into Labor and Delivery in the morning. I was so close to my due date and in obvious discomfort.

I called Ian right away and told him “You're going to be a daddy tomorrow assuming I don't go into full blown labor this afternoon.”

“Hallelujah!!!!”

So very early the next morning we were the first patients to check into Labor and Delivery. We could hardly believe that in a few hours we were going to be holding our little boy. We had decided after much debate to name him after two of our friends in the shop and Ian's best friend since childhood. Thomas Joseph and we were going to call him Tommy.

The Pitocin was started at seven in the morning.

At nine o'clock, I felt a contraction. Wasn't too bad. I could do this! Carri did this so I can do this! Piece of cake.

By noon, my parents had arrived and labor had started to intensify. My mother kept rubbing my back and Ian kept ahold of my hand. My father disappeared into the waiting room. He hadn't seen any of his own children born and wasn't about to pass on tradition. (Truthfully, he had a queasy stomach and didn't like to see his daughter in pain.)

By 12:30pm I was given the epidural and after that, labor was a breeze.

At 3:45pm I was ready to push.

My husband had always insisted he didn't want to actually see the baby emerge from my body or even cut the cord. He had a weak stomach for most things medical and it had been a source of conflict between us. I contended that there was nothing more miraculous or precious than to see your child born and I didn't want him to miss anything because he feared it would be gorey or gross.

Ian really surprised me!

Just as our son's head popped out I could hear Ian gushing, “Oh. Oh. Wow. Our boy's here! Our boy's here! O God our boy's here! He's perfect! He's beautiful!” Ian was smiling and laughing and happier than I'd ever seen him. Happier than I think he'd ever been in his entire life.

Tommy was born at 4:10pm and he was, indeed, beautiful and perfect.

They laid him against my bare chest and belly and I dissolved into the happiest of tears.

I cooed softly to him “Shhhh. Sweet baby don't cry. Hello Prince Tommy. We are here. Mommy and Daddy are here. We love you, little miracle boy.”

His face was red and scrunched up as he voiced his displeasure at being evicted from his warm quiet home in such a disruptive manner.

The doctor said, “Okay, Tanya, you're not quite done yet. I need you to push the placenta out.”

The baby was still on my chest but I pushed as hard as I could.

“Tanya, you need to push like before,” the doctor said.

“Sir. I am pushing.”

“As hard as before?” he asked a bit incredulously.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tanya, we're going to take the baby for just a moment to see if you can get a liitle more leverage in your pushing.”

I pushed for another few minutes and since the epidural had started wearing off I could feel nothing coming out but warm fluid but I still didn't know anything abnormal was going on.

I pushed for another few minutes and nothing came out except blood.

Ian had left my side right after Tommy came out because he'd had to go to the bathroom since the pushing started. The bathroom was off to my right.

The doctor said “Tanya, we've got a little problem. I'm going to try to fix it right here but it's going to be painful.”

That's when he reached his into the birth canal and went in, it seemed, almost up to his elbow. He scraped his hand in and out trying to dislodge the placenta off my uterus. I was in searing pain.

Just then, my husband came out of the bathroom .

At that moment, the doctor, the nurses, and my mother yelled at him to go back in the bathroom. No one wanted him to see this. The blood had started to flow out faster and faster and I was already feeling dizzy and drowsy.

It was at this point I realized that both my white socks were now sopping with bright red blood. A kindly nurse peeled them off my feet and threw them away.

All at once the room began to buzz with activity.

No one noticed that my husband, hearing everything that was going on from the safety of the bathroom, had fled from the room to the waiting room. My mother was holding my newborn son.

The nurse put something in my IV as the doctor requested my permission for blood transfusions during surgery.

Surgery?

At this point, with the blood loss, the flurry of staff, the bright lights, the demerol taking effect I became very confused.

Where was I going? Why did I need surgery? What was happening to me?

Where's my baby? Where's Ian?

The room swirled above me and a coldness overtook me.

Oh my dear Lord,

Am I dying?

Birth of a Mother

Part 11

Me & God

Ever since the second miscarriage, I had been bargaining with God. My mom had always told me that God doesn't make deals and that it was never a good idea to try. I still wanted a little assurance that things were going to work out this time so I “told” (Who did I think I was, telling the Creator of the Universe what to do?) God that He could give me the world's worst case of morning sickness if He would just let this baby live. He, in fact, couod give me every negative side effect of pregnancy if it would ensure the survival of my baby. (Wasn't I an easy human to please?)

I told my Mom about our deal. Again, she said, “Tanya, God doesn't make deals.”

The next evening, I sat eating a big bowl of pasta I had carefully prepared with fresh veggies and a little fresh cheese for dairy. I was determined to do everything “right” this time around starting with nourishing my baby with healthy food. I had barely made a dent in it before I ran to the bathroom.

The next morning, feeling queasy, I tried some dry toast. Halfway to work, I had to pull over to the side of the road to get sick.

By lunchtime I was feeling better....until I ate. Ten minutes later (you guessed it) I threw up.

I didn't have morning sickness. I had all day and all night sickness. By the end of my first trimester I had lost weight instead of gained. I was drinking a ton of water to keep from getting dehydrated but eventually even that wouldn't stay down. In the beginning, I had thought my getting sick was a good sign that I was finally going to have a healthy, normal pregnancy. However, when I started losing weight I became fearful that my baby wasn't getting enough nutrition. I was also fearful that instead of God keeping a deal with me He was punishing me for trying to tell Him what to do.

The doctors all assured me that the baby was fine. It's heart rate was always good and strong. My uterus was growing at a normal rate, indicating that the baby was growing at a normal rate as well. I had a hard time believing it though. After all this effort to sustain a pregnancy and have a baby, was my body going to find a way to reject it? That's what it felt like every time I threw up.

Finally, my doctors tried two different anti-nausea medications. Neither one helped. I tried every natural remedy in my best friend's arsenal. (Carri really felt strongly against traditional medicine. At first, I fought her on it but after four months I was desperate to try any and all herbal remedies.) They didn't help much either. As a last resort, the doctor had me try one that was commonly used for treating nausea in chemotherapy patients. Zofran. Victory, at last! Now, I was only vomiting once a day. I thought, now I can truly enjoy my pregnancy.

At sixteen weeks, I felt the first fluttering movements of my baby. I wasn't sure at first but within days I knew I could tell the difference between gas and a baby. Finally, had near constant concrete evidence that the baby was alive and well. I wouldn't have to rely on my monthly visits to the doctors' office to hear thirty seconds of heartbeats. I was so happy I would tell Ian every time I felt something. I think it bothered him that he couldn't feel anything from the outside yet. My tummy had finally started to show and that seemed to excite him more than anything. Often, as I got bigger and bigger, he'd come up behind me at work when I'd be in his part of the dealership and he'd lift my maternity shirt up just enough to bare my swelling belly to whoever was unfortunate enough to be facing us. “Look at the belly! That's my baby in there! Isn't this the cutest belly?” All those mechanics, young guys, old guys who just knew me as Tanya in Accounting often burst into big smiles or shyly turned red in the face. By the time I had gotten really big, it was as if our baby belonged to the whole shop too. Those crass, often cussing, gruff guys who used to flirt or talk like a sailor around me before now treated me as if I was made of glass. It's amazing how a baby can soften almost anyone.

At seventeen and a half weeks we went for the “big” ultrasound. We wanted to know the baby was healthy and we wanted to know what we were having. I was afraid, since I wasn't very big from all that all day sickness that the ultrasound technician wouldn't be able to see much that day.

I climbed onto the table and Ian sat in a chair next to me facing the monitor. This was the first visit he had accompanied me on and he showed the same nervousness I had had on my first visit to hear the baby's heartbeat.

“Are you alright, honey?” I asked.

“”Mmm..hmmm,” he answered.

“Y'all ready to see this little one?” Asked the boisterous ultrasound technician as she breezed in through the door.

“Oh, yes!” I answered.

Ian just nodded.

She got the tube of conducer jelly out and applied it to my swollen belly. Before she put the wand on my tummy she asked if we wanted to know the baby's sex.

“Yes, please,” I responded.

My husband just nodded.

She placed the wand on my belly and literally, three seconds later, before we even had a chance to adjust our eyes to the image on the monitor, she said “Here's your little baby boy!”

Ian sprung from his seat and almost leapt to the screen.

“How can you tell that? I mean, you've barely put the thingee on her and now you say you see a boy? Are you sure?” He stood transfixed staring at the monitor.

She said, “Yes, I'm very sure.” She pointed out a light area that we still couldn't focus on.

My husband was grinning.

She pointed out all the appropriate things and we were thrilled that our baby was healthy and resembled a tiny human and not Mr. Peanut.

She left the room after the scan so I could get dressed. Ian sat back down. He was still smiling.

In all my life, I'll never forget the moments we found out we were having a son. My husband had never looked happier and I felt a new, stronger connection to him and our baby. Nothing could dim my happiness.

We left the office with our videotape and the printed out black and white pictures from the ultrasound.

Little did any of us know, but developing inside me was a perilous conditition that we'd never heard of or read about. In fact, it was nearly impossible to detect on ultrasound. But in a few months it would reveal itself and then...we would all know more than we had ever wanted to.

Just Push Play....

Part 10

The following week, due to my high risk status, I went for my first ultrasound...alone again for the same reason as before. As hopeful as my husband now was, he was still having a hard time believing our dreams were coming true this time. I was feeling a bit of trepidation myself. I brought my blank video tape (remember those?) and sat anxiously waiting in the office lobby. It seemed my turn would never come. It gave me plenty of time to observe the expectant mothers around me. I saw so many round bellies. The old cliché was right...pregnant women absolutely glow. Almost every woman had her hands on her belly. Some were rubbing their bellies, one was trying to manipulate her baby out from under her ribs and one lady was just sitting there quietly with her hands resting on her belly while she gazed down at it with utter wonder. I was most fascinated by her. Was it the awe of first time pregnancy that filled her face with such wondrous joy? Was she already a mom and knew enough to enjoy this pregnancy without worrying all the time? Or had she, like me, gone through Hell just to get to this point? I was much too timid to ask.

The nurse called my name.

For the second time in a week I found myself lying on an examining table. This time the lights were turned down low and the sonographer excused herself for a moment giving me plenty of time to refill with worry and fear. Turning my head to the left, I studied the blank monitor with my name and the date at the top of the screen. I was so afraid that the screen would stay blank and at the same time I wanted to try to see whatever I could no matter what.

The sonographer came back into the room.

Seconds later, the screen lit up with my baby. It's little heart was beating so fast and it already had arm and leg buds. The sonographer looked at me with a smile and said that everything seemed to be in right place doing all the right things. Then she clicked a button and I could hear it's heart beating for the second time while I watched it on the screen. The best part, though, was that I now had it all on tape and I could show my husband that he could begin to believe that our baby was really well on it's way.

I could hardly wait for him to get home that night. I had the video pre-loaded and waiting. When he walked through the door I had him sit on the couch as I turned it on. Again, though, he didn't seem very excited. The first half of the short ultrasound had been filmed without sound and the baby pretty much looked like a peanut with arms and legs. I had to point out what everything was as he nodded. Then, without any warning, the baby's heartbeat pounded loudly from the TV. All at once, Ian's eyes widened and a smile spread across his face.

I heard him exhale.

My dear husband had been holding his breath since I pushed play.

She's Having My Baby

Part 9

She's Having My Baby

After suffering two miscarriages within months of each other the year before, I found out I was pregnant for the third time. Actually, I didn't really find out...i simply knew.

On the night of February 18, 2004 we created a little romantic ambience for our interlude. I wore an actual nightgown instead of sweats and flopped dramatically on the bed into what I thought was a most attractive pose but it induced laughter from both of us instead of overwhelming passion.

“Impregnate me, oh manly man!” I said seductively. (Ok, my seductive voice sounds more like an elephant with a cold.)

We were finally able to refer to pregnancy without being overcome by our losses. We still loved the babies who had not been born and would always feel hurt over their deaths but we were finally able to focus on the future with a positive attitude.

Making love, that night, wasn't all about getting pregnant. It was also about being close to each other. Pain from our losses had often pushed us apart without either of us acknowledging it. Finally, we were a true couple again, reconnecting on the most intimate of levels.

That night was successful on all fronts.

Two weeks later, with a “feeling” in my heart I took the earliest home pregnancy test one could buy.

I knew, immediately, that this pregnancy was going to be different because as I watched the fluid absorbing through the result window the two pink lines showed up quickly and very dark. I didn't have to wait the full three minutes. Before, the positive results were always so iffy after three minutes that I never knew for sure till ten minutes later.

Two hours after the positive result, I called my doctor's office as soon as it opened. As I would continually learn on this journey, nothing ever goes as planned and I learned that the doctor who had given me my first glimmer of hope for motherhood and had told me to contact him the moment I got pregnant again was no longer practicing Obstetrics. However, he was still at the practice and remembered me and called in the prescription for progesterone. It was very fortunate that I called him as soon as the office opened because within an hour I was already spotting. This had happened with my other pregnancies within days of finding out I was pregnant. I began to worry that nothing could save my baby...but I clung to hope. I used my first dose of progesterone that afternoon and by the next morning there was no more bleeding.

I was ecstatic! My husband, however, was very reserved. He said he was happy about the new baby but I didn't detect a hint of excitement in his voice. It really burst my bubble. I knew how excited he had been the first time we found out I was pregnant. He told all his coworkers within the first thirty minutes of my telling him. I know how hard it was for him to tell them several weeks later, that the baby was gone. Still, I found the fact that I had already stopped bleeding, very reassuring. He, however, refused to even talk about making preparations for the new arrival.

At seven weeks of pregnancy, I had my appointment to listen to the baby's heartbeat and see my baby with ultrasound. I had already been deemed at high risk for threatened miscarriage. That day, I lay on the examining table awaiting my new doctor's examination. For some reason, I was trembling. Dr. Smith (name changed out of respect for privacy- yes, I do believe in privacy, hard as that may be to believe) a very observant man, came over to my side and looked at me right in my tear filled eyes.

“What's wrong? Talk to me.”

Something about the way he asked made me want to open up to him. He wasn't old enough to be my father but he had a very paternal manner to him that was very comforting. I was reminded of how my dad used to rub my back and hum in my ear whenever I had and especially upsetting dream.

The doctor's voice sounded like that comforting hum to me.

So, I told him “I've already lost two pregnancies. I never heard their heartbeats because they were already too faint to be detected by your Doppler. I saw one heart beating faintly on a silent screen. I'm just so afraid I'll never get to hear my baby's heartbeat.”

He said, “ I can't promise you anything but the fact that you've been vomitting every day from morning sickness and you haven't bled since the day you started the progesterone, I'd say you're having a fairly normal pregnancy. Now, let's try to hear this little one's heartbeat.”

He placed the monitor on me. Within seconds, I heard the most amazing sound I'd ever heard up to that point...my baby's heartbeat. It was beating fast and strong and sounded like miniature galloping horses.

Dr. Smith smiled.

“Perfectly normal heart rate. Good and strong.”

I was smiling and crying and whispering “Oh, thank you God! Thank you God!”

I had come to the appointment alone because I knew Ian couldn't handle it if we had encountered bad news. I had even taken the day off from work because I was afraid of bad news myself and wouldn't want to face my coworkers.

I practically danced out the door into the parking lot and whipped out my cell phone as soon as I was clear of the building.

After one ring, Ian answered.

I didn't even give him a chance to ask. I was too excited. So, I just started blurting out my happiness.

“Ian, our baby is fine! It has a strong heartbeat! 145 beats per minute! Baby, this time is different. We're really having a baby!”

He didn't say anything. I was worried he hadn't heard me. I don't know how, I was shouting in the middle of the parking lot.

Then I heard his sigh of relief.

“Yes, we are!” he exclaimed

Defective

Part 8

Defect

As soon as we hit the six week mark when my doctor said it would be safe to try again, that's exactly what we did. We still weren't ,married but at the time I didn't care. I felt married already after 3 years together. I couldn't see any reason not to have a baby. Ian wasn't crazy about the idea but he wanted to see me happy again so he gave in and we tried again. I was also determined to not let any future pregnancies be anything but planned. Why? Guilt. I kept thinking I must've done something wrong before I found out I was pregnant like soaking in a hot tub for an hour. Or maybe God was punishing me and Ian for living together without the benefit of marriage. But the worst guilt came from thinking my body was defective and a tiny, defenseless, little baby had suffered because of it. What if it was karma for all the wild nights I had spent in my early 20's, a moral judgement? (I wasn't a Christian yet.)

I did my best to push those thoughts away and remember the statistics (at that time) said that 85% of pregnant women experience at least one miscarriage. I figured I was just another statistic but now that I had, in a way, gotten that one miscarriage over, I thought I was in the clear.

So, this time I bought an ovulation kit and made Ian “wait” until my body said it was fertile. (It's funny to me now because we have three kids who demand all my attention so Ian is pretty much in perpetual “wait” mode.)

We got pregnant again on the first try.

Nine weeks later, the bleeding started and the panic set in. An ultrasound revealed no heartbeat at all. I was at the doctor's office alone and burst into tears. I asked him why this had happened again and when did he think the miscarriage would be complete. It was my first time seeing this particular doctor at the practice and he'd rubbed me the wrong way from the very start. He seemed...almost bored...with my tears and questions. He gave a long sigh as he made his way to the door just five minutes after I had seen the ultrasound. “Look,” he said. “Every woman is different. Every miscarriage is different. Unlike most women, you probably (And I quote verbatim here) won't be a spectacular miscarrier.” Then he had his nurse usher me to an office away from the waiting room so my cries wouldn't be heard and I couldn't upset the other mothers-to-be.

I used the phone in the little office to call Ian and as I was dialing I heard two nurses talking about me.

“I don't know why she's so dramatically upset. She knew this was a possibility. I told her myself the first time she called in about the bleeding.”

I stood there with the phone in my hand, my mouth agape, and when Ian answered I could barely choke out the horrible story. When I was finished he made me promise that we would wait until after we were married to try again. I don't know, maybe he thought we were being punished too.

This time, no one was waiting for me when I got home. I made the phone calls to my family and my boss (the only people I'd told this time) and I felt like, once again, I had failed all of them but failed another baby as well. What was wrong with me?

I had chosen not to have a D&C this time but as the weeks went by and all I did was bleed, my uterus wouldn't expel that tiny former life so I made an appointment with my OBGYN practice. (I made sure they would never schedule me with that lousy bedside mannered doctor who said I wouldn't be a spectacular miscarrier.

I got a kindly older doctor this time. And some answers. After looking at my records he said he thought that I might have low progesterone. Some doctors call this a Luteal Phase Defect or Inadequate Luteal Phase. When I'd told him that I had used an ovuation kit this time and that I had ovulated just five days before my period it was like a lightbulb went off in his head. You see, you're supposed to ovulate mid-cycle so the uterus can prepare itself by thickening so an embryo can attach to it. An average luteal phase lasts 10 – 16 days. Mine lasted only five days and the uterus became inhospitable to full implantation and sustenance.

After my D&C, the doctor told me to call him the minute I found out I was pregnant again so he could prescribe progesterone. With any luck, the third time would be the charm. I went home high on hope but also hating myself for needing help with something that seemed to come so naturally to other women. Look at how many teens have babies without meaning to? How many women never lived with the fear of losing baby after baby? What about all those women having abortions in their perfectly healthy, normal uteruses?

I decided to focus on our upcoming wedding. Well, not really. At this point I didn't care about much and the wedding seemed like it was just the right thing to do. A natural progression. I looked like crap on my wedding day. From the pregnancies and the depression I had gained 25lbs and I didn't even try to lose weight for the big day. I picked the third dress I tried on because it fit and didn't need too many alterations. My family took care of almost every wedding detail for me. I didn't get my nails done and thanks to a girl fresh out of the beauty school, my hair was limp and mousy and they had to call in the owner of the place to attempt to fix it so I could wear my mother's veil. It took so long that one of my bridesmaids left me to go pick up the rest of the bridal party. Unfortunately, I hadn't lived in that town for more than three years and I gave her the wrong directions and she got lost. Our best man was supposed to drive Ian to our wedding location but he'd gone out partying the night before and was passed out drunk as we all desperately tried to contact him because I had the car and Ian had no other way to get there. Our wedding was supposed to start at 11:00 am. At 11:00am neither I nor the groom were at our wedding. A customer at the salon named “Jennifer” offered to drive me to the wedding. So, I arrived late but with two unexpected guests I didn't even know. I figured I owed them for driving me there. The best man and Ian arrived a few minutes later. However, most of my New England family wasn't there because Hurricane Isabelle was threatening travel plans. (That darn hurricane never even came close...stupid meteorologist.)

No, I didn't really care about the ceremony of it all until I was standing at the door with my father. In those few seconds I wished I had put more effort into the day. He looked so proud. Frankly, I was almost afraid he was going to shove me down the aisle and say “take her, she's yours now!”

I saw my groom all nervous and red faced and sweating in the Carolina heat. Oh, I forgot to mention we got married in a gazebo outside where only a few hours before a giant wasp nest was hanging so the gazebo had an odd odor to it.

We made it through our vows but I started to crack up at the “and your people shall be my people.” Couldn't the vows have said “and your family shall be my family?” Nope. And all I could picture as I tried to repeat those words was our families dressed in caveman garb and grunting unintelligably. Although, I pictured my brother, Damon, as Tarzan. The picture kept getting ridiculously more absurd in the few seconds it took me to repeat that line.

One chaste kiss later and a rather fast walk back up the aisle into the air conditioned historic house and it dawned on me that I was married. That no matter what happened on the pregnancy front my fears of being alone would never come to fruition. We'd have each other. I may have been defective but he wanted me anyway.

At last, I was truly excited about the future, baby or not.

I didn't realize it then but joining together in marriage meant that we had just given birth to a family of two.

But we wouldn't stay that way for very long....

Birth of a Mother (Part 7)

Part 7

Hello and Goodbye

It was approximately one month after Ian proposed that I went to work one day and forgot to leave the bathroom door closed to keep our precocious Labrador out of the toilet and the trash. It was a cold wintry day and we had kept the doggies inside to keep them warm.

I was warm, though. I had a warmth that was spreading from within my womb and into my chest and my windburned cheeks as I drove to work with an unending smile. I was pregnant and couldn't wait to tell Ian once I got to work.

Well, remember that episode of “I Love Lucy” where she tries to tell Ricky a million times that she's expecting but they keep getting interupted? That's how my day went. I had to work the switchboard after my accounting shift that day so Ian left the office before I did and he went home.

By 8:30pm I was home and ready to burst at the seams with my life changing news. Only.....he already knew. His first words to me were “never leave the bathroom door open when HotRod is inside,,,” HotRod had gotten into the bathroom trash and pulled out the pregnancy test and left it lying right in front of the door so it was the first thing that Ian saw.

We weren't married yet so I wasn't sure how he'd take the news but he just grinned that “Look What We Did!” grin and picked me up and gently kissed me and put a tender warm hand on my tiny belly.

We couldn't wait to tell everyone and we had never heard of the “wait three months” rule. Our families were excited but had some good old Catholic trepidation of us not being married yet. We were too busy dreaming with our head in the clouds and on the first weekend we went to Babies R Us and picked up a stroller, car seat and some outfits and blankets.

It was while we were comparing breast pumps that I felt a strange twinge. It felt like I was getting my period. My midwife had told me that the earliest stages of pregnancy caused stretching of the uterus that could often feel like menstrual cramps. So I disregarded it, loaded up the car with all our goodies and went home to take a nap that stretched into morning. I remember dreaming that I was sitting in a college class and my period showed up completely unexpectedly and I was worried about how to get out of my seat to go to the bathroom. Overcome with a cramp, I woke up to a painful warmth spreading underneath me in the bed.

I immediately called the midwife and she asked me to come in. The doppler couldn't detect a heartbeat but the internal ultrasound showed a weak fetal heartbeat that was getting slower by the minute. It wasn't going to be long. I was watching my baby die and except for the technicians and the little life fading away on the screen I was all alone.

A D&C was performed later that afternoon and I came home to a housefull of people who loved me.
They might not have been thrilled that I had been an unmarried pregnant woman but this was my parents' first grandchild, my brothers' first niece or nephew.

Ian hugged me briefly and then went outside to do an oil change on the new car we had bought for safety reasons when we found out we were expecting. Men are problem solvers. He couldn't solve my problem but he could make sure he kept us safe in that car.

I was hurt that he wasn't inside with me and my family. I thought that meant he didn't care. That he never really wanted it.

I saw the truth later when his tear streaked face emerged from under the car much later than it usually took him to do an oil change.

After my family went home, I told Ian I wanted to try again as soon as possible. I already felt so empty. I didn't care at that point if I was ready or not. All I knew was that I had to fill that emptiness. That night I looked at my ultrasound pictures of the baby I was convinced was a girl (in my mind I'd named her Bailey Mckenna) and I kissed her goodbye and tucked her pictures in a tiny box that's still in my closet. I had no idea of the long, complicated road ahead of me full of words and conditions no one ever reads about in “What To Expect When You're Expecting” or how I'd have to abandon the idea of a midwife in lieu of a specialist.

I cried. And to this day, when I hear the name Bailey, I think of the baby that could have been and I cry.

I cried a lot.... partly because I didn't get to give birth to my baby. And partly because I didn't get to give birth to the mother I knew was waiting inside and was a far better woman than the one who spent years as just another Blonde Bad Reputation.

Birth of a Mother (Part 6)

Part 6

Amusement Park

So, there I was, licking my wounds but feeling pretty grown up and wise now that I'd figured out how to get off that Carousel. I figured now I was smart enough to discern which path would lead me to marriage and motherhood. I thought I finally knew who I was and what I wanted and I was on a beeline straight toward getting it.

Ha, the folly of youth!

Where does one find a Carousel, after all? It's usually at the center of an Amusement Park. A place where there are faux Tunnels of Love with great big swan boats, Fun Houses with mirrors that distort every aspect of your body and rollercoasters guaranteed to get your adrenaline pumping and trick you into believing you're brave when you were safe the whole time.

That was me...Little Miss Brave. But it was a false bravado and everyone at the amusement park knew it but me.

So I may no longer have been going round and round running into the same men over and over but I was now in a fool's paradise running into men who also thought they were brave and thought they knew who they were and what they wanted.

I entered into relationships where the desperate need for both of us to feel loved and give love gave way to false promises and false hopes and talk of futures that couldn't possibly be.

And in the back of my mind, always, was that one guy who's words about wanting kids someday continually propelled me to keep looking for someone just like him.

It would take years to reallize that I had idealized that man and put him on a pedestal that no other man could possibly reach.

After getting burned out on the endless rides to nowhere I'd had enough. Maybe motherhood wasn't going to be in the cards. Maybe marriage was going to be out of the question. After all, look how I'd abused my own psyche, how I'd misused my God given body to fullfill the desires of my flesh and if I couldn't stand looking in the mirror how could I expect any man to ever look at the new me with forgiving eyes?

Luckily, I pushed through the mounting crowds until I saw the gate that led out of that amusement park the moment I realized I was no longer going to allow myself or my body to be anyone's amusement. I raced through that archway as hard and fast as I could till I came out on the other side.

And I emerged a new version of myself. One that wasn't created or tailored for some man's idealistic vision of what He wanted but the version that I found acceptable to me.

This was terrifying. What if no one liked me? What if I remained alone the rest of my life? I was terrified but excited and that's when I knew, stepping outside myself that at last I was truly Little Miss Brave.

And right around the corner, unbeknownst to me, all my questions were about to be answered by a man who I never would have expected to save me from myself and give me exactly what I had spent years dreaming of....Marriage, Motherhood, Self-Respect and a newfound sense of purpose.

Birth of a Mother (Parts 4 &5)

Part 4

Bad Reputation

Now that the merry-go-round of bar, club and bed hopping had come to a halt and I had a steady job and apartment that I shared with a female coworker, I thought I was finally on the right track. Growing up in New England and always being known as “the good girl” while growing up, it never dawned on me that I had a new reputation. And boy did it stick. To this day, it has stuck. Oh sure, I go to church (where I pray for forgiveness every Sunday and Wednesday and all the other days ending in “y”) and I'm a Christian mom who teaches her kids the difference between right and wrong. But there are still those women who never leave me alone with their husbands-the ones who see the long blonde hair and the sky high heels and assume I haven't changed at all in 15 years.

What they don't know is that my hair is long because I married a man who doesn't like short hair. What they don't know is that I haven't bought a pair of shoes for myself in 13 years because he prefers to see me in heels. What they don't know, is that for the first time after getting off the merry-go-round, I decided to put someone other than myself first. (I figured it was a good first step to putting someone else first the way I knew I'd have to once the babies came along.)

But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

I was still struggling (and struggled until very recently) with the fact that I had no college degree, no “real” profession. How could I possibly be a “good” mom? Shouldn't I have a piece of paper that says I'm smart enough to procreate? How would I meet a man who would respect me enough to fall in love, marry and have children with me? And even more importantly, how would I meet a man who didn't know about my reputation? Would it matter if I told him how I got on the Carousel of Lust in lieu of Love in the first place?

Part 5

The Carousel of Lust in Lieu of Love

Here's the truth, the ugly truth, outted for the first time to the world.

Remember that guy back in Part 3 who impressed me with his desire for 3.4 kids?

I FELL HARD FOR THAT GUY.

And I was engaged to the previously mentioned High School Sweetheart.

But I was too scared to try a real grown up relationship for fear of it not working out and chose to stay with the guy I figured would always stick around.

Step one to Bad Reputation: Fall in love with someone when you already belong to someone else.

Step two to Bad Reputation: Try to forget the guy you fell in love with by sleeping with every guy who reminds you of him.

Step three to Bad Reputation: Feel absolutely NOTHING for as long as it takes for the hurt to go away.

Step four to Bad Reputation: When someone points out your reputation act like you're proud of it.

So, it wasn't so much that I was sowing wild oats, I just wanted to forget. I spent years trying to forget before I realized I was hurting myself more and more and I certainly couldn't become a mom until I healed.

That Carousel is still in perpetual motion for so many men and women out there. It never stops. You simply have to jump off and, trust me, it will hurt. It'll be the first time you really feel how broken your heart is. Your arms will ache from having held onto all the wrong things and your equilibrium will be so off that, at first, you'll just keep spinning and bumping into blurry sillouettes of all the others who've just jumped off too. It will take a while to readjust your vision and when you do you'll start seeing something amazing. You're no longer a walking, talking, Bad Reputation. You're You again.

Birth of a Mother (Parts 1 - 3)

Part One

It's taken me over a decade to share this part of my life with anyone. So much shame and self loathing and self blame often kept me from sharing this intimate window into my journey to becoming the one thing I always wanted to be: a mother.

My family always had other aspirations for me. My love of a good debate, my deeply rooted belief in Justice and my ability to tell a story that informed and entertained had my family telling me repeatedly “You should be a lawyer. You should be a Judge. You should be a journalist. You should be a foreign correspondent and tell the world what they don't have a chance to know.” The truth was I didn't want to be any of those things.

There was one family member who really nailed it though. It was after my Grampa's big heart attack and he was in the hospital. A lot of people didn't think he'd make it so all the aunts and uncles and cousins came to the farmhouse. The grown-ups stayed at the hospital but us kids and my great grandmother stayed at Grammy and Grampa's farm anxiously awaiting word from the hospital. I was the oldest of the cousins and it fell to me to orchestrate where everyone would sleep and how to entertain the younger kids while Grammy Mac took care of the cooking. Oddly, I didn't feel overwhelmed at all. I was eleven years old and the responsibilities I was given felt easy even during that frightening first night.

When the crisis was over and we knew Grampa would be coming home one day, all the aunts and uncles and my parents came to collect us children and I'll never forget the words that changed my view of my future life. My Grammy Mac said to my parents, as she held me up with one arm about my waist to keep me from falling asleep from the exhaustion of worry that had plagued me for two days, “Tanya was such a good little mother hen. She's got a mother's heart. You've got a great young lady here.”

And that's when I knew that's what I wanted to be, not a lawyer, not a teacher, not a judge...I wanted to be a Mommy.

Part 2

After two failed attempts at college life, I dropped out after Sophomore Year. I simply wasn't engaged by anything and the bulk of my time was spent with a high school sweetheart that I followed to the University after high school graduation for fear of losing him. What I never could have guessed about myself was that I was the one who was about to become lost. My head was turned by so many new social situations and the large variety of young men from all over the world were absolutely more captivating than the subjects I spent very little time studying. All of a sudden I felt I was a student of Life and failing miserably at it and the academics for which I was shelling out a lot of money.

Then, at a Fraternity Party, I ran into a man I'd had my eye on all first semester but too timid to strike up a conversation with, so handsome and so beautiful (inside and out) who, in a very short time, helped me find myself again with just a few simple words.

We spent a few hours talking about our views of the future and I'll never forget the shock I registered when he said he saw in his future “3.4 kids” (at that time, the national average). It was the first time in my short life that I'd ever heard a man close to my age talking about children without open fear or disgust. It dawned on me then that maybe I didn't have to feel embarrassed about my aspirations toward motherhood and marriage. Maybe, just maybe, the world needed another good mom as much as it needed good lawyers, good doctors, good judges, good journalists, etc.

I wasn't naïve when it came to understanding that I needed to be a whole person before I could undertake this role I desperately wished for. In my young, 20 year old mind, that meant only one thing...it was time to sow some wild oats, cultivate friendships, discover myself and become self-sufficient and happy with myself. Well, the sowing lasted about two years and was full of passion and a lot of heartache and confidence busters. I had much better luck with cultivating a friendship. (Note: Friendship. Singular. Only one friend. It's all I needed....I thought. That will play into the rest of the story, you'll see soon.)

As for discovering myself, well, I'm 37 and still discovering who I am as a woman, as a child of God, as a Mother and as a daughter and sister. And that leads me back to where I started this story: How I got to where I am today.

Part 3

I slowed down on the wild oats by age 23. I was tired of the passionate arguments that often arose out of jealousy and insecurity. I was tired of men who fled the moment commitment entered the picture. I was a pretty girl back then and there was no shortage of men to choose from but after two years they all seemed to be the same man. And none of them compared to the one man I measured them all by... The one man who briefly entered my life and shared a heartfelt admission of his desire for a future family. (Not with me but with his future life partner and how I envied whoever she turned out to be.) To me he was a noble example of a rare find and I spent a long time looking for someone just like him. Surely, he couldn't have been the only one on this great big green planet.

But it was beginning to feel that way.

And so I got off the merry-go-round.

As soon as the world stopped spinning my life slowed down and that's when I was able to examine everything about my life...where I was, where I wanted to be and where I had been heading for far too long. Nowhere in sight was Motherhood.

And that's when my real journey began...a journey that would take me on highs and lows and even to the brink of death...