Back when I was a kid, thirty two seemed unquestionably grown-up.  By the time I was thirty two, I would, obviously, be married with a kid or three, a career, house, cat, dog, all of the accoutrements that come with being an adult.  And to my surprise, I actually have all that stuff.  Except the career.  And the cat  (allergic husband).

Anyway, back then it was easy to picture what being “grown up” might look like.  I looked at my parents and figured that I would have what they did.  As a kid and a teenager it looked like they had it all figured out, balancing work and family so (seemingly to my young eyes) seamlessly.  Throughout my twenties, as I started to accomplish or accumulate these milestones (married at twenty two, house at twenty five, trying for a baby at twenty seven) I began to worry a little bit because I didn’t FEEL like a grown up yet.  And even now that I am a parent, to me the singular biggest indicator of adulthood there is, I still don’t feel grown up.  Does anyone ever, really?  Hawk’s grandmother once told me that inside she still felt like the sixteen year old girl she once was, she just happened to be stuck in the body of an eighty year old woman.

I think that rather than using external indicators like homeownership or parenthood, for me it’s more about the feeling of being comfortable in my own skin that makes me feel like an adult.  Not a “grown up”.  An adult.  Because I’m not a kid anymore, and happy not to be, thank you very much.  Anyone who tells you that “the best years of your life” are in high school is full of shit.  In my teens and twenties I had NO CLUE who I was, and I was miserable a lot of the time – so insecure, so full of self doubt, hating myself for every stupid thing I ever said or did.  I was so unkind to myself back then.

It’s only the last four years or so, the catalyst being my journey to get pregnant, that I really began to learn about what makes me “me”, what makes me special.  I did a lot of soul searching, a lot of introspection and ultimately came out the other side with a much clearer picture of Miranda.

The birth of my daughter this year is just the icing on the cake.  With the gift of Áine, that facet of my life that I was yearning for is complete.  It’s a piece of my heart that was broken with my two miscarriages and is now healed.  Now I am finally able to move on, with my daughter and my husband at my side, to see what challenges life brings next.

But then we started trying to get pregnant and my blog took on a whole new importance in my life.  It became the way that I processed my thoughts.  For a couple years, I had so much going on in my head that I needed to get it all out onto a page on a regular basis in order to maintain any kind of sanity.  I found that I could write about my feelings surrounding the sixteen months it took to get pregnant the first time, the devastation that was my first miscarriage, the failed IUI, and the year it took me to recover SO much more clearly than I could express them verbally.

Even more profoundly, the support I received from the people whose blogs I found, or who found mine, was really my saving grace. In my dark times I knew I was not alone in my crushed hope, the ache in my heart, and the empty feeling in my womb. That there were women out there who knew how I felt because they had suffered it themselves made the pain a bit less acute. Seeing how strong other women were after their losses inspired me to pick myself back up off the floor and try again.

And then I got pregnant with Áine and I let my blogging duties slide.  I wrote a bit about why a few weeks before she was born. And since she was born I’ve been so elated and dazed and harried that blogging has been the LAST thing on my mind.  I’ve posted a couple updates, a handful of pictures for the folks who have stuck with me over the past few years and sent their good wishes for Áine’s safe arrival.  But for the most part I’ve been pretty lax about blogging, and about visiting the blogs of my friends in the online infertility community.

Today I was perusing some old posts and read some old comments and found myself thinking, “oh yeah, I wonder whatever happened to…”  So I visited some blogs I haven’t been to in a while and was reminded that some people are still trying, still fighting for what I have now been so blessed with.  I read their words and it broke my heart all over again because I remember what it felt like to get bad news from my doctor.  I remember curling up onto the couch in a ball and crying harder than I’ve ever cried in my life.

And it made me feel like an asshole for all but abandoning this space and for not being a better support to the people who supported me.  I still hesitate to write about how happy I am with my brand new daughter, because I don’t want to rub salt in the wounds of anyone who is hurting.  But I also feel like disappearing, or not being honest about the joy I have now, would be an even bigger insult.

So I’m going to write about my life like I did before.  The subject matter will be a little different and the posts may be a bit sporadic, but I am going to make the effort.  If I don’t post writing, I’ll post pictures (more about my photography later).  It’ll be good for me as well, give me a chance to write again, to sharpen my mind back up (I hope – being really tired for months on end tends to turn the brain into mush).  I also have a whole new headful of thoughts and feelings to process: about being a mom, a wife, and a woman who is not quite sure where to go from here, but is looking forward to the journey.

I have had some mixed feelings about inducing, mainly because I am of the opinion that babies come when they are ready, but my doctor won’t let me go past 42 weeks, and frankly, I don’t WANT to go past 42 weeks.  I am done.  Pregnancy on the whole has been wonderful, magical, inspiring and all that jazz but the past eight weeks have been incredibly uncomfortable.  Plus, at this point, the kid is fully cooked.  The doc estimates her at well over eight pounds, she’s got a great strong heartbeat, she has had all the time she needs to get ready to greet the world.  So we don’t have to worry about yanking her out of there before she’s really ready.

I am a little nervous about the whole induction thing leading to a c-section.  I hope my body will be receptive to it and that all I need is a little nudge in the right direction to get me started.  I also know that inducing can take a looooooooong time, so even though they start that Pitocin drip at 2am tomorrow morning, it may be hours and hours and hours before anything happens.  Tomorrow may end up being an incredibly long, hard day.

Yesterday I was feeling a little numb and kind of shut down for most of the day.  Didn’t want to think about giving birth, having the baby, nothing.  I just sat and read a book all day and tried not to deal, except when a random thought about the whole thing would creep into my head then I would burst into tears.  Between feeling a little guilty and nervous about having to induce, feeling a bit scared about the new life that awaits me on the other end of that delivery, feeling a little apprehensive about how emotionally intense it’s going to be to meet my daughter for the first time, you could say I was a bit overwhelmed.

Then somewhere around dinnertime I started to get excited, and Hawk and I read the “newborn care” sections of our baby books and learned how to give her a bath and reviewed the whole “swaddling” thing and talked giddily about how our lives are about to change forever and how tiny and cute she’s going to be.  I wonder what she’s going to look like, what her cry will sound like.

So please keep your fingers crossed for us that the delivery is a relatively easy one.  I will post pictures and news as soon as I can.  Thank you all for your support and I can’t wait to introduce you all to my daughter!

What a year.  2008 started out with my second miscarriage and ended with me (not so) patiently awaiting the birth of my daughter (Just saying, Áine, if you would like to be born soon, like TODAY, that is totally cool with Mama).

I will, of course, still write about my life, but I’m finding that I’m not needing to as much. My blog was extremely important for me as an outlet in order to be able to process my feelings surrounding my first miscarriage. Lately I’m able to sort things out in my head more easily without having to write them down. Plus, I’m just happier in general these days and don’t have as much that I need to vent about.

My second miscarriage is still very fresh, but this one was…I hesitate to say “easier”, but that’s really what I mean. To be honest, right now both Hawk and I are not ready to be parents. When we found out I was pregnant this last time, there was a part of me – a small part, mind you, but still a part – that was a little disappointed. We’ve really been enjoying each other lately, enjoying our freedom, enjoying sleeping in, enjoying going out to dinner whenever we want and drinking wine with friends. Right now I find I’m just not ready to give that up. It just wasn’t the right time for us to have a baby. When it is the right time, we will know, and we will devote ourselves to the journey completely. But right now is not that time.

Last year was grief, almost from beginning to end. I was such an emotional wreck that I almost consider it a wasted year, because I was so enveloped by anxiety and sadness that I couldn’t enjoy my life at all. Now that I am feeling so much better, I need some time to just be. Just feel good for a while before we start trying to have a baby again. Because when we start trying, it’s going to work, and then I’ll have other (wonderful) things to concentrate on than myself!

There are a lot of other things going on right now. I was telling Hawk after we got back from our trip, that I was feeling totally rejuvenated and “like we’re on the cusp of something really big”. I’m taking the last two classes I need to finish my Diploma in Aromatherapy, I’m really wanting to concentrate more on my photography. Hawk is concentrating on building his computer consulting business and I am helping him with that. There are great things afoot, here, I think.

But here are a few other things I am thankful for that aren’t so – for lack of a better word – obvious:

I am thankful for the gift that was Maggie. I am thankful that I got to spend almost five years with her as part of our family. I learned so much from her, her love of life, the joyfulness with which she approached everything. Her loyalty and unconditional love and affection, her tenacity.

I am thankful for the gift that is my job, or more specifically, the gift that is the amazing women I work with. I’ve worked there during the most difficult time of my life thus far, and they have taught me how to be strong and compassionate through adversity. I would not be the woman I am today without the four of them in my life.

Finally, I am thankful for the gift that is my blog, because it has given me an outlet for my feelings surrounding everything that has happened this year that I would not have had otherwise, given me a space to process my thoughts, and it has led some amazing people my way who have renewed my faith in humanity with their willingness to reach out to a perfect stranger. I am thankful for all of you who are my “internet friends”, who I have never met but who share a little bit of yourselves on your own blogs, that make me feel not quite so alone in this big, scary, messy, wonderful world of ours.

Happy Thanksgiving, all of you. I hope today finds you warm, safe, and loved.

On one hand, I can’t believe a year has passed already. On the other, it seems like it’s been forever. I am such a totally different person than I was a year ago that it almost seems to have happened to somebody else. And I guess on some level it did.

Before I got pregnant, I had always said that I would rather never get pregnant than get pregnant and miscarry. I didn’t think I could deal with that level of grief and despair. I can see now, a year later, how wrong I was. Losing my baby was the worst thing that has ever happened to me, and I saw depths of sadness that I never thought possible. But I got through it, and it taught me more about myself than anything in my life previous. I know now the wells of strength that exist within me. I know that I can go on living my life even though everything seems to be falling apart. The world keeps turning, the sun will always come up again tomorrow. There is always hope for a new day.

My experience didn’t only teach me about myself, but about the people in my life, and how I relate to them. My relationship with my husband is even stronger than it was before, mainly due to his boundless patience and compassion. I’m sure there were times where he just wanted to walk out the door and leave me in my puddle of misery, but he never did. He held me while I cried – every time. He took every single phone call where I was freaking out and positive that we would never have a baby and needed to be talked off my ledge.

My friends listened to countless stories about doctors appointments and blood tests, gave innumerable hugs of support. It got to the point where I wanted to come through my grief and anxiety for them as much as for myself, so that I wouldn’t exhaust them with all of my problems. They were there for me, I wanted to be able to be there for them during their hard times. I hope that now I am a better wife and friend, because I want to do for the people I love what they did for me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I am “enlightened” now or that it’s not still hard sometimes, because god knows the past few months have been a nightmare. The medication I’m on is totally necessary for me at this point in time in order to deal with everything that has happened, but it has also helped to quiet my mind enough so that I can actually reflect on the past year with more clarity. I’ve got a long way to go before I can say that I am really truly healed. But I’ve also learned that I’m not afraid of the work.

In the end, I suppose that I would not have given up this experience for anything. That I felt the loss of my baby so deeply gives me a glimpse of how much I will love the child I believe I will one day have. I am the person I am today because of what I lived through; I am stronger for it, I love more deeply because of it. My miscarriage was just another step along my path, one that taught me that I have what it takes, with the love and support of my family and friends, to survive whatever comes my way.

I’m doing much better than I was a few weeks ago. The hypochondria seems to have passed, for the most part. I had a couple days last week right after my folks left where the “early menopause” thing was trying to creep its way back in, along with about forty eight hours of depression of the “pit of despair” variety, but, like I said, it passed. I think it was more about being exhausted from work and driving back and forth to Malibu every day, not to mention ten days of too many cocktails. What can I say – when my family gets together, the booze, it flows freely. After a couple days of teetotaling, herbal tea and evenings on my own couch in front of the TV, I felt much MUCH better.

I’ve also started seeing my therapist again, which is a huge help. She knows me so well and knows just how to reign me back in when I’m feeling like I’m starting to lose it. This past appointment, I had been telling her that I’m having a hard time deciding when the right time to go back to the doctor is, to start the baby making efforts again. I keep waiting for a “perfect” cycle – a month where my stress level is relatively low and my ovulation and period go well (don’t ask me what “well” means, because I really couldn’t tell you) – before we go back. But something always seems to come up. The “perfect” cycle remains elusive, and I don’t know if it should be like ripping off a band-aid and we should just go back at the start of my next cycle to get the anticipation anxiety over with. Or should we make a pact to start again at the turn of the year, and I take the next few months to try and get my head on straight. I told her, “I just wish I knew what the answer is”.

She smiled, wisely and a little mischievously, and said, “I picture you like a comic strip.”

Come again?

“I see you,” she said, “like a comic strip. The first frame is you, drawn in black and white, with your fists on your hips, and your face looking all angry, and you’re screaming up to the sky, to the universe. You’re yelling ‘WHY? WHEN? WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN? WHEN IS IT GOING TO HAPPEN?’”

I smile sheepishly because, yeah, that sounds about right.

“The next frame,” she says, “is of a voice speaking back to you from the clouds, and it’s saying ‘It’s none of your business’.”

Immediately I knew in my heart she was right. The answers to those questions are none of my business. I may not believe in God, but I believe in a universe with some kind of order. I have a path, and I am walking it the best I can. I don’t know where my path is leading me, but I trust enough to know that whatever happens, I will be OK.

I am my best source for answers, but for some reason my faith in myself has faltered a bit. When I’m feeling insecure and anxious, I have to be quiet and look inward for the answers only I can give myself. I have to trust that the one person who really knows what is best for me is me. The question isn’t “Should I go back to the doctor and start trying again?” The question is “Am I ready to start trying again?” I think that’s one of the reasons why I’ve been absent from my writing. I’ve been wrapped up thinking on the wrong question and finding no answers.

My “homework” from my therapist is to start a meditation practice, just ten minutes a day, to learn to quiet my mind. It’s funny that she brought up meditation, because I’ve actually been reading a lot about it lately. It sounds like exactly what I need, though I don’t expect it to be easy. But I have to try. The fearful and anxious thoughts get in the way of my real voice being able to come through, and I need to hear it.

I’ve got a question to ask myself.

I think that the stress from losing Maggie and traveling and jet lag and everything just overloaded my system. Pushed me over the edge and now I’m clawing my way back. I hate getting all angsty like this, but the good news is that I recognize when something isn’t working for me. I can ask for help when I need it and I can express my feelings to the people who love me (and apparently, to the rest of you who just stopped by for pictures of Patrick Dempsey or information on rabbit birthing procedures - for the last time I CAN’T HELP YOU!!!).

Plus, after writing it all out, I felt better almost immediately. It’s hard to explain, but being able to get all this stuff out of my head and onto virtual paper somehow takes the urgency out of it. I think it’s because for days I stew on it, I get all wrapped up in it and can’t see a way out. But then I write it, it’s out there, anyone can read it, and I can let it go. The bad thoughts are sort of robbed of their power over me when I release them like this.