spring nights

We love the sunshine over here.  Picnics have become our norm. Summer is going to be full of sweet, sweet memories.  I'm thankful for this sneak peek of summer weather.

infertile does not mean childless

Sometimes I feel guilty when I use the word "infertility" to describe our situation.  Many people have pointed out to me that, with Evie, it only took us a little over a year and one round of Clomid.  And that is absolutely true.

But that year was really, really hard.  It felt unfair for me to have to wait to be diagnosed while other married couples could choose for themselves when to start a family.  We knew that it was going to be impossible without help, but we still had to wait. And maybe I was (am) naive.  I thought that our attempts at a second baby would be much easier and shorter now that we know what we're dealing with.

Wrong wrong wrong.  But in a way, I at least now feel like I can describe myself as infertile, as if I've "earned" the undesirable title.  Sure, I have a beautiful, amazing, spunky little girl, but that doesn't negate the struggle; it simply makes it worth it.  

I guess what I'm (not) getting at is that just because someone has a baby doesn't make their infertility status go away.  Infertile couples aren't just couples with empty arms because infertility does not mean impossibility, just unlikeliness.  

away away

It's 1:41 am.  I'm sitting alone in bed by the dim light coming from the hall in a house that is more messy than it ever should be.  Chris is in Evie's room giving her a bottle and some extra cuddles.  She's been waking for bottles at night lately... a growth spurt, perhaps.  And in a few short hours, Chris will be high above us in the clouds on his way to the sunshiney South. 

And we will be here. 

I always hate the leaving, the goodbyes.  Even if it's just for a very short time.  We are better together, always.  

I think a lot of it stems from our long distance relationship/engagement days when I was away at school in Tennessee.  I can't even describe how awful it was to say goodbye to my love.  It ached, physically, in my whole being.  

I still feel part of that pain when we're separated.  As silly as it may sound, I even feel a twinge of it each day when Chris leaves for work.  I love him.  I wish we could always be together.  All the time.

We're better together.

mama moments

Evie is such a Daddy's girl.  And I like that.  Baby girls love their daddies in a special way.

But sometimes, I appreciate the small mama moments, just us girls - the ones where we have a special, deeper connection.  In those moments, I truly feel that this little one loves me.  Although these special moments are rare, I cherish each one of them deeply. 

Just me and my little girl. 

finding the joy

When you have a baby, everyone wants to give you advice.  Some of it, you use.  Other bits, you smile and nod and think, I will never do that.  Although I've heard some great advice and some not-so-great advice from seasoned mothers, friends, and random people at the grocery store, there is always one thing that everyone ends with.

Enjoy it - they grow up so fast.

As I sit here typing this, I can hardly believe that I am planning my daughter's first birthday party.  She's gone from sleeping on my chest as a little peanut to taking her first steps.  I nearly cried when I had to purchase some pajamas from the "toddler" section of Carters.  Where is my baby? My sweet little bundle all wrapped up in my arms, the one I witnessed take her first breath on this earth - she has become a curious little girl with a bundle of personality just bubbling over.

And my heart aches a little.  It's not exactly a sad ache, but the type of overflowing, loving, sentimental ache that only a mother can truly understand.  It's joy and pain all wrapped up in one.  It's excitement for what's to come but longing for what has passed.  The days are often long, but oh, the time is short. 

There aren't enough moments for the love we feel for this girl.

sickness update

Sorry I've been MIA the last week, but Everlyn is still sick.  I took her to the doctor last Friday, but our normal pediatrician wasn't available.  The doctor we saw diagnosed her with a virus and croup cough.  He gave her five days of low steroids to help open her airways.  Fast forward a week and the poor girl was still so sick.  She could barely breathe because her chest was so congested, so I took her back in to see her regular doctor.  She confirmed my suspicions - it wasn't croup after all.  Although she didn't give us an exact diagnosis, she sent us home with a machine to do breathing treatments two to three times a day for at least a week.  It seems to be helping a little so far, but my little bean is still under the weather.

In other news, I am waiting to start round three of clomid after confirmation that the second attempt also failed.  The nurse told me that this would be the highest dosage.  If it doesn't work, I'll be referred to a specialist.

knock on wood

Everyone has been getting sick lately.  Really sick.  The flu has been especially bad this year, and several people we know have also had a rough stomach bug.  Week after week, I'd hear of babies coming down with illnesses.  Luckily, we've been very fortunate with Evie.  Besides some teething pain and a very mild virus, she's been healthy.

Until now.  (Did I forget to knock on wood?)

My poor baby has a fever, congestion, and a runny nose.  I can hear her chest congestion when she breathes.  And she's acting sick.

Before her, I never truly understood when parents would talk about how hard it was to see their kids sick, how they wished they could trade places with them.  I get it now.  I want so badly for her to feel better.  I've disinfected all her toys with white vinegar.  I've been diligent about putting essential oils on her feet and chest, as well as in her humidifier and bath water.  And of course, I've cuddled her.

I just want her to feel better again.

through her eyes

As I've reflected on this Easter season, I have a new perspective on the way that I view the cross.  Why? Because I am a mother.

I tried to imagine Jesus' death through Mary's eyes.  

There truly are no words to explain the depth of my love for my daughter.  I love her so much it physically aches sometimes.  When I tried to put myself in Mary's place, I couldn't.  It must have been completely unbearable for her to watch her son, her baby, be so brutally and unjustly tortured.  He was beaten beyond recognition.  And then, He was hung to die the most excruciating, humiliating death.

I wonder if she ever wanted to fight, to run after Him and throw her fists at the guards, to rescue her child.  I wonder if she was physically ill watching the events unfold.

I wonder if she could really watch at all.

I have a new appreciation for the cross, and specifically, for God's sacrifice of His Son.  Becoming a parent has drastically changed how I view my relationship with God, simply because it parallels parenting in so many ways.  Only, in that relationship, I am the stubborn, disobedient, strong-willed child.  As a parent, I fail often, but it gives me hope and patience to know that God never ever gives up on me.  Instead, He loves me unconditionally.  So much, in fact, that He gave up Himself just so I could be with Him one day.