Thursday, January 31

That's what they said

(Taking a page from my friend, Addie)

RAs During Super Mario Brothers

"Wait, is that a horse?"
"No, the turtle is bad!"
"The turtle is not a horse?"

"Someone pop me! popmepopmepopme!

"Go play with those guys"
"I just did, and they ate me!"

"How can I turn into ice?"


"You are bubbling like a champ!"

"Ooh! are those horses?"
"No, Turtles are not horses."
"Remember, I'll tell you when they're horses"

"Ok, Purple lava: no fun."

"That was terrifying!
"Oh, Gosh! Oh Gosh, Oh Gosh!!"

"oh. we lost our powers."

"I think he ate me, and then I was frozen inside of him"

"Ok, someone jump on the bomb..."

"Are the mushrooms our friends?"
"No, the mushrooms are not friends!"
"The guys with the blue spots?"
"Oh. Yeah. that's your friend"

"Ahhh! Ooohkay! That was my face."

Thursday, January 24

Well, and then THAT happened....

So,  I was supposed to get my period on a Thursday - the Thursday before Christmas. Nothing happened. I was pretty happy, actually, to simply not get my period on that day, because it was a crazy busy day in the office, and I had vacation starting the next day and then we would be flying out on Sunday. So my plan was to hope it would come on Friday, and then I'd be done with it by Christmas.

Friday, Saturday come and go, and I'm packing for Christmas. I think to myself: "Well, I'm pretty regular, but I have had longer cycles and of course, I can't really get pregnant." So I throw in all of the tampons I have on hand, all the ovulation sticks I have (because if I do get my period, then I need them) and just for good measure I threw in a couple of pregnancy tests.

Sunday, Monday. Monday is Christmas Eve. We go to church. I dreaded it. (I love you, church friends! You are not why I dreaded it!) Church has been a hard thing for me for two years, and rarely do I feel at ease when listening to a sermon. Most sermons don't deal with depression and grief that lasts years, so I'm usually left trying to get myself into a different spiritual and emotional place so I can appreciate what the pastor is saying and how it might apply.

I figured I'd be crying for most of the service. I did ok, being as I only lost it at "O Holy Night" at the lyric "He knows our need, to our weakness is no stranger." I felt angry and sad and reassured all at the same time. (Hello, Ambivalence!) Angry because, "Do you God? DO YOU know this weakness? Cause it doesn't seem like it" and Sad because "Of course, he knows it, Hannah, baby Jesus eventually dies on a Cross. You can't look at the manger and not see the cross" and reassured because, if there's anything I hope and pray with all my might, it's that Jesus knows my weakness and forgives me even so.

Christmas Eve and Christmas day. At this point, I am all, "What the....?" I won't go into detail, but lets just say I went to the bathroom A LOT trying to figure this thing out. Where are you, little pink streak? I emailed a couple of friends, telling them about my flummoxedness (it's a word, really), trying to induce Murphy's law. Usually whan I say things like, "I'm late," my period comes the next day.

I decide on Christmas Eve that Christmas day and after I'm late enough to warrant a pregnancy test.  I decided to wait until after Christmas day because I think, "what a horrible way to start Christmas, hoping that being late means a baby and finding out, no, you're not. Because THAT is what ALWAYS happens. And then thinking, "Oh, s*** I have cancer." (How did I get to cancer? I googled 'reasons you don't get period not pregnant.' Cancer came up. Good times!) The entire time, though you can't suppress the hope that a late period means a baby, reason and experience tell you, "Gurl, how stupid you be? You knows how this ends."

So Wednesday, the 26th, I take a pregnancy test. 6:15 in the morning. Hating every minute, because hope is buried way down there, but fear is ruling the moment. But I know it won't be....


Crazy news, people - we're pregnant!

(I took two just to be sure! in case you're wondering, the dark line is the indication of pregnancy, the light line is the control. GoodNess! )

Sunday, January 6


(I started this post in October and finished it in January, if it feels a little disjointed to some of you. But the thoughts have been ruminating for the last few months, and I think they are worth writing.)

Since pondering the prospect of life without kids, I find myself keenly aware of how I fear to be alone.

I don't think that it's previously been a motivation of "hey lets have kids so we're not alone when we die." Certainly I don't think anyone thinks that when they first begin to try to have kids. We all think of newborns cooing with unadulterated love, little toddlers toppling over while taking first steps, the first bike ride, the panic of helping pay (or completely paying!) for college. The hope of more generations.

Having kids may help you stay in this moment, instead of looking down toward the future.

Not having kids? your life - and the end of it - comes rushing toward you, because it seems that all you have and all you will have is the same today as it will be tomorrow and ever shall be.

At one point, as I was thinking about being alone and how I frequently seek out others (as both a function of my extroversion, and as a function of fear) I wondered if my husband or friends were afraid of being alone at the end of life. I thought, "Well, that is MY fear, but perhaps those who are not as avoidant of being alone fear other aspects of death that I don't? 
As the Christmas season descended upon us, I began to meditate on Christ as Emmanuel, God with us. Obviously, I have always thought of Emmanuel in a historical sense - God came down to be with humanity for 33 years. But in the emotional sense of "God is with us" when struggling through the pain and difficulty of life. "God with us" when pondering the things that cause us anxiety. "God with us" in joy and in sorrow.

Because of all the disorienting things about infertility, the worst is the feeling of being abandoned by God. Yet, God promises to be with us. Emmanuel.

As the Christmas Eve service choir sang "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" in variation, the understanding came upon me. It was something that came when I was a little girl, feeling rejected by others, as a teen when I tried and failed to fit in, and now, as an adult, fearful of being alone: God is with me. Emmanuel. He will be with me when I die, and he is with me when it doesn't feel like he is near. He is with me when I am anxious, and when I am angry, and when I am grieving. He will be with me when I am joyful.

His very name is the remedy for my fear. 
With octaves of a mystic depth and height