Waterbugs and Dragonflies

Quite a few people have been asking me about the significance of my latest tattoo. I thought I'd answer here.

I love tattoos and love them to have significance for me. I posted here (http://definingmomentshope.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/hoping-for-spring.html?m=1) about the last tattoo I got about 20 months ago.

My latest one was inspired by a book that Samuel was given when Emilie died. He still has the book next to his bed and whenever he sees a dragonfly - or an image of one - he tells me it reminds him of his sister. I'll let the story do its work:

Waterbugs and Dragonflies
by Doris Stickney


Down below the surface of a quiet pond lived a little colony of water bugs. They were a happy colony, living far away from the sun. For many months they werevery busy, scurrying over the soft mud on the bottom of the pond. They did notice that every once in awhile one of their colony seemed to lose interest in goingabout. Clinging to the stem of a pond lily it gradually moved out of sight and was seen no more.
"Look!" said one of the water bugs to another. "One of our colony is climbing up the lily stalk. Where do you think she is going?" Up, up, up it slowly went....Evenas they watched, the water bug disappeared from sight. Its friends waited and waited but it didn't return...
"That's funny!" said one water bug to another. "Wasn't she happy here?" asked a second... "Where do you suppose she went?" wondered a third.
No one had an answer. They were greatly puzzled. Finally one of the water bugs, a leader in the colony, gathered its friends together. "I have an idea". The next oneof us who climbs up the lily stalk must promise to come back and tell us where he or she went and why."
"We promise", they said solemnly.
One spring day, not long after, the very water bug who had suggested the plan found himself climbing up the lily stalk. Up, up, up, he went. Before he knew whatwas happening, he had broke through the surface of the water and fallen onto the broad, green lily pad above.
When he awoke, he looked about with surprise. He couldn't believe what he saw. A startling change had come to his old body. His movement revealed four silverwings and a long tail. Even as he struggled, he felt an impulse to move his wings...The warmth of the sun soon dried the moisture from the new body. He moved hiswings again and suddenly found himself up above the water. He had become a dragonfly!!
Swooping and dipping in great curves, he flew through the air. He felt exhilarated in the new atmosphere. By and by the new dragonfly lighted happily on a lily pad torest. Then it was that he chanced to look below to the bottom of the pond. Why, he was right above his old friends, the water bugs! There they were scurryingaround, just as he had been doing some time before.
The dragonfly remembered the promise: "The next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk will come back and tell where he or she went and why." Without thinking,the dragonfly darted down. Suddenly he hit the surface of the water and bounced away. Now that he was a dragonfly, he could no longer go into the water...
"I can't return!" he said in dismay. "At least, I tried. But I can't keep my promise. Even if I could go back, not one of the water bugs would know me in my newbody. I guess I'll just have to wait until they become dragonflies too. Then they'll understand what has happened to me, and where I went."
And the dragonfly winged off happily into its wonderful new world of sun and air.......





So - my latest tattoo is a permanent reminder and testimony of the fact that I will see Emilie, and my other babies, again. One day I'll be able to look back and all of this will have been made new.

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1 Year, 9 Months, 28 Days.....

1 year, 9 months and 28 days...
95 weeks
667 days
16,008 hours
I should have a nearly 2 year old now. A walking, talking, temper tantrum throwing, food refusing nearly 2 year old.
I can't believe how quickly the past year and 10 months have gone. From the sheer torture and pain of grief to learning what a 'new normal' is, rebuilding our lives and now moving forward in what we believe the plans for our futures are.
There are parts of the past (nearly) 2 years that I simply can't remember. There are huge chunks of cloudy and blurred memories and I struggle to work out timescales or order of events over, certainly the first half of, the last 2 years.
That blurriness and haziness has gone now but the pain and loss are still there on a daily basis; not as close to the surface as they were and much easier to manage but still there. Pregnancy announcements still sting as we try hard to grieve the loss of the dream of a bigger family and learn to be content with one biological child but we are gradually learning this contentment. It is not something that will come over night and, as my closest friends will know, there are days when I am at peace with the finality of the situation and other days when the pain creeps up on me unawares and I will have a day, or days, of seemingly unexplained emptiness before realising that there may actually be a trigger; maybe the approach of an anniversary of loss, another due date come and gone, a hospital appointment, negative test results, the thought of the 'what could have been' moments.




And then something happened in our lives about 2 months ago to make us sit back and reassess the situation. We felt God whispering into our lives to trust him as our lives took a very unexpected turn and so we began, once again, on a path that we hadn't chosen for ourselves. It is a path that still has the potential to cause us immense pain but is also a path where we have already seen incredible blessings and joy poured out into our lives. At the point of this event we both, independently to each other, came to the same decision; a decision that could have been shattering to the other had it not, as we believe, been a God inspired decision. We decided to stop trying for a baby and we are at peace with our decision.
I can't fully explain this sense of peace as it does not take away the pain (and sometimes jealousy) that I feel but it reassures me that we are exactly where we are meant to be at the moment. This point is also something that has taken me 1 year, 9 months and 28 days to get to and I am glad to finally be here.
We still need all the people around us who have supported us over the past (nearly) 2 years and who have helped us to be accountable to them. We need reminding of God's timing, of His plan, of the sense of peace we have felt with our decision, of words that have been given to us and of where we have come from to get to this point. But most of all I need reminding that 1 year, 9 months and 28 days is not long enough for people to forget our daughter.

New Shoes - an insight into the life of a foster carer.

We spend the weekend with a very frustrated Little Miss. The normal toddler tantrums are arriving and are being amplified by her already fiery temperament. We rack our brains; what can we do to ease this frustration? We come to the conclusion that not being able to walk may be adding to the frustration she feels and decide to buy her new shoes to try and encourage the walking. Cue a trip to Clarks for measuring. Who'd have thought that being measured for new shoes could be such a traumatic experience?!
I weigh up the risks - a mental risk assessment of the situation; new faces, unfamiliar place, unfamiliar smells, new situation. Not to mention random people touching you with strange shoe measuring implements! The sales assistant comes to introduce herself and, without giving away details of our situation, I quietly explain that Little Miss can be very nervous in new situations and with new people. The sales assistants voice softens immediately and she kneels down at eye level with Little Miss to say 'hello'. Little Miss, initially unsure and leaning into me, slowly begins to relax and smile. She shouts 'hiya' and waves excitedly to the sales assistant who then picks up the foot measurer and tries to secure it to Little Miss' foot. The floodgates are opened. She begins to scream, writhe and scratch and has to be held very firmly to be measured. I can see that the sales assistant is trying to be patient but is surprised at the ferocity of the outburst. I ask her to wait a couple of minutes whilst I turn Little Miss around and cradle her against me. She clings to me, shaking, with her head draped over my shoulder and twiddles a strand of my hair. Once she has stopped shaking I begin to move her away from me but she scrambles to get close again whilst screaming. I breathe a sigh of relief that it is 9:35 am and the shop is very quiet. I feel a hint of embarrassment flood my cheeks as Sam sits next to me and starts to hum a song from the Les Miserables soundtrack at the top of his voice. Inappropriate much?!!
I wait for Little Miss to calm down again before turning her around whilst singing 'Twinkle Twinkle' softly in her ear. She screams, writhes and kicks out but the patient sales assistant finally manages to measure her feet whilst seeming to be contorting herself into all manner of strange positions to obtain the correct measurements from said octopus's feet. She brings out a selection of first 'cruiser' shoes and I allow Little Miss to get down on the floor and choose her own. I try to point her in the direction of the pretty t-bar style shoes with embroidered flowers. She picks the most garishly pink shoes there that are guaranteed not to go with any outfit. I sigh and ask the sales assistant if she has them in the required size. Cue screaming, writhing and wriggling again whilst the shoes are fitted and deemed a good fit. Sales assistant asks if we would like to take the shoes off to put them in a box. I want to laugh - haven't we just wrestled these shoes onto her?! They're NEVER coming off. I take a deep breath before saying 'no thank you', paying and leaving the shop with joyful optimism of said shoes solving all frustration problems and Little Miss strolling off down the path holding hands with Sam. Instead I am faced with a toddler who pulls the shoes off every 10 minutes and has given up any desire to stand and/or walk.
Frustrations continue for the rest of the week and I am unable to get to the bottom of them. People stare as the outbursts take place. They look at me as if to ask 'are you going to control your child?'. I think of friends who have children with additional needs and recall stories of judgements from people around them who are unaware of their childrens' needs and (maybe unwittingly) give disapproving looks at outbursts and socially inappropriate behaviour that may be exhibited. I breathe a sigh of relief that I am not alone and take a deep breath to avoid turning to another staring person and asking 'do you have a problem?'.
Little Miss takes deep breaths and begins to calm herself down - a skill that she is only just learning. Her body relaxes once more and her fists unclench. She gets down from my knee and crawls off as if nothing has happened. I feel my body relax and carry on regardless, waiting for the next outburst.
Being a foster carer is the most amazing thing I have ever done. I love seeing the changes in Little Miss that are occurring on a daily basis. She really is like a different child and this is an amazing reward. My goodness though, this is hard work!
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Getting it Right?

It's been a long day. I was kept awake last night again by nervous "are you still there?" cries from our foster child. Sam has a bad chest (he is asthmatic) and our cat has required major surgery to remove a blockage from her intestine; a plastic foot from something, apparently. Tomorrow we'll get to see what the 'plastic foot' was that cost us a small fortune out of our savings as the vet has kindly kept hold of it to show us.

Ask my husband last year and I'm pretty certain he wouldn't have opted for drawing out savings to save a cat. A cat that scratches, keeps us awake at night, eats anything in sight (including plastic feet, apparently), turns up at neighbours' houses for play and some attention and throws up all over the bathroom floor. But this was different. The kids love this cat - they adore her. Sam was absorbed in his loss after Emilie's death and somehow, in a way that I certain a human couldn't do, Kip pulled him out of his withdrawn state. His behaviour changed virtually over night. And our foster daughter loves her. Infact I don't think 'love' is a strong enough word. Kip was the first 'person' that she engaged with, the first 'person' she shared kisses with, and the first 'person' she initiated eye contact with. For weeks she followed her around the house shouting 'cat, cat' - her one and only word. So when the call came from the vet to say that surgery was the only option, there was no doubt in my husband's mind that it was what needed to be done and so we find ourselves with a big gap in our 'house fund' savings. It will be worth it, though, when 'cat cat' comes home to stop the tears!

Our foster daughter struggles with change. She struggles with goodbyes and new experiences. She struggles with life. And today she has cried all day. She has raised her arms, formed her mouth into an 'O' shape and let out the 'ooooooo, oooooo' sound that she has perfected so well interspersed with cries of 'cat cat' and 'mama', arms raised to me. All day!

I have waited to hear a baby call me mama for years. But she's not mine. We refer to me as by my name to her no matter what but she has chosen 'mama' after hearing Sam do so. And so we find ourselves in a cafe at a craft session. Sam and his friends are happily gluing sequins to material and our little lady is playing with blocks. And then, for no reason seemingly out of the blue, comes the crying. The sobbing. I try to work out what is wrong with her but she turns away from me. She just wants to cry. This is a common occurrence and happens at least once a day. There are times, more frequently now, that she seeks comfort (she always snuggles in when happy but struggles when she's crying) but generally she turns away, refuses to make eye contact and screams at anyone who dares to look at her or try to comfort her. And it breaks my heart. I have learnt the hard way, that she needs the outlet. That she needs to be able to sit and so and wollow in her on sorrow. After this has happened she is fine. The switch is flicked and she is her happy self again, chatting and interacting with me. But the looks I get!! I can't tell people 'she's not mine' and I can't explain why I'm letting her cry. A friend said to me today that I KNOW her - I know what calms her down and what doesn't but I wonder what people must think. Some even let me know - 'ah, she's tired', 'someone's not happy, are they?' and the worst are the people who try to talk to her, hence raising her stress levels ten fold!

I wish there was someone there who could say to me 'you're doing the right thing' and reassure me that the way we comfort her is ok. I see changes in her every day and she is unrecognisable from the little girl who arrived 10 weeks ago - and probably so are we! It is so rewarding to see and fills me with such a sense of pride but we have a long way to go. I don't want to see her leave or wish our time with her away but I often wonder - how amazing will it be to see her move to her final placement leaving a lot of those insecurities behind her.

And then I'll know we've done the right thing.


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A Year of Running

It's been a while since I've posted here. I've been a little bit preoccupied with the baptism of fire that has been our introduction into the world of foster care. I can't believe it's been 2 months since we got our first placement. We're thoroughly enjoying having an extra little person staying with us for this season and are currently trying to get our heads around the prospect of her moving on all be it not imminently. People often ask me how long she'll be with us and if she'll stay. The answer is, quite simply, I don't know. I don't know what the future holds but right now we know that we are called to foster care and not adoption so I guess that answers that question. I know that that may change in the future and, with suffering from infertility, we may well choose to adopt a child at some point in the future but now we're enjoying foster care and the experiences that come with that. Foster carers often say that it is the best and hardest thing they have ever done. I'd agree. Every day we get to see our little visitor increase in confidence and develop new skills. We get to be reward by the love and affection she shows us and get to see her change in ways we never thought possible 2 months ago. We get to do all of this to prepare her for her final place of care - wherever that may be - and that, in itself, is enough reward for now. Yes, it's hard. Yes, we'll struggle moving her on but then we will meet another child; another child who's life we can sew into and support them to grow and develop preparing them to be a resilient adult. What a responsibility that we are trusted with!
To me, this is my year of running. Of sometimes feeling like I'm running a race that we could never win. Last year was a year of loss, of waiting and of fertility treatment and I feel like I missed out on everything else that was promised to me. Not a wasted year, as such, but a year of putting my life on hold. After our last loss in September, we decided to move on - to start running forward rather than looking back and wondering what could have been. As as I've mentioned before, so many doors have opened to us. The pain is still there and some days it consumes me, but having a new focus, having something to move forward towards has really helped. We will continue running the race for as long as is needed.


Last night was Comic Relief and like most people, I'm sure, I sobbed my way through the stories, put in my donation and felt frustrated that a. There was not more I could do and b. our Westernised society leads us to see loss in a very different way to how people in other countries may see it. We are so lucky to have the resources, medical care, research, transport, hospitals, and sanitation needed to ensure that loss IS something that shocks us - it's not something that we endure every day. It's not (really) something that we live in fear of and, as a result, is something that (quite rightly) completely rocks us when it happens.
Whilst watching Comic Relief, and the documentaries leading up to it, I was struck hard by a number of statistics. The first was that an estimated
655 000 people DIE from malaria deaths each year - with 600 000 of those estimated to be children. That's 600 000 parents who have to experience the grief that we have - the grief of losing a child. (http://www.who.int/features/factfiles/malaria/malaria_facts/en/index1.html). The other thing that shocked me us that approximately 800 women die every day from PREVENTABLE pregnancy related causes (http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/fs348/en/index.html) and 99% of these deaths occur in developing countries. In 2009 there were also 2.6 million stillbirths globally (http://www.who.int/maternal_child_adolescent/epidemiology/stillbirth/en/index.html) with 98% of those being in low and middle income countries. 2.6 million and Emilie is just one of these. The reason I'm still here, however, is because of the amazing care that Liverpool Women's Hospital offer but it could easily have been a different story. This terrifies me and shocks me - especially seeing as a lot of the deaths worldwide are deemed as 'preventable'.
And that begged the question - what can we do/what do we do? I'll be honest - I'll donate to charities. I'll support sponsored events but I'm never going to run a marathon or climb a mountain - not least as I don't have the time to train (that's how I justify it!!) but I still try to make a difference - I share my story whenever I can. I try, as much as I can, to provide support and love to other women who have suffered recurrent miscarriage, still birth and infant loss, and I will happily bake cakes to sell but I wanted to introduce you to a friend who is giving his everything to change statistics like the above.
Nearly 4 years ago, as a childminder, I would walk to and from the local primary school to do school drop offs and pick ups. During that time I met a mum who lives very close to me and walks the same walk to take her children to and from school. Her daughter was in the same class as the little boy I picked up so we got chatting both on the school run and outside school. Eventually, as we chatted, we realised that both of us suffered from PCOS but amazingly she was pregnant again. We were trying for Emilie and her story gave me hope. However, on 12th November 2010 my colleague came home from the school run with the colour drained from her face. She asked me if I knew Karen and explained that, at 38 weeks pregnant Karen had lost her baby girl to stillbirth. I remember feeling terror for her and willing myself not to think about what she must be going through. A few days later I saw her up at school with her husband. They both looked obviously grief stricken and pale and were stood on their own. I badly wanted to go and tell her how sorry I was but I barely knew her, couldn't find the words and desperately didn't want to cause more upset.
10 months later on 26 th September 2011 the same terror happened to us at 32 weeks. Within days Karen got in touch to offer her condolences and, even though the grief was still raw for her, met up with me on a regular basis and helped to carry me through it. Needless to say a friendship formed.
On the times that we met, Karen would share with me stories of her husband, Dom's, weight loss and fundraising which had arisen out of there loss of Ella. He had raised a very significant amount of money for charities such as Bliss, Tommys and Count the Kicks in Ella's memory and the transformation in his life, and courage he had shown were amazing.
In April 2012 Dom set himself and team Ella runners the challenge of a year of running starting with the Great Ireland Run and ending at the London Marathon in April 2013! Dom had never run before Ella's death! I'll let him tell the rest of his story here: http://www.teamella.co.uk/page5/index.html
One of the incredible things about Dom and Karen's story is that a few short weeks after the London Marathon Karen will give birth to Violet - Ella's baby sister - a 'Rainbow Baby'. What an amazing story of hope.
The Year of Running is drawing to a close. Please help Dom and Karen to support the amazing charities that can help to change the terrible statistics mentioned above by donating on the Team Ella 'just giving' page. We can make a difference.
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Adjustment

I'm sat writing this feeling exhausted. It's not the same emotional exhaustion I've felt over the past 17 months, however. This is physical exhaustion - the kind that helps you fall into a deep sleep at the end of the day, the kind that makes you feel you are filling your days with something worthwhile, the kind that comes from looking after two children.
'Little Miss' joined our lives nearly three weeks ago and those past three weeks have been a whirlwind. It's a time of huge adjustment as a family and as individuals. Sam is really enjoying having our little foster visitor to stay and we are both amazed at how well he is adjusting to things. (Most of the time) he enjoys showing her how to play. He enjoys helping to get her up in the mornings and he enjoys helping to give her her tea. He also misses having me all to himself and we are adjusting to learning to make time for 'mummy and Sam' time every day. Today we played charades at his choice but the game descended into chaos when his inner terrible toddler took over and he did not want Little Miss to watch him acting. On Saturday we baked cakes and yesterday we played the piano together. I am learning that his focused time only needs to be 10 minutes or so per day to himself but I have no control over what he does with that time. When his inner terrible toddler takes over he refuses to listen, he rolls about on the floor being generally silly and he shouts at me. I miss being able to devote full days to him and him only. It is bittersweet this adjustment thing.
We are learning to juggle meetings with social workers, hospital appointments, school runs, leading parenting courses, cooking tea, spending time with friends and sleeping but we feel that we are able to function as a family - something we have looked forward to for a long time.
There are new questions every day; people seem surprised - "I didn't realise you had 2 children", "will you adopt her?", "how do you take one somebody else's child?". It's the adoption question I struggle with the most. Do I seem callous if I explain that that is not the reason we went into foster care? Does it come from a lack of understanding on people's parts? And then I ran into someone I haven't seen for a while at school today. She has been in Australia for 3 months. She greeted me with a hug - delighted to see our dream of foster caring becoming a reality. She asked how I was finding things and without asking any questions about the future told me "of course, you'll be heartbroken when she goes but how amazing that you can DO THIS for her". How refreshing to have someone acknowledge her moving on and to also acknowledge the separation we will have to endure when she goes.
Little Miss has come into our lives with a bang and and I'm certain that she will leave with the same level of noise but while she is here we can be certain that we are the right family for her RIGHT NOW. That while she is with us we can sow into her life and play a part in her future, supporting her early on to, one day, become the woman she deserves to be. And to think that, as a family, we played a part in that is pretty amazing.
Maybe one day we'll have another child of our own - another child to play with foster children and to support them in their own adjustment and journey.


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Reward

Each year, at the start of the year, I think about what I would like to achieve by the end of the year - what my goals for the year are. It is something we used to be encouraged to do in our church small group and it is something that I have carried on doing. I have looked over my goals for the past few years and have thought about what they have meant to me. I am definitely an 'achiever'; I am determined (my friends might say 'stubborn') and like to see things finished well (my friends might say 'obsessive'). I rarely reach the end of a year without accomplishing my goals - or at least being well on my way to accomplishing them. But the past 3 years have seen a new goal work it's way on to my list. 'Get pregnant/have a baby' have been interspersed with my other goals. At the start of 2011 I noticed that my other goals were becoming less and 'baby' was at the top of my list. At the start of this year there were no other goals. Simply 'have a baby'.
There was one occasion last year and two occasions this year in which I thought I would achieve my goal, my dream, but one ended in a stillbirth and two ended in early miscarriage. Throughout the year I have seen my desire for a baby not diminish, by any stretch of the imagination, but begin to be matched by old goals, old passions and old desires. I am seeing things that I had buried with my overwhelming desire for a baby being brought to the surface, raised to life and set alight again.

At the start of this year, a prophetic word was given at my Church. You can read all about it here:
http://www.daveconnolly.org/2012/02/a-word-of-encouragement/
I have referred back to this blog post many times throughout the year with differing emotions. At times it has spurred me on and at other times it has made me yell at God 'where is my reward?'. I have spoke it over myself time and time again. After all, I am a member of the Church - the word related to me too, right?

As I sat in tears in the hospital at the time of my second miscarriage, waiting for the doctors to decide whether I needed to be admitted for what they thought was an ectopic pregnancy, I begged God to get my out of the situation. I bargained with him saying that if my baby was alive I would use the situation to glorify Him. I promised. And then the scan revealed that the baby was dead. Again. I felt deflated. Back in the cubicle I prayed again that God would show me how to get out of the situation that I was in. I told Him that I couldn't do it anymore. I asked Him to take it from me and, for the first time, I gave the situation to Him. I handed Him my desire for a baby and asked that He would show me what to do. Almost instantly a burden was lifted from me and over the next few days I saw my passion for fostering increase ten fold. I knew that that needed to take priority. I used to work with parents, delivering adult learning and providing support to help prevent family break up, and that passion was fired up again.

I'd like to say that that was it; that the desire went - that I gave it to God every day since but that would be a lie. There have been days, sometimes many days, since when I have felt myself slip back into that place of despair. I have needed my friends more than ever to keep my going - to remind me of how far I've come. I have cried many tears and willed my body to slip out of infertility and work as it should and then after the wave I'm ok again. But in these months the two things that have remained as really strong desires within me are the fostering and working with parents. I am beginning to relearn who I am.
And so, back to Dave's blog. I have been reading it again over the past few days and these words are going over and over in my head:

‘I have seen your perseverance,

I have seen your standing in the time of trial,

I have seen your standing in the firing line of the enemy,

I have seen you when you’ve just been holding on and just hanging in there,

I have seen your wading through the quagmire,

I have seen your faithfulness and your diligence,

I have seen you holding on to the word of God when your circumstances seem to laugh in your face,

But now I say to you,

My son, My daughter,

My church of Frontline -

But you, be strong and do not lose courage, for there is reward for your work.

2012 is the year of reward........

I would love a baby. I really would, but that is not the reward that God has chosen for me this year and there are moments when that thought is beyond painful. But He has given me another reward. He has begun to restore me and help me become the person he has designed me to be, again.
My husband and I have been approved as foster carers within the last couple of weeks and were told today that we have been assigned a social worker and to expect our first placement early in the new year. I have just completed training to facilitate parenting courses and am so excited about it. I can't wait to begin working with parents again and seeing lives transformed.

I had no goals at the start of this year, apart from wanting a baby. God has gently shown me that he has a purpose for me, other than just being a mummy to my own children. Inspite of my stubbornness he has provided opportunities for me to see new goals, new desires and new dreams. I really believe that this is my reward. And I will try and wait patiently for my own baby to come.

Please God, help me to see what you have done for me this year and how far you have brought me. Help me to know that my plans don't always coincide with your plans for me and that that's ok. Help me to know that you have a plan and a purpose for my life - a reward for me - and help me to trust you. Amen.

What is your reward??



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Reindeer pops...

Pretzel antlers and m & m noses. Very cute!


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A New Chapter?

I've been building up to writing this post all week. I'm trying my best to answer questions - questions of our own and questions of people around us. With our fostering assessment nearly complete and our fostering panel approaching I'm trying to work out what the priorities are in our lives now.

Nearly three years ago a heavily pregnant lady asked me if, as a childminder, I would be able to look after her unborn baby when she returned to work. I explained that, at that time, I had no vacancies as a childminder but that I had a waiting list and would add her to it. I also explained that we were wanting to have another baby and, if that happened before she returned to work, that would need to take priority. I advised her that, although I would love to care for her little boy, I felt that due to my waiting list and our plans she may be better considering other childcare options. That is my marker for the beginning of the chapter in our lives we have been living in recently. I need to allow the page to turn and a new chapter to begin.

I know that, physically, the chances of us having another baby are incredibly slim simply from an infertility/PCOS point of view but when I factor in all of the problems I have in pregnancy and my inability to carry to term I realise that the chances seem next to nothing. This makes me wonder why I cling to it and why I struggle to move on. The other day a friend encouraged me to look back over the past year and see how far I have come. Apart from the grief and pain and how far we've come from that perspective I know that this time last year the desire for another baby was overwhelming. It filled my every waking and sleeping moment and dominated my life. I set myself deadlines for pregnancy and when those deadlines weren't met I would regress to a point of uncontrollable grief. A year on and I'd be lying if I said I didn't want another baby. I still think about it - a lot. I still dream about it - I can't control my dreams - but they are becoming less suffocating. I need to take stock and look at my life. It has been on hold for the past three years or so. A constant stream of hospital appointments, investigations, waiting and disappointment. And, apart from the improvement in our emotional well being, physically we are no further forward. We're three years older and our son is growing up infront of our eyes. I don't want to miss any more of what God has in store for us because I'm waiting and pinning all my hopes on something that may never happen. That said, I am not willing to let go of that dream - I just need to start a new chapter.

So that brings me to what is taking priority in our lives at the moment - the fostering. For the past seven years it is something we have spoken about on a regular basis. I have worked with Looked After Children and 'at risk' children and have desperately wanted to make a difference to many children's lives. Apart from a moment of panic when Emilie died, adoption has never come in to the plan. I am often asked why we want to foster over adoption and to be completely honest I don't know if there is an answer. I know that we can't pin things on 'a feeling' or a 'gut instinct' but this is truely what we feel is right for us. I am not naive - I know that the children we look after will not be our children. They will be heading back home or to their adoptive families and at some point we will have to give them up. How we will find the strength to do that I don't know but I know that it is the right thing for us at the moment. I often think about how amazing it will be to have played a part in influencing that child's life. In supporting them in making that transition to their final point of care. In keeping them safe when that may not be something they have experienced. And if I know that we have done all of this to our best ability then giving that child up so that they can continue to their next chapter will be something that I know we will be able to do. Not without pain but with the knowledge that that child will be moving forward and that we will have played a part in changing their lives for the better.

This is what is taking priority at the moment. This will hopefully be our new chapter and if we are deferred at panel we will return at the advised time and try again. I don't know what will happen if I get pregnant again. All I know is that fostering is our long term goal as a family - with or without more children of our own. I'm looking forward and trying hard to trust that God is in control. I can try to control things as much as I like but untimely it is not for me to do. The answer to the question is we feel that fostering is what we should be doing now and long term and we're not willing to put our lives on hold for that 'what ifs' any longer.



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My path

I've been feeling quite overwhelmed recently by the inexorable passing of time. Weeks are flying by and merging into months and babies are being born left, right and centre. And here I am still suffering from amenorrhea - the absence of menstrual periods and, as a result, the absence of ovulation which, obviously, is what is needed for pregnancy. I feel ok about it. Today. Last week was hard. No two days are the same, I find, and some days I am much more able to deal with things than others. I'm starting to get my head around the possibility of never having another baby. Of never experiencing pregnancy again. I can't accept this - I would love another baby and would be lying if I said I wouldn't. However, if I live every day focussing on the fact that I may or may not get pregnant I could possibly lose my
mind. For me to isn't even 'month after month' of disappointment. Instead it is a constant state of waiting and hoping that something might happen and, as it happens, I haven't experienced 'unstimulated ovulation' - ovulation without medication - for nearly a year. It's scary when I say it like that. So I sometimes wonder what is the point of hoping any more? But then I was reminded of a story at Church on Sunday. The story is of Abraham and Sarah. They were childless and old (very old!) and Sarah was infertile yet God had told Abraham that he would be the father of many nations. Impossible, when they had no children.
One day they were visited by three people who told Abraham that they would return this time the following year and Sarah would have a son. Abraham and Sarah thought this was impossible. Sarah even laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. They had tried to solve the problem themselves prior to this and Abraham had had a son with Sarah's servant - but this had caused them further problems. Now here they both were, incredibly old, and being told that they would have a son. I can't imagine how that must have felt. And sure enough, against the odds, Sarah became pregnant and had a son - Isaac.
I think about women who've come before me who have experienced infertility and baby/infant loss and how difficult it must have been for them to watch person after person announce pregnancies when they remained childless. I wonder how it must feel when they finally come out of that position of infertility and loss and finally have their baby. I don't know if this is something I will ever experience. I do know, however, that other doors are opening for me. I don't know if we'll be approved for foster care at this time or not, but I know that we both feel very strongly that it is something we should be perusing at the moment.



This week a friend quoted a verse from the following passage on Facebook:
John 18 "Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” 19 Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!”
20 Peter turned and saw that the disciple whom Jesus loved was following them. (This was the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper and had said, “Lord, who is going to betray you?”) 21 When Peter saw him, he asked, “Lord, what about him?”
22 Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.”
It is a passage that was used in a conference talk that I attended earlier this year. I have spoken with friends about it a number of times since. I'm not sure what feelings this evokes in me; It makes me quite emotional every time I hear or read it.
There was a time, not so long ago, that I felt life was a lottery system. That God would dole out good things to some people and pain to others and I even questioned what I had done to deserve the pain. There are still times when I get angry. When I wonder why I have to endure this every single day but there hasn't been a time that I haven't felt God's presence in the situation. I know that this path is hard and I sometimes hate it but it is my path. Putting it simply, I have learnt the hard way that there is nothing to be gained from trying to follow a path that isn't meant for me. When I think about the months upon months that I have stressed about getting pregnant it now seems ridiculous to me. I knew that I suffered from infertility and have known for years yet I treated myself like someone who didn't, expecting to fall pregnant quickly and easily and then becoming angry at myself and at God when I didn't. Yet I carried on with this frame of mind. I can see now that this wasn't the right thing to do - the right thing for me. Yes, I still want a baby. Yes, there are still some days when it is all I can think about, but those days are becoming less. I have my own path to follow and at the moment I feel that this path involves foster care. I don't know if I will ever fall pregnant again - and even if I do, with the problems I have there are no guarantees that I will have a baby at the end of it. I am gradually learning that obsessing, comparing, worrying and reading up on the problems I have will change none of this. God knows what the desire of my heart is and I need to learn to trust him and follow my own path.
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