I gave you life so that you could live it

The above quote is from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding". While I never thought I'd find an analogy relating that movie to this situation, I keep hearing Toula's mother's words every time I'm asked how I could make a decision as profound as embryo adoption. We produced these embryos so they might have a chance at life ~ a chance to live.

Little man is still in the NICU, but I'm thrilled to report he is progressing quite well for a peanut born after just 31 weeks in the roaster! His parents have been wonderful enough to set up a Caring Bridge webpage for all of their friends and family to keep updated on his day-to-day progress, and needless to say I pay a visit there at least several times a day! In addition to reading his medical updates and poring over the newly added pictures and videos, I love reading through his guestbook. When I see the number of people who care about this little boy ~ LOVE him ~ it takes my breath away.

It's been a tremendous source of comfort to be able to remain regularly updated on his status. He, like most preemies, has done his job of making sure Mama and Daddy are buckled in tight for the rollercoaster ride that only the NICU can provide! I remember those days well, and can sympathize completely with the emotions I'm sure they are experiencing. Having a baby in the NICU requires a tremendous amount of faith, hope, and trust and I have no doubt that his parents are remaining steadfast. They are my heros in more ways than one.

With each new picture, each new video, my heart continues to burst with love for this little boy. The videos especially have been breathtaking as seeing him as a living, breathing miracle elicits more emotion than I can possibly put into words.

But, I'm incredibly relieved and elated to be able to say that it is a love with which I have complete and total peace. I see his sweet face, and yes, I cannot help but notice physical similarities to his full biological sister. Yet I have to admit, never once have I looked at him and thought he was "mine".

At the risk of sounding incredibly cliche, I caught one of my very favorite movies on tv last week ~ Juno. While my story in no way resembles hers, with the exception of our both wanting the best possible family for our babies, after she has given birth to her son, she makes the statement regarding her baby's adoptive mother that "he was always hers". This is precisely how I feel when looking at him ~ he was ALWAYS hers.

We continue to talk about little man in our family openly, and that too provides me with such a sense of peace. My teenage girls could not be prouder of my decision, and more in love with this little boy. But they too understand that he is in the right place ~ the very best place that he could possibly be.

Our family is complete.

And theirs is just beginning.

Sweet Boy

That little red blinking light. Anyone out there with a Blackberry knows what I'm talking about. That little red blinking light that notifies you when you have a call. Or a text. Or an email. And when your phone is on vibrate or silent as frequently as mine, it's often times your primary source of notification that you have a new message.

Lately, that red blinking light has become my life's blood.

Blink: Monday afternoon. We found out that Mama was experiencing some pretty bad swelling, and her blood pressure was alarmingly high. After being evaluated, she was diagnosed with preeclampsia and admitted to the hospital. The hope was to get the blood pressure down with some Magnesium, administer the steroid shots to encourage baby's lung development, and as he was breech, deliver via C either Tuesday or Wednesday. Everything seemed to be stabilizing, and baby was looking good with a predicted weight around 3 lbs, 6 oz. We are officially in stand-by mode.

Blink: Tuesday. Things seemed stable in the morning, but by afternoon baby's heart rate started to gradually decellerate. Rather than risk waiting any longer, little man was delivered shortly after 2:00pm CMT, and came into this world weighing 3 lbs, 7 oz and crying. Praise God. I received this email at approximately 4:30 EST. As I was leaving work. Getting on the interstate. I will remember that car ride as long as I live - tears streaming down my face as I sped down the highway, looking at the very first pictures of this sweet boy.

Since Tuesday, the blinks have all started to run together. My phone is attached to my hip constantly. Baby boy is of course in the NICU, and as an parent of a NICU baby knows (I had two ~ my son who is now 9, and Lil Miss last year), it is one giant rollercoaster ride of emotions. It's not day to day, and sometimes not even hour to hour. Often, it's minute to minute. In the past 2 days, he has had highs & lows,but overall is doing very well for a peanut his size. His prognosis is excellent, and he has the two most doting and loving parents in the world there with him every step of the way.

And yet my heart aches. Some moments unbearably.

My heart aches for them. After everything they have been through in the past year. The one year anniversary of the loss of their precious daughter mere days away. And now having been through the scare of the past several days, and having their son lying in the NICU. Dear God, how much is one couple expected to take? I pray that He gives them the strength. I pray for her physical recovery. I THANK GOD that they are the amazing, loving couple that they are, the very best parents that this little boy could possibly ask for.

And my heart aches for him. For that sweet, sweet baby boy. I close my eyes and I see his little face. I see his crazy toes, just like Little Miss. I see his dark, fuzzy hair. I see the soft downy still covering his skin. And I ache for him.

I see what could have been. And it hurts. With every fiber in my being, down to the depths of my soul, it hurts.

I am in a strange kind of limbo right now. And honestly, feeling somewhat selfish for even acknowledging my own feelings, knowing what his parents must be experiencing.

I continue to pray fervently that God watch over him, that he is quick to heal and grow, and is soon home with his family ~ where he belongs. I would ask that you please do the same.

Welcome to the world, sweet boy.

The Calm Before the Storm

I realize the phrase "calm before the storm" implies a negative connotation. But in my personal experience, it can also refer to some of the happiest and most cherished moments life has to offer...

For instance, late on Christmas Eve (or early on Christmas morning), I love looking around the living room and soaking up every bit of it. The tree, the lights. The nativity. Almost 20 years worth of homemade ornaments. The snowmen, the angel atop the tree. And the piles and piles of brightly wrapped packages. For that moment, everything is peaceful. Still. But shortly after sunrise (if not before!), the proverbial storm swoops in and what had previously been a near-perfect moment is now transformed into one of those rare moments of utter and complete joy.

Excited screams. Grins from ear to ear. Hugs. Thanks. Laughter. Sometimes ~ if the gift is perfect enough ~ tears...

That's the kinda storm I like. And it's the one brewing thousands of miles away from where I sit.

Now that the 30 week milestone has come and gone, I've found myself almost in my own version of "expectant father" mode. I am constantly checking my phone. Making sure I didn't miss an email, text, or call. Always taking no news as a sign of good news, and blissfully it has been just that. The nursery is ready. Little outfits (I'm sure!) hanging in the closet. And best of all ~ a mommy and daddy just bursting with anticipation and excitement.

The impending arrival of Lil Man is felt silently yet heavily in our home. With Lil Miss becoming busier, chattier, and more toddler-like by the day, I find myself missing those precious baby moments. A soft (and still!) hug. A quiet moment. Those sweet cooing sounds. For us, those have been replaced by flailing, excited hugs (if you can catch her as she's running by!), giant, wet kisses (love those!), and shouts of "Mommy!", "Daddy!", and "Doggie!" The other night, I took out the photo album from her early months. Amazing to think it was only last year....

As I flipped through the pages, I started concentrating intently on her tiny fingers. Her crazy toes. The shape of her eyes. Her little button nose. Her waking and sleeping facial expressions. And wondering. Wondering how much he'll look like her. His biological big sister.

I think that is the reality that has been hitting me more & more. Yes ~ there are also four biological half-siblings. Ones who are older and don't have quite the stake in this that she does. What will she think? How will she feel? Knowing it could have been her? I want to believe ~ have to believe ~ that if we follow the path we discussed, remaining as open and forthcoming as possible, telling her how very much we loved each and every one of those babies and were going to do everything in our power to help them, that she will understand. That she will be grateful knowing she wasn't the only one given a chance at life.

And yes, of course, there is also a part of my heart that sits in waiting. Waiting, upon seeing images of his sweet face, to leave my body forever. Just as it did when I delivered my five children. So a piece of my heart will go to their sweet boy as well.

But I continue to believe, and have steadfast faith, in knowing that the piece of my heart will be just one of many. So many people already loving this little boy, counting the days til his arrival.

And so we wait. And we pray.

I love the calm before a storm.

Keeping it Real ~ Confessional #1

I knew this post was coming. In all reality, I thought it was going to come much sooner.

If you are at all familiar with my personal story, you know I lead a very busy life. Five children. One in college, one heading to college this summer, one getting ready to drive, one busy year-round with sports, and one just learning to walk and talk. I also work full time. And go to school full time. And run a household.

So while I am elated to be a part of the world of embryo adoption as a donor mother, it is not something that I have a tremendous amount of time to spend thinking about. To be honest, while I think of my snow sister on a regular basis, I often just think of her as a dear friend expecting a baby later this summer. Which she is. But I don't much dwell on the fact that my fiance and I directly contributed to the actual child she is carrying. This baby belongs to her and her husband.

However, in an effort to be completely honest both with myself as well as with anyone else who may be contemplating this choice, I will admit that last week I had my first "moment". It hit me like a wave, and passed almost as quickly, but there it was. I was sad.

We are so incredibly blessed to have a wonderfully amazing open relationship with our "extended family". We receive updates, see ultrasound pics, and celebrate each and every milestone. Last Monday, they discovered they were expecting a boy. A son.

As you know from my history, I had four children prior to meeting my fiance. Three daughters and one son. What can I say? My cup runneth over. When we were at the final stage of our IVF journey, and the day arrived for our embryo transfer, we were told we had seven total embryos that had made it to the blastocyst stage, two of which were the "strongest" of the bunch. If I remember correctly, "F" and "G". One of those turned out to be our beautiful daughter. The other, I can safely assume, is their son.

I remember feeling a tremendous sense of pressure the day we went for our ultrasound that would reveal our baby's gender. Pressure put on from noone but myself. Knowing this was going to be our only child, I felt my fiance would be thrilled with a son. Not that he wouldn't adore a little girl, but just the same, I couldn't shake the notion that he was hoping for a boy.

I will never forget the look on his face as he watched his daughter being born. Will never forget the love in his eyes, in his smile, the first time he held her. There was no doubt that this was indeed God's plan. She was perfect. Our family was perfect.

                                
                                            Daddy with his princess. Love at first sight.

Yet there it was. A moment of sadness. A tugging at my heart that I couldn't deny, and didn't feel as though I should. I felt it. I experienced it. I lived it. And then? It was gone. Replaced by joy and peace, knowing how much this little boy is already loved. Knowing how elated his parents are to meet him. Knowing he is with his forever family.

I can't wait to see pictures. Can't wait to see his proud mama and daddy showing him off to anyone who will give them a moment's pause. And I expect there may be more tugs and pulls to come. But I'm ready for them. I knew going into this process there would be bumps in the road. And every one of them is well worth it.

There's no denying this is the path I was meant to take. Destined.

I love my life. I love my family.

And I celebrate another family in the making. What a very lucky little boy indeed.                                

A Hug Across the Miles

My heart is hurting.

Hurting for the anxiety I know my snow sister is feeling this week.

In two days, she will have reached the exact date that her pregnancy with her precious daughter went terribly wrong. I have sat and looked at the calendar on my desk every single day for the past 2 weeks knowing this date was approaching. Dreading it.

The worst part is, I know there is nothing I can do. Nothing I can say to take away any of that fear, any of that worry. Although I cannot for the life of me imagine the devestation of such a tremendous loss, I can only relate it to the anxiety I suffered each and every day throughout my pregnancy with our little princess.

From week 6, that damn subchorionic hematoma had me bleeding every single day. Waking up every morning wondering: Will this be it? Will this be the day it's over? I will forever live with a feeling of loss and heartache for the pregnancy I dreamed of that never was.

But, in the end, there was this beautiful baby girl who was not only all we ever dreamed, but so very, very much more.

And in my heart, in my soul, with every single fiber of my being, I know the same destiny awaits our "extended family" half a country away. I dream of the sweet day I receive the phone call announcing "It's a boy!" or "It's a girl!"

Seeing that miracle baby in the arms of his/her mother. Sensing the overwhelming love of this family that was ALWAYS meant to be.

So please ~ keep my dear friend in your hearts and prayers over the next several days, weeks, and months.

"Faith is putting all your eggs in God's basket, then counting your blessings before they hatch."

Love.

Morning.

I hear babbling from across the hall. I quietly enter, and even in the dark, I feel her giant blue eyes searching for me. I turn on the light, and there it is.

The smile that melts my heart.

A smile so big that her pink binky comes flying right out of her mouth. Her chubby little hands reach up to grab the crib rails. She’s surrounded by her favorite snuggly blanket given to her by her sister while she was still in the NICU, her first teddy bear given to her by her daddy, Glo Worm, Elmo, and a couple of her favorite babies.  She stands, and gingerly lets go of the rail to reach her arms out to me.

I lift her up and she snuggles her head perfectly in the crook of my neck. I feel her chubby little arms and legs wrap around me, feel the warmth of her body through her soft cotton jammies after a restful night’s sleep.

In that moment, I am completely and wholly consumed with love. An emotion so overwhelming, I feel it with every single fiber of my being. In that moment, all I know is peace. In that moment, I am certain there is a God. Everything is right with the world.

This love is so overpowering, so otherworldly, and my only wish is to share it.

It is then I think about that couple a half a country away, almost halfway through their pregnancy. A tiny little belly forming, movements just becoming noticeable. Their own little miraculous bundle of joy. Of love.

And I realize I HAVE shared it.

The Fifth Choice

Hello. My name is Shelly and I am a Blog Addict. "Hi Shelly..."

It's true. I feel like I should join Bloggers Anonymous. I have become obsessed with all things "blog", although to look at my own, I guess you wouldn't know it.

Thing is, I've vowed to reserve this blog for the purpose which it was intended. I mean, I could come on here and blog incessantly about how overwhelmed I am with school work, how exhausting a teething one year old is, how I'm suffering from tremendous feelings of guilt as a result of all of the obligations that keep me away from my family, and on and on....

But I won't do that. ;)

So I came across a blog not so long ago (in complete honesty, I don't remember which one), and read something that did not sit well with me. At all.

The topic was receipt of "the letter" following an IVF procedure resulting in remaining frozen embryos. "The letter", which I've mentioned countless times here, and that you've undoubtedly heard mentioned many times elsewhere, asking for a decision regarding the fate of your remaining frozen embryos.

Now we're all aware of the "big four". And prior to discovering this blog, I thought that's all there were ~ four choices. Disposal, continued preservation, research, or donation. None of which are obviously as simple as they sound. But now I hear there's a fifth choice. Transferring the remaining embryos at a particular point in a woman's cycle during which they have no chance of resulting in a viable pregnancy.

I believe there was a name for this procedure, although I can't recall what it was. Although several thoughts come to mind....

This is such a difficult concept for me to grasp. And in no way do I want to diminish anyone's personal experience. But WHY? HOW?

If you read back on my blog, you'll see that the option of donation for stem cell research was a very brief consideration of mine. But I just couldn't do it. In the end, for me, there was no other choice but one.

We entered the process of IVF wanting a baby. A living, breathing baby. We followed our protocol, held tight to our faith, and were blessed with seven beautiful blastocysts. ALL of whome we LOVED. ALL of whom deserved a chance at LIFE.

As for my family, we were only able to bring home one. But that left six little embies still in need of a family. And mercifully, God led us to them.

So I'm sorry, but I just don't buy this whole claim of "disposing of them mercifully"! By transferring them at a time that they have zero chance of viability is, in my eyes, a death sentence. Yes, I said it.

Was making the choice to donate them to another couple an easy one? HECK NO! Did we question ourselves and then question ourselves AGAIN? HECK YES!

Has this undeniably been one of the most life altering, amazing experiences of my life? No question.

If I offend anyone, I apologize. But you know what? I went into the IVF process thinking I couldn't possibly have a greater appreciation for life, or stand more firmly in my beliefs.

I was wrong.

Those remaining five tiny little frozen embryos, not to mention the precious miracle currently growing at 13 weeks strong in his/her mama's belly, have taught me a greater lesson than any person I know.

And for that, I am grateful.