Miscarriage Awareness Month

Unless you live under a rock, you're probably aware that it's Breast Cancer Awareness month. Those little pink ribbons are everywhere, so I'm not sure how anyone could miss it. My mom is currently undergoing treatments for breast cancer, so I am immensely thankful for all the awareness and support that is going on right now. A few weekends ago my family (including my mom) and I participated in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. It was a truly awesome experience, one I'll never, ever forget. We all said that we hoped to participate again next year. I hope that it turns into an annual tradition for us. All that being said, I read today that October is also Miscarriage Awareness Month, and October 15 is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I never knew there was such a thing. Miscarriage isn't something that's openly discussed, at least not in my experience. For many women, there's a lot of shame regarding miscarriage. It's also a very painful subject. And it's a subject that only a limited number of people understand. I was so glad to find out that there's a group of women trying to raise awareness for miscarriage and infant loss, no matter how small that amount of awareness is right now. Breast Cancer Awareness is huge now, but at its inception it was small and relatively unknown. I hope that one day Miscarriage Awareness will be just as widely known. I'm not at all comparing miscarriage and breast cancer. They are both traumatic and terrible in their own ways, but they're different. I would never compare my miscarriages to what my mom is going through with breast cancer. Never. But every woman who has experienced or will one day experience a miscarriage (or multiple miscarriages) needs other people to be aware of how often miscarriage occurs, that it's an excruciatingly painful experience, that it needs to be dealt with as sensitively and lovingly as any other loss, and that she is a mom, too. For more information visit The Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day website, and spread the word.

Goodwill, The Dollar Store & My Attic

I'm in the process of decorating the house for fall. I'm wanting to do something a little different from previous years without spending a bunch of $$$, so I've been busy crafting and re-purposing and creating. Here are a couple of my favorite projects.


A couple Dollar Store vases like this...




Along with a couple Dollar Store candlesticks...




And a little Gorilla Glue (this stuff is awesome, and I swear you could build a house with it)...




TaDa! An apothecary-esque jar!




I love how they look on the table in our foyer. Everything inside them and on the table is stuff I already had, for a grand total of $3.50. My favorite thing about these is that I can use them all year round. I think they'll be especially pretty at Christmas.






This is my mantle from last year. I did pretty much the same thing the year before that, so I wanted a new look this year. I haven't actually done anything to the mantle yet, but see those 3 pumpkins made out of sticks (2 on the left and 1 beside the lantern)? I turned them into a pumpkin topiary.




First, I painted the leaves green. They were orange (not really sure why, and not really sure why I allowed them to stay orange the last 3 years either), which matched absolutely nothing in my house.




Then I took this little urn, which I got at Goodwill for $0.50, took out the moss and styrofoam, weighted it with some rice so that the topiary wouldn't be too top heavy, and then hot glued the moss and styrofoam back in.




Finally, I hot glued (my hot glue gun really got put to work today) the 3 pumpkins onto the top of the urn and then added some leaves and berries and twiggy things. Here's the final product.



This is one of my favorite things that I've ever made. I love how it turned out! The best part is that it cost me $0.50 (the cost of the urn). I already had everything else and just re-purposed it all.

A Few Things I've Learned From My Crafting Adventures

I need a new pair of crafting scissors. This is a pair of Fiskars safety scissors that I've had since I was in 3rd grade. 3rd grade! That's very close to 20 years ago! Notice that they're purple. Evidently, I was still going through my "Purple Phase" when I got them. During my purple phase everything had to be purple, and I mean everything. I'm pretty sure that phase lasted entirely too long and that it almost drove my mom crazy. When it comes to colors, I've branched out considerably since the 3rd grade, and my hands are slightly larger. Not to mention the fact that safety scissors weren't really meant to cut through wire and other such things. These poor scissors have been through enough. It's time to let them go.




Gorilla Glue is really hard to get out of your hair. Thanks to my mom for helping me chip it out. And for laughing with me (at me?) the entire time.




I need a craft room. My living room looks like Hobby Lobby exploded.

Happy Birthday, Mama!

Today is my mom's birthday. She's an amazing mom, truly amazing, and she's mine! Although, I do occasionally share her with my sister. My mom is the strongest person I know, a fact that has been reinforced over the last 7 months. She's also the least selfish person I know. She knows me inside and out, and I love the fact that she understands me so well. If anyone deserves a wonderful birthday, it's my mom, and I hope that she truly does have a wonderful day!

Busy!

I promise I haven't forgotten about this blog. I've just been busy. Busy traveling to Kansas for my cousin's wedding and to visit my hubby's family...




Busy with various crafts and sewing projects (more on that later) and busy hanging out with this adorable little guy...



I mean, who cares about blog posts when you've got this cutie pie to love on? Look at those crinkly, sparkly eyes and those squishable cheeks! He's not mine, but he melts my heart anyway!

A Hard Day

Two years ago today was my due date for my first pregnancy. If things had gone like we thought they would, we would have a two year old running around our house, and I would be throwing a 2nd birthday party. I can't help but wonder who that little two year old would have been or what kind of party I would have planned. I know that it's totally pointless, but I can't help thinking about these things. It's always on my mind in some way, some days more than others, but it's there nonetheless. Today is just one of those really hard days. August is a hard month for me. Four days from today was my due date for my second pregnancy. Instead of getting ready to have a baby like I thought, I'll be attending a wedding. If that pregnancy had been successful, I wouldn't have been able to attend. I would either have just had a baby (because let's face it, most babies don't come on their due dates), or I would have been so pregnant that traveling wouldn't have been possible. It's days like today, weeks like this week, and months like this month that I get so tired. Tired of thinking about what could have been. Tired of wondering what our babies would have been like. Tired of missing my babies. Tired of feeling left out of mommyhood. Tired of the terrible ache that I feel when I see a pregnant woman or hear a baby cry or see teeny, tiny baby clothes. Tired of feeling like I'm alone in all of this and like everyone has forgotten. Tired of crying. Just tired. Before you think horribly of me, let me just say that I'm truly not wallowing in self-pity or in my emotions. I have too much going on in my life right now to wallow. I'll have a few more rough days, and then I'll be okay. Today is just one of those rough days.

My Least Favorite Questions to Answer

"Do you guys have children?" and "Are y'all going to start trying anytime soon?" I hate having to answer those questions, and I normally try to change the subject when I sense one of them coming. But when we meet someone new, we're inevitably, at some point in the conversation, asked, "Do you guys have children?" What I want to say is, "Yes, we have two babies in heaven. And I miss them everyday." But I figure that's probably not the best way to continue comfortable conversation, so I answer with a polite, "No, not yet." That usually leads to the next question, "Are y'all going to start trying anytime soon?" I've been asked that question more times than I can count, but it catches me off guard every single time. It never fails. Maybe it's because it's so personal in nature, and I'm not really one to ask other people personal questions. Anyway, once I'm able to regain my composure, I usually answer with something like, "We're letting it happen when it happens" or "We'd love for it to happen soon" because most people would be traumatized if I were to burst into tears and say what I feel like saying. That would probably sound something like, "We ARE trying. And we HAVE been for what seems like an eternity. And it's been hard, really, really hard. And you have NO idea how much I ache, really and truly ache, to have a baby or how empty my arms feel every single day and how badly I want to hold our babies." However, I was always taught not to yell at people, especially people I've just met, so I choose a more appropriate response! I should say, though, that I don't always mind answering these questions. It depends on the relationship or the context, and I don't hold it against people when they do ask. I know they're just showing interest and trying to make conversation. I hope I'm not coming across as whiny or dramatic because I'm truly not trying to be either of those things. It's just that it seems like I've had to answer these two questions a whole lot lately, so maybe I'm venting. Maybe I just needed to share. Maybe it's my blog and I can write WHATEVER I WANT WITHOUT JUSTIFYING IT OR QUALIFYING IT! Kidding. Just kidding! Remember, I don't yell at people! =) And I promise I'm not crazy. Although I might be going crazy. It's likely due to my retarded hormones and my currently heightened emotions. At least, that's what I'm blaming it on. For now.

Weekend Trip to D.C. and Baltimore

The hubby and I took a weekend trip to Maryland to visit family. The main reason for our visit was to celebrate our niece's 17th birthday, but we also managed to squeeze in some sightseeing. D.C. was our first stop, and I thoroughly enjoyed the entire day. We only had a few hours there, but we packed in as much as we could. We went to a couple of the Smithsonian museums, which is something I've wanted to do for a long time. I love museums of any kind. There's so much knowledge and information, and the possibilities of learning new things are almost endless. It sounds so cheesy, but I could totally lose myself in a museum. When I was little I read a book about two kids who run away from home and go live in a museum. For an entire week they sleep and play in the museum. During the day they gaze at paintings and study sculptures and statues. At night they take baths in the fountain and sleep in antique beds. During their stay at the museum, they help solve a mystery involving a statue argued to have been carved by Michelangelo. It's a completely fictitious book, but I loved it. I wanted to live in a museum. I still think it would great. A little freaky, but great. Anyway, what I saw of the Smithsonian was awesome, and I would love to go back to see more. We also visited the Holocaust museum. It was a very sobering experience. As we were walking through, I was struck by the silence. There were probably close to 100 people at one exhibit, but you heard nothing. It was disconcerting, maybe even a little haunting how quiet it was. I think it was horror and respect, horror for the evil displayed and respect for the ones who died and those who survived. I've read countless books about the Holocaust, so I sort of knew what to expect. But the progression of the exhibits and seeing those artifacts, some of which belonged to the authors of a few of the books I've read, made it so immense and so tangible. The terror of that time was so real (obviously not as terrifying as it was for anyone who lived it, not even close), and I could almost feel the hopelessness that those people were bound to have faced. After we got back from the D.C., I read that the designer of the Museum wanted the design itself, the building and the exhibits, to evoke strong emotion. He wanted visitors to feel as though they are being closed in upon, like they are being watched, and as if they are alone. I truly felt all those things. One of the last exhibits is the shoe room where there are hundreds and hundreds of pairs of shoes that were confiscated from people entering various concentration camps. The quote on the wall is chilling. "We are the shoes. We are the last witnesses. We are the shoes of grandchildren and grandfathers. From Prague, Paris, and Amsterdam, and because we are only made of fabric and leather and not of blood and flesh, each one of us avoided the Hellfire" (Moses Schulstein, Yiddish Poet). We also walked. A lot. I don't think you're allowed to be a passenger of anything resembling modern transportation in D.C.. You may see tons of vehicles there, but I'm pretty sure you can't actually get in one of them. It's a rule. Maybe. Maybe? Okay, I made that up. But we did walk everywhere. Everywhere. All day long. And my feet hurt. Very much. But not only did we get in a lot of exercise, we also saw a lot of things while walking that we never would have seen had we ridden a bus. We had great views of a lot of the national monuments, got some great pictures, and carried on a lot of good conversation, all of which walking facilitated. I'm glad we walked. Really, I am! I loved D.C., and I hope that we make it back for another visit very soon.
We took at quick trip to Baltimore, too. We didn't get to do a whole lot, but we did see a lot of the city. And now I know that I want to go back and experience more of Baltimore. It's a beautiful city, especially by the water. The weather was fabulous that day (less than 80 degrees and breezy after it rained for 5 minutes), which I think added to the city's attractiveness. It was a great weekend full of sightseeing, lots of walking, TWO trips to Target, and celebrating a sweet, sweet girl's birthday (am allowed to still refer to her as a "girl" now that she's 17?)!

And So It Continues...Part 2

Let's fast forward a few months. Past the physical recovery, past the emotional healing, past the roller coaster of ups and downs...
We decided in December '08 that we would start trying to get pregnant again. It had been 10 months since my miscarriage, and up until this point, I had been terrified to get pregnant again. But I finally felt emotionally ready for another pregnancy, so I began charting. Without going into detail, let's just say that I know more about the female body, cycles, and hormones than anyone, other than a doctor, should know. We were excited for another pregnancy, and we thought things would happen quickly. But month after month passed, and each month I was disappointed. Then I started to fear that I'd never get pregnant again. I was so discouraged, and while I was wanting so desperately to get pregnant, it seemed like everyone around me was announcing their pregnancies or having babies. It was absolute torture! Then Thanksgiving '09 rolled around, and we were busy with all the activities and traveling that time of year brings. I was busy pulling out Christmas decorations (decorating for Christmas is my absolute favorite) and making our house festive. I guess I was so engrossed with preparing for the holidays that I wasn't even thinking about getting pregnant. I think that's the secret to getting pregnant (for most people, anyway). Just don't think about it. Not thinking about it is next to impossible, but it worked for us. We found out 2 weeks before Christmas that we were finally pregnant. It felt like such an accomplishment, and I felt truly blessed to finally have another little life growing inside me. It had been almost 2 years since my miscarriage, and it had taken us close to a year to get pregnant. I know some people would kill to get pregnant in a year's time. Or even two or three year's time, for that matter. I have a friend who tried to get pregnant for 13 years before getting pregnant with her son. So I feel guilty for thinking that a year was a long time, but for us it was. It seemed like it was never going to happen. But when it did, it was so healing for me. Just knowing that I could get pregnant was the most amazing feeling. I was incredibly excited but also extremely scared and anxious. My husband and I discussed when we would begin telling people. We decided to wait until 20 weeks to tell friends and my extended family, but I knew that I would never be able to keep it from my parents or my sister. My mom can read me like a book, and I knew that she would very quickly figure it out. I was apprehensive to tell my husband's family, not because I didn't want them to know but because I was afraid of telling them and then something going wrong. We were planning on spending Christmas with his family, and he really wanted to share the news in person. I desperately wanted him to have that experience, but I was also terrified. I had a horrible feeling about this pregnancy, and I agonized for days over telling his parents. There was something inside of me telling me not to. He finally told me that I was probably just anxious because of what had happened last time and that he thought we should take a step of faith in telling his family, so I agreed. I wrapped up a tiny pair of baby socks (they were so cute!) to give to his parents on Christmas day. When it came time for them to open their "gift," I was terrified. My hands were shaking, my heart was pounding, and I kept thinking, "I don't want to do this. Why are we doing this? Please, God, let us be doing the right thing, and PLEASE let everything be okay with this pregnancy!" His family was obviously excited and happy for us, and I tried to be excited, too. I tried to cover up my fear and anxiety, but I still had a horrible, nagging feeling that I couldn't explain or shake. That feeling turned out to be valid. To make a very long story short, at my first ultrasound (January 2010) things didn't look good, so they wanted me back the following week for a second ultrasound. The second ultrasound wasn't great, but my doctor was still hopeful. I was scheduled for a third ultrasound the next week, but before that appointment I began bleeding. I called the nurse, and she asked me to come in right away. An ultrasound confirmed what I already knew. Another miscarriage. I think they called it an "imminent miscarriage," which meant that it was just a matter of time. They told me that I had options for how to deal with things. I could opt for surgery again, but that carried with it the obvious risks involved with being put under anesthesia and the risk of uterine scar tissue forming, which could prevent another pregnancy from implanting or going to term. We decided right away that would be our last resort. My next option was to take a certain medication that essentially would make my body go into labor. That option was risky, too. The main risks were uterine rupture and hemorrhage, and that scared me. The third option was to let my body take care of things on its own. It wasn't a risk-free option, but we decided to go that route. So I was sent home to just wait it out for the rest of the week and over the weekend. My doctor made me an appointment to come back in the following Monday to be examined to ensure that I wasn't developing an infection or any other complications and to determine whether or not the miscarriage had completed itself. Monday came, and things were the same. No infection but no progress. So more waiting. Fast forward through a lot of waiting, lots of going back and forth to see my doctor, many ultrasounds that just confirmed that nothing was happening, and more frustration than I've ever felt. We were exhausted, both emotionally and physically. It had been almost a month of just waiting, so we decided to go the medication route. My doctor told me how to take it, what to expect, and what to do when the medication began working. He sent me home and told me to wait for the medicine to kick in and for my body to respond. More waiting. We were getting really good at that. I won't go into detail, but the medication worked, and by the next morning I was pretty sure that it was all over. A few days later, I went back to see my doctor and to have another ultrasound. The ultrasound showed that the medication had worked completely. To finally see an empty ultrasound screen brought the strangest mix of happiness, relief and sadness. I was so, so happy and relieved that it was over and that we could go back to our normal lives. On the flip side, I was incredibly sad because that empty screen confirmed that I had lost a second baby. I guess up until then I was hoping for a miracle, that the doctor and the ultrasounds had been wrong and that our baby was really fine. But that wasn't the case, and I was determined to get back to normal as quickly as possible. Our nightmare had lasted for more than a month, and I had been living in a fog. I knew I owed some amount of normalcy to my husband. He was wonderful through the entire ordeal. I think I counted 11 visits to my doctor in a 4 week period of time, and he went to every appointment with me. I knew I had to go through the healing process again, but this time I think I began healing even before our ordeal was over. God's peace truly surpassed all our understanding, and His strength carried us through.
Well, now I'm caught up with our (in)fertility journey, so any other posts relating to this topic will be current, day-to-day experiences or feelings or thoughts. I meant to stretch all of this out over several more posts, but writing about this has been difficult and painful. So I needed to just get it out and over with. It's been a very positive endeavor for me, too, so thanks to everyone who has been reading and following our journey up to this point.

Tomato-and-Corn Pizza

I ran across this recipe in the latest edition of Southern Living magazine, and I thought it looked like a nice, summery twist for pizza. I had all the ingredients on hand, so I decided to make this for lunch today. Normally, I don't follow recipes (unless I'm baking, of course). I think recipes are too tedious, and I hate being tied to one. If I do use a recipe, I usually end up changing or tweaking at least one thing. This pizza recipe was no different. Instead of a packaged pizza crust, I used homemade pizza dough. Packaged pizza crusts are gross. There. I said it. You know you were thinking it. I've tried different brands, and I'm always disappointed. So I've given up on them. I also decided to make a quick pizza sauce to use along with the pesto. I love pesto, but too much of it can be a bad thing. So, instead of 1/3 cup of pesto, I used approximately 2 tablespoons. I spread the pizza sauce on top of the dough and then the pesto on top of that. You could also mix the two together before spreading it on the dough/crust if you wanted. I thought that the two together were delicious, and I was glad that I didn't use straight pesto. I think it would have overpowered everything else. Other than that, I followed the recipe exactly. The pizza baked for around 12 minutes (at 550 degrees), so it was a nice, quick after-church lunch. It tasted great, too! I loved the sweetness of the corn with the taste of the tomatoes and pesto. We will definitely be having this again sometime very soon!

Ingredients

• 3 small plum tomatoes, sliced
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/8 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
• 1 (14-oz.) package prebaked Italian pizza crust
• Parchment paper
• 1/3 cup refrigerated pesto
• 1/2 cup fresh corn kernels
• 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 1 teaspoon sugar
• 8 ounces fresh mozzarella, sliced
• 3 tablespoons fresh whole or torn basil leaves

Preparation

1. Preheat oven to 450°. Place tomato slices on paper towels. Sprinkle with salt and pepper; let stand 20 minutes.

2. Place pizza crust on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet; spread with pesto. Stir together corn, Parmesan, and sugar. Top pizza with corn mixture, tomatoes, and mozzarella slices.

3. Bake at 450° for 14 minutes or until cheese is melted and golden. Remove from oven, and top with basil leaves.

Happy Birthday, Little Sister!

My little sister turns 23 today. I probably should stop referring to her as my "little" sister, but more than likely I never will. I was 3 1/2 when she was born, and I loved her the minute I met her. After she was born, the nurses tied a tiny piece of red yarn in her hair. I was fascinated by that. That's my first memory of my sister, and I'll treasure it forever. She has grown into an amazing woman, and I'm so proud of her. I hope her 23rd birthday is as fabulous as she is!

And So It Continues...

My surgery ended up going just fine, and I was sent home the same day armed with painkillers and antibiotics. The nurse explained that the recovery process could be rough, so I left the hospital expecting the worst. But my recovery was pretty much perfect. I never experienced any of the pain or other side effects the nurse had described, and I ended up not needing any of the pain meds that the doctor had prescribed. Physically, the worst part was my milk coming in (no one had warned me that this could/would happen). That was pretty painful for obvious reasons. It was painful on an emotional level, as well. My body was providing for a baby, and that baby wasn't there. For a few weeks, it was a constant, physical reminder of what we had lost. Although, at that point, I didn't need a reminder. I wouldn't have been able to forget even if I had tried. I was feeling so many different emotions all the time. I was overwhelmingly sad. It's a sadness that I can't explain. You have to feel it to understand it. I felt confused and like my mind was spinning. Things had gone from happy to sad, good to bad, exciting to painful in such a short time, and I couldn't make sense of it all. I felt guilty. My family was sad along with me, and I felt like I was the source of their sadness. I felt fearful. I was afraid of so many things. I was afraid that my husband was going to resent me for losing our baby or that he would think that he had married a woman that was somehow damaged. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to get pregnant again or that I wouldn't ever be able carry a baby. I was afraid of facing most people outside of my family. I was afraid of their questions, their attempts to be helpful and sympathetic, and their comments that were meant to be encouraging but ended up feeling like salt on a raw wound. I was afraid of my own emotions. I think that's what scared me the most. I'm by nature a very emotional person, but I've learned how to control my emotional side and keep myself held together. But I was barely holding it together, and I was terrified of losing control. You know that feeling when you're about to cry, how your eyes sting and it feels like there's a golf ball in your throat? You know how if you keep swallowing and keep taking deep breaths, you can usually keep the tears from coming? That's how I felt all the time. I was constantly on the verge of tears and constantly willing them away, and I couldn't talk about what I was feeling. My mom finally said, "You HAVE to talk about it, to someone. You can't keep all this to yourself forever. It's going to eat you up if you do, and it's not healthy." I remember saying, "I don't know how to talk about it. As soon as I do, I'm going to start crying, and I'm afraid once I start crying I won't be able to stop." Eventually I did talk about it, but it didn't happen all at once like I thought it would. I didn't just sit down with someone, get it all out, and leave feeling all better. It happened over time. God placed some amazing people (my husband and my family included among them) in my life during this time. These people were living examples of God's love and wisdom, and I'm immensely thankful for each of them. They helped me see that God was working and that He had a plan. God was taking me on a journey, and that journey was just beginning...

My Hubby

This is my hubby. He's wonderful. And he's handsome, which is a nice plus! I find something new to love about him everyday. He works harder than anyone else I know. His work ethic astounds me, and I love that he puts so much effort into doing his job well. He has to be the most patient and even-tempered person in the world. It takes a lot to ruffle him. He's laid back and easy to please. He can fix anything, whether it's a computer, something car related, or something around the house. He fixes our wireless router on a daily basis. That works out well for me. He'll do just about anything in order to help someone and usually volunteers before anyone asks. That challenges me. He's going to be a fabulous daddy one day, the best a kid could have. Thinking about that makes me smile and cry at the same time. He loves me completely. He loves me all the time, even when I'm probably not all that lovable. I hope I love him the same way. He strives to be a godly man, and he desires for God to transform and shine through every area of his life. That's why he is all that he is. And I'm thankful for who he is, who he's becoming, and who he will one day be.

And So It Begins...

We found out that we were pregnant in November '07. We'd been married for a month shy of a year at that point and weren't trying to get pregnant, so those 2 pink lines were a little shocking. But we were excited. I was especially excited. I thought my dream of motherhood was coming true, and nothing could have made me happier. We started planning for our baby almost immediately. We had some baby money specifically set aside for when the time came, so we purchased a few necessities (and a couple fun things, too). I was in my element with all that baby stuff, and with each new item we bought my excitement grew. When I reached 12 weeks, I breathed a sigh of relief. At the 12 week mark, you're supposed to be out of the "danger zone" because if something is going to happen it usually happens within the first 12 weeks. I had entered the 2nd trimester, and I thought we were home free. But at my 16 week appointment, they couldn't find a heartbeat, and the baby hadn't grown at all since my 12 week appointment (where everything had been fine and the baby had had a normal heartbeat). I was in complete shock. In less than 10 minutes, I went from thinking that I was having a baby to being told that I'd had a "missed miscarriage" and would need surgery the next day. While I sat with my doctor in his office listening to him explain what had happened and what the surgery would entail, I somehow managed to hold it together. It was so surreal driving home trying to figure out what I was going to tell my husband, my family and everyone else and how I was going to find the strength to do it. When I got home, I didn't have to tell my husband. I didn't have to say anything. I guess the look on my face said it all. His face went completely white, and he said, "Please tell me that what I'm thinking happened didn't happen." All I could do was nod. When he hugged me, I finally cried. I cried because I was sad, but mainly I cried because I was scared. The surgery that was schedule for the following day terrified me. I was scared of the surgery itself, being put under anesthesia, the recovery process, and all the unknowns that I would face at the hospital. Little did I know that would be the easy part. The emotional part would be infinitely harder, and I wasn't ready for it...

Heads-up

I'm not big on spontaneity. I'm a planner, and I make lists. Lots of them. You should see my grocery lists. They're ridiculously planned out and organized. First, I write out a menu (in the form of a list, of course) for a set period of time, usually a week. Then under each meal, I list out ingredients I need to purchase in order to make that particular meal. If I have an ingredient in the pantry or refrigerator, it doesn't go on the list. Then, I flip the paper over and begin my second grocery list. This list is insanely organized by specific categories in the order of the grocery store's layout. I know it's a little OCD (or maybe a lot OCD), but I can't help it. My grocery shopping is disastrous if I go without my list organized this way. I've been at this blogging thing for just a few hours, and I'm already falling into my list-making habit. When I started out, I was committed to being spontaneous with it. I was going to post things as they came to mind or whenever something of interest occurred. That lasted all of 5 minutes before I had a small panic attack (slight exaggeration) and realized I couldn't do it. I needed a list. I needed a plan! So here's what I'm planning on posting in the next few days/weeks, in no particular order. Shocking, I know! I want to do a post for each member of my immediate family, as well as a small handful of special people. I'd like to dive into our (in)fertility journey. Along the way there may be a few random posts having to do with cooking/baking, crafts, things I'm learning, things I'm thinking, everyday happenings, and anything else that pops into my head. See, I'm putting spontaneity on the list! That totally counts.

I'm Starting a Blog???

I always said I would never be a blogger. Ever. But here I am, and here's this blank page that's been screaming at me all day to post something. I'm not really sure exactly what I intend this blog to be other than just a way to get some of my thoughts out of my head. My head can only hold so much, and right now it's holding quite a lot. The last two years have been full of incredibly difficult happenings, and this blog will probably end up being a chronicle of those events, as well as day to day life. I'll go into detail about certain events, and I'll be vague about others mainly for the privacy of certain people, although I'm not expecting a huge number of "followers." This blog is for my thoughts. I would love to have one of those hugely inspirational blogs, but realistically speaking I know that's not likely to happen. I'm okay with that. All that being said, it may take a while for this blog to come together, but while it's coming together I plan on having fun with it!