Out of Control

The number one loss from our infertility, for both of us, was the loss of control. I was surprised my husband felt the same way, ranking this as his number one loss, too. I know I like to be in control, even when I’m not the best driver. I like to know what’s going on now and what curve will be next.

Yet, sometimes a bit of uncertainty about what’s around that next bend keeps me in the present and, also,  it gives me the chance to experience mercy and love. When a dream job in the right location opened up, I told my husband to go for it. Moving now would undermine our three-year-plan to quickly pay off our student loan debts, but he was so excited to accomplish three other goals: stay in the state, join a parish we like when we visit that town, and try a different job in his field.

I closed my eyes and gripped the figurative passenger side oh poo handle, as my husband calls that strap above the side window. I was in the seat of a rollercoaster. I felt hopeful for his sake, but my stomach clenched hard with the pain of planning to give up on accomplishing our debt-free goal that is a key stepping stone to getting pregnant with an adopted child. Once the job application was in, while we waited to hear back, I shared my fear and discontent with my husband. And we both waited, knowing we were not in control for the time being.

When the curve straightened out, we came around the bend a heck of a lot faster and more in one piece than I’d anticipated. My husband replied to an email, tactfully making it known that he’d be interested in the position at some future time but, for now, he cannot pursue this job with its lower salary.

Prom chaperone
Tonight, my husband and I attended his school’s prom as chaperones. I guess I see, again, that teaching does have its benefits. Each year I get to be my husband’s prom date. This year, to fit with the Las Vegas theme, he was asked to deal poker. He loves poker. The odds of the cards are calculated in his head, and he just gets the numbers in a way I do not. I do get the body language and camraderie of those around the table. Mostly, I love being my husband’s date.

Tonight when we took a timeout to dance, we both laughed and sang and laughed. With my prom sweetheart, I enjoyed the ride and let him lead, knowing he’d watch out for me, including the me that’s part of our “us” with all of the attached hopes and dreams.

Whatever is ahead, we’ll be together…and we’ll definitely make the best of the journey together…in or out of control as we may be.



Don’t Succeed

When you try your best, but you don’t succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can’t sleep
Stuck in reverse
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can’t replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Coldplay’s “Fix You”

Superbowl babies greet their parents nine months after a win. Today they showed up on TV ads in between the football plays. Mini fans are already clad in the families’ team gear.


Today, I could laugh and see these fifteen-month old faces as beautiful. My grief is loosening and my heart is adapting. My husband and I have been reading Adopting After Infertility by Patricia Irwin Johnston, and although it’s been months and we’re only a few chapters in, we both have been in awe: someone else knows. And really understands.

Six losses come with infertility. Johnston suggests taking time to individually, and disregarding physical realities, rank the losses and then rate the significance of each for one’s own life. The process typically takes a few months, and then the couple comes back together to share, dialogue, and discuss.

After our talk, my husband and I confirmed that we are in a waiting place. We’ve settled on a path, and now we try to joyfully embrace it instead of our baby or child. We’ll work with an adoption agency eventually, but for now, we reviewed the agency’s documents and took their concern seriously, as well as reviewed our own desires for how to give a kid the best shot at life. So, we’re going to wait to proceed.

I donated the diapers I bought for the baby who never came home with us this July, closed the closet on the clothes hung by month and season, and gave away the brand new stroller-carseat combo. So, my pillow has dried and my dream child fades. Husband and I don’t need fixing, but on our path, we have more time, effort, and prayers to put in before looking into the eyes of our own little fans. Hope waits.

Faith waits

“I got the boots you really wanted,” Little Boy gasps, trying to hold back a sob. His father has just returned home from the war after being presumed dead. A bandage swaddles Dad’s head, but the precious cowboy boots are finally his. The gift finds its home.

The simplicity of faith impresses and daunts me. The boy in the movie Little Boy (2015) waited and hoped for so long, enduring taunts and discoraging words, never giving up his mustard seed faith. I want so much to continue hoping because I know God gave me these desires for motherhood, to parent with my loving husband. But the children I covet are beyond my grasp. Waiting is hard.Faith Waits