Is it cool that I said all that…cause I know that it’s delicate*

Here’s what it’s like: I walk around all day with a secret that there may be two people living in this skin. Its a secret kept from me and from all the people I see. I try to be open to this possibility and try to hold a space for it to be true. What also might be true is that I might start bleeding at any moment. I grew up in a time where we were taught that our periods should be a secret, and we should be discreet about using the necessary products we need. I read in a recent study 86% of American women have started their period unexpectedly in public without the supplies they needed, we all have a story like that. Trying to conceive has made me painfully aware of the day and hour I might start and so I am always prepared…with supplies. Month after month I find that I am not emotionally prepared to carry this secret, its a grief that takes me to my knees. When I have sixteen 5th and 6th graders counting on me to teach them a beautiful ballet dance with energy and enthusiasm is not a good time to have to run to the potty and learn that I am not pregnant again this month. I am not growing a person.

Here are some succulents that I am growing

This is what women do. We quietly bleed, alone in a stall, and then pull ourselves together and do the thing we have scheduled to do. Today after this news reached my awareness I gave 3 more massages and delayed the grieving of the loss until I could fall apart in the safety of my home with my dear sweet groom. Most women begin menstruating at around age 13, I was pretty lucky to bloom late at age 15.  If I have my period for 5 days each month that’s 60 days a year, and multiply that by 21 years= I have spent 3.45 years of my life bleeding. These last two years the arrival of aunt flo has been a sign of defeat and loss, up until we started trying to I didn’t tell anyone about it.

Do you tell people when you start? We tell people close to us that we are cranky and crampy often as an explanation of why we can’t come to something. Many of my close friends can expect a text announcement of my cycle starting. When I was in High School we had a deal within our little group that we would buy each other a nice pen each month when our cycles began, as a consolation prize. Wait, what? You didn’t give pens as gifts? Well we felt that we each deserved to be celebrated and comforted when we were suffering. (These women are obviously still my friends, totally keepers) Today I booked myself a grown-ass-woman consolation prize.

Did I ever tell you that at the age of 30 I picked up a new hobby, I started dancing en Pointe. Turns out most women retire from such things by that age, though I know a couple gals my age still doing it. So I figured that since I’m not going to become large with child this month I should have pictures of my fit figure dancing en Pointe. The woman who is taking my photos is a glorious human who makes you feel like a queen on shoots, and she captures something in you that you thought might be there but weren’t sure. I hope these photos are a reminder to me as I go forward in this journey that I was brave and strong during this suffering. I also have been asked to help tell a story with dance on Easter Sunday at my church. I have a story to tell.

The God I know is not a stranger to suffering. He surrendered his rights and was killed on a tree. He was innocent. When I pray and ask God where He was in a tragedy I succinctly hear “I was there”, He has promised to be near to suffering. I can not explain why so many kinds of sadness and pain are every which way we turn, I see no algorithm for this senseless distress. I also can not make a star, or boss the sun to rise or set, or train a flower to bloom. I can not cause a baby person to join my family by sheer will, I’m just a person. I can dance, and I can pray, and I can call my friends and we will probably get through this.

*Have I been listening to Taylor Swift’s reputation nonstop on spotify? Yes indeed, and I’m not even a little sorry.




Everything is everything, after winter must come spring

With the power vested in me by the understanding of basic logic I would like to dispel some common myths for you my lovely readers. Firstly “when it rains it pours” is simply not true, sometimes it just sprinkles. Next “never look a gift horse in the mouth” is bad advice; just because something is free doesn’t mean you should just take it, an unhealthy horse is going to be a budget killer you might want to know about before you accept this gift horse. Lastly “3’s a charm” I’ll be the one to tell you that the 3rd time you try something you may not get the result you want. (side note what is a charm?)

I was five days late this last cycle, five days of hope that left me crushed and almost unable to peel myself off the floor. Our 3rd IUI was not charming, and having only been 1 day late in the last year I was exceptionally certain that our dream had come true. Instinctual reaction is “hope costs too much, stop buying into hope” but a few hours of crying later I defer to logic and realize that trying to conceive with no hope is foolish and sounds boring. So how to balance is the question I ask, where on the spectrum of hope should I situate myself.


Here is a strangely lit selfie we took the day before our hopes were crushed. You can see the hope and fear in my dorky expression, and the patient waiting and supportive endurance my darling Joshua has in his expression.

Last week I was practicing tree pose in a yoga class, this is a one footed balance pose like a flamingo, and the teacher suggested we close our eyes. So yeah we all fell over and laughed at ourselves, and how surprisingly hard it is to balance one footed with no vision. Go try it….hard huh? Her nugget of wisdom was this : balance is not about being still, its dynamic. I mentally argued with her. When you are balancing two scales (viz: lady justice) you know they are balanced when they are level and still. Maybe she means the process of balance is not still, keep adding to one side until its too much then take some away and so on until you find just the right amount to keep it level.

The advice I most often receive is “stop trying and it will happen” which is pretty bad advice. You wouldn’t tell your friend who wants to be a musician to stop looking for gigs and their career will take off, or your friend who wants to move to Oregon to stop looking for affordable housing and a landlord will call with a great offer. Were supposed to go after what we want in life, and sometimes that means pursue your dream as a side job until it gets to a launching point. I’m not mad at anyone who has offered this advice to be clear, I know its hard to know what to say.  A sweet friend recently sent me a little video with 7 things not to say to someone struggling with infertility, with an apology if she’s ever said any of them.

I am floored with the compassion and tenderness my friends have shown me, so much kindness and I’m sure deeply thought out words. I have friends who invite me to their baby showers as if I wasn’t a fragile hopeful parent, or sent me an announcement with their precious child’s birth date and weight on it.  THANK YOU! I love being seen as someone who can operate in society even though my dreams make me borderline crazy.  I have had friends who have put off telling me their good news because they don’t want to hurt me and while this is incredibly generous, please know that I am so happy for you and I promise not to fly off the handle and freak out at you. It is my nature to celebrate good news with those I love, and Beyonce. I can politely decline to attend your event if I find that I am not up for it, but you can trust me to make that decision.

I’ve been trying to surrender control, knowing (because of my propensity towards logic) that I have never had any control anyways.  I wrongly perceive that I can solve this dilemma with more data, smart decisions, more dollars, and a really positive attitude. All of those things are good ideas and I will keep pursuing them, but I’m letting go. Hope is a muscle that gets stronger when you use it more, and when it fatigues and then you rest it, and get back at it. I’m not giving up on my dream, I’m going after it with a new kind of agility. I’m closing my eyes, and working through not being balanced yet, and not getting mad at myself when I topple. You know when Alice falls down the rabbit hole and is pretty scared at first but then her dress catches air and makes a parachute of sorts for her and she can look around and experience the free fall with a little less fear? I think my skirt just caught and I’m attempting to enjoy the ride not knowing where it leads.

I would like to report that half of our fertility expenses have been funded by generous donors, and this is a huge relief to us. Its so helpful to know that people are with us in this weird one footed thing we are doing. If you feel inclined here again is the link. Give

Slow down you move too fast…Feelin Groovy


The four people in line in front of me in express checkout have startlingly similar orders. Person 1: Toilet paper, bon-ami scrub, cheap rose.  Person 2: Toilet paper, a banana, a bottle of coke. Person 3: Toilet Paper, Totino’s pizza rolls, slice of cake from the deli. Person 4: Toilet paper, frozen pizza, jug of orange juice…maybe a candy bar…nope no candy bar. Whats with the 8 pm Wednesday night T.P need? I am here for peanut butter, and lettuce and tomato. I’m getting my blood drawn tomorrow and that is what I’m stewing about as I wait in line. I’m getting pretty good at it and I don’t have to lie down anymore because I only passed out that one time when I was 20. I’m hoping that when she does the labs she can also test to see if I’m pregnant, which would cut my two week wait in half. Wouldn’t that be like celebrity status, getting the info before it all the poor commoners who are waiting the full 2 weeks. Its a lot of daydreaming in the check out line, but I did also make friends with an 8 year old. The real narrative simmering in the back of my mind is about communion, and the feast we receive when we dine with him. Its been bubbling there for days.

Invited, I step up to the table to dine with the God I love.  Father, Son, and Spirit offer a meal to me that I gratefully partake. I have come to this supper with my own agenda, the creator of life has something I want. It is my wish that the breath of life will come into my stretchy little womb, that creation will grow my family.  I have this song from youth group on repeat in my head “I’m holding on to the hem of your garment and I won’t let go until the blessing comes”. The woman who’s words formed that song had what is called <the issue of blood> for 12 years and she sought healing from Jesus as he was walking near the mouth of the Jordan river. He did as she requested on the spot saying “your faith has healed you” and she receives her miracle. So I rise at the table, where I have been invited, and put my hands on my hips and demand blessing. I’m here for my babies and I won’t leave till you give me one…or two.  They stare at me as I interrupt the feast, they say nothing. I sit down because I realize that my declaration “I won’t let go until the healing comes” may take a while and I should do what Jesus is doing at this table as he is my earthly <God in Skin> example of how to live.

What did I think I was going to do, rob God? Storm the castle and steal the babies that will grow my family? *face palm* Prayer is not as much about changing the mind of the deity as it is about shaping my thoughts and ideas about who the creator is and who I am to the creator. Is my identity like the unnamed woman at Mt Hermon, a lady with an issue desperate to be restored to wholeness and normalcy in her culture. That bleeding she was doing made her legally unclean, she couldn’t do all the things her people did, she had to go sit in the tent with the other bleeders. I bet she knew all the ladies in the town as they came to spend their monthly cycle days there.  While I am significantly less desperate than she was I can relate to feeling isolated and confident in whom I ought to seek for healing.

My blood test results are in hours after she draws, and my progesterone levels are really good and I don’t need to take any more drugs to supplement them. Plus I did not get even a little queasy, like I said I’m going pro with this stuff. Pregnancy test not able to confirm either way, wait one more week with the commoners. Its good to be a commoner, I hate the paparazzi.

In other news I have given 3 massages this week to pregnant girls! One who had a number of miscarriages until now, one was told she could not would not conceive, the other was pleasantly surprised by the addition. Did I also tell you my baby sister (she’s a grown up) is in her second trimester after trying for over a year. Its in the water! Maybe massaging all these pregnant girls means I’m going to be pregnant.  Josh sweetly nods and smiles when I tell him this as if to say “I love you, but that’s not how you get pregnant Kate.” I don’t mean to be superstitious but its very much part of my brain patterns. Also another pregnant girl booked a massage next week, so maybe there’s something to this.

Entering week two of the wait, and feeling positive and focused. We have been invited to retreat to a cottage on a vineyard with our friends for a long weekend. In addition to a very fun couple that we love to travel with, there will be a two year old and a newborn. This is going to be very good for my womb I suspect, and my heart will be filled with happy and peace and lemon curd; causing the second week to breeze by with little anxiety. We will joyfully drive thru the mountains to this lovely January vacation and we will flourish.

Also my air plant is blooming!!

Cause I miss you babe, and I don’t want to miss a thing.

You can’t start a letter to your (hopeful) child by talking about it’s conception! It doesn’t care if it was conceived in a doctors office, or because its parents were doing it, kids don’t want to think about that-especially if it was foggy that day. I’m already failing at parenting. *face palm-rolls eyes*

That last post was terrifying, I almost took it down after 47 minutes but a hot shower and a somewhere to be prevented me. Transparency is hard, and I feel like I’m toeing the line between vulnerability and oversharing. I guess if you feel like I’m saying to much you just won’t read it. No one is making you. Just go back to facebook scrolling and forget about this nonsense.

Now its just us? Okay can we get real and talk about refried beans please. Holy yum, I love the beans at Los jalapenos! In high school I asked my prom date if we could go to Los for Prom, he said no, but I’ve long been loving their beans. You nice people saying all the nice things, I love you too.

Anatomically correct is the way I like to explain things about our bodies to children. When my nephew was 4, he is 8 today, I taught him that the heart muscle says “lub-dub” and we would put our hands on our sternum and pound out the heartbeat rhythm saying “lub-dub” together. I think I explained to you what the IUI procedure we are doing biologically achieves here and also here.

What I may not have explained is that it has a cost that is not at all covered by insurance which is why I offered you a link to give.  Except that I did not get the link in there right. OY! *face palm agian* Each time we go in for an IUI our chances increase, and so does the bill. We have tightened the budget some but its costing us quite a lot of dollars. Once the kid moves in we both will be covered by our pretty awesome insurance that Joshua’s job gives us.  The prescription that I take leading up to the procedure isn’t covered, the ultrasound to confirm the prescription did the thing it was supposed to do is not covered, and the bill for the IUI is not covered.

Here is where you can click to help us with these expenses.

It is a mystery to me that this medical thing is so expensive and necessary. I know of a lady with several children that she grew in her body and she took drugs during her pregnancies, like hard drugs…everyday. God confuses me with this kind of thing. When Jesus was born there was a King who was threatened by him, and killed all the baby boys born then so as to ruin this rumored baby King’s chances of overthrowing him. Jerk King! Why didn’t Jesus father, the creator of all mankind, put a stop to this? They were told to go to Egypt, the land of their oppressors if I remember right, and hide from the murderous King. What the what? As Christmas approaches I can’t stop thinking about this part of Jesus birth story. Did God really think this was the best way to save him from Jerk King’s wrath? Also the wise men were spies of the Jerk King, which was not how the story was told to me, so many surprises.

Jesus story was filled with plot twists and unexpected answers to questions, best friends that betrayed him and time spent alone in the desert. I can’t figure out why my story is going this way, or why the world is filled with darkness. Whatever the cost I’m going to hope again and again that redemption is at hand, and look for the coming light. It gets hard to imagine light sometimes, don’t you think? Remember July when the sun didn’t set until like ten pm or something, all those glorious hours of daylight. Starting Friday we will be on the way back to them.

Revised Letter to my hopefully baby:

Dear baby, I like you. If you exist now you will be born in the summer, and everyone loves a summer baby. You don’t have to hurry, but please don’t take your time.

ps. friends: I promise to tell you when we are expecting, so as to save you from having to ask.

bend oregon wedding photography by steve heinrichs photography (371 of 491)1660220136..jpg
A sunny day in winter, they do exist!

I don’t want to close my eyes

It was 28° and foggy the evening you were conceived.  (Is this how you start a letter to your child?) We left the doctor’s office with stars in our eyes.  ¡Champagne! We exclaimed in agreement. We picked up Lebanese food because its a comfort food, and we told you (if you existed) that trying new things would be important. Your father lectured you about cultures and kindness and spicy food. There’s no snow yet, its December 8th & your great grandma’s birthday.  I hope you are a quarter of a day old, and that you like being in this family already.

Isn’t it crazy how dark it is right now? The shortest day of the year, the winter solstice, is next Thursday and it is 9 hours less daylight than than the longest day of the year. I know a lot of folks who are really feeling the dark this year. I’ve got a friend who is divorced and learning to celebrate all by herself, a friend who lost their brother and is learning to be an only child , and a friend who is getting sober and learning how to enjoy the holiday without drinking. My brother and sister in law lost their baby son 10 months ago and they are facing that darkness this year. No wonder we put up sparkly lights and cheer ourselves with decorations.

We will know by the solstice if our 2nd IUI resulted in a baby person. Last month our two week wait ended right before thanksgiving dinner when we learned that we were not pregnant. It was only our first IUI , I wept bitterly as we passed the gravy and my family was pure grace around the table.  I have decided that the second week in the TWW is shark week. It seems to me that I should know before I find out, like some innate mother instinct. I don’t want to miss any part of the 40 weeks I get to share space with this kid. Thinking I will know before I know is unreasonable to expect of myself. Its very shark-fin-above-water-swimming-around sort of looming and now you see it now you don’t. Here’s what I look like when I’d dodging sharks in the high desert.


A friend recently said to me “I read your blog” and I think she was saying that she is glad I write, her follow up sentence was “is that weird when people say that to you?” Most days it feels like I have this flash mob of very excellent humans surrounding me and hassling God on my behalf and doing song and dance numbers that are very inspirational. Other days I want to ask the person saying they read my thoughts and feelings to say something vulnerable about themselves to even the field.

Friend: I read your blog

Me: Cool thanks, how much do you weigh?

Its my choice to publish my experience and it is mostly very helpful to know you guys are out there, that some of you feel encouraged by my rambling. My dear friend suggested that I put a Pay Pal button on my blog so that if anyone wanted to contribute to the expense of fertility stuff they could. I stewed on this and decided it couldn’t hurt, so its here if you were thinking you wanted to toss us a couple bones. She’s a smart friend with her own fertility journey and the fundraising she did was very encouraging to her. This is your chance to get vulnerable I guess. I’m not sorry that I invited you all into our story, it will make the victory that much more glorious and flashy.

Fun fact about week two of the TWW I am a grumpy, snippy, punk of a woman. I get so freakin mad at things that are tangled, you can’t even believe it. I should laugh at how mad I am, but I am too mad to laugh. I was trying to switch some laundry and the spaghetti strap of a camisole had wrapped around some leggings and was a muddled labyrinth of lunacy. I responded by threatening to tear the garment limb from limb until it behaved like a respectable shirt and pants. I threw it on the floor all discombobulated and jumbled and stormed down the hall to sit on my bed alone. I want to crush my computer for being slow, and I want to honk at anyone not signalling out of a round about. I have the smallest amount of patience for inanimate objects and will not tolerate insubordination. Great parenting skill are no doubt being forged.


The Closer I am to Fine

There is an overwhelming air of calm as the 1st of the TWW is coming to a close. As we have been TTC for 17 months I have a few TWW under my belt. I have learned a new language, one of acronyms and unfamiliar well wishes. The two week wait (TWW) is what follows ovulation when a family is trying to conceive (TTC) and it is usually a barrage of hypersensitivity to possible early pregnancy symptoms. “Surely this level of tired is unusual, it must be pregnancy,” and “I’m craving a banana and I usually find bananas repulsive, must be pregnancy,” and my favorite “the Folgers commercial made me sob uncontrollably, must be pregnancy.” Hope builds and then that fateful first drop proving that you are in fact the only person currently living in your body and all is dashed, you make hot chocolate and begin to grieve. If this sounds like an unnecessary cycle to you, if it sounds absurd and dramatic, if the two week wait is illogical, unreasonable, and inappropriate you might be right. To the women on my fertility tracking ap it is real life and they have ways of helping each other through it.

Also: waterfall trails help too.

There are a lot of technical acronyms: BD-CD-CM-OPK-DPO and my favorite DH which is not technical at all it stands for Dear Husband. We talk about things on this ap in the community tab no one I have ever met is willing to discuss. One of the best features of the ap is how it gives you a new anonymous character each time. Once I commented as Mint Aardvark and another I was Fuchsia Rooster there are antelope, spider monkey, prairie dog, mantis, cobra, rhino, manta ray, butterfly, gorilla, puma, best of all is the fox which I’m always hoping for. There can be a teal gorilla or a gold gorilla; you can be a blue stag or a sky stag, once I was a Purple Triceratops! When you pose a question or comment on a thread you are assigned a different colored creature each time. This is a fascinating tool I think it encourages me to comment more. The discussions are mostly helpful, there are varying levels of education about our bodies and the process of conception. It seems that for some women this is the only way they are going to get answers to their scientific or lifestyle questions.

Another thing in this micro culture that I find interesting is that you can filter the audience your question can see using the filters: same age, same time of cycle, same country, in a relationship, previous miscarriage, has children, diagnosed infertility. I can’t be expected to choose the people I want to see my questions; I can barely form them into sentences let alone exclude certain audiences. When I read exchanges like this can begin to see the value of filtering.

Silver sloth asks: What does is mean if my boogers are clear sticky and runny???

-crimson gorilla: boogers?

-silver sloth: yes like in my nose

-crimson goose: yummy

-silver sloth: you can eat them goose but I can’t stop blowing my nose, am I sick?

-crimson goose-no, probably Ebola

-silver sloth: oh noooooo not THE Ebola

-fuchsia dolphin: sick or allergies

Good thing that dolphin swooped and stopped this exchange, what filter would keep me from reading that? Maybe just my own brain choosing to open only relevant threads, like this one…

Mint Goose Asks: Period due tomorrow all the HPT (home pregnancy tests) are negative. It would show by now if I was pregnant right?

-purple dragonfly: most people say wait till you have missed your period. My hpts are negative too and I’m due Tuesday

-gold pig: I have been pregnant before where it didn’t show up till I was a week late

-lemon stag: not necessarily, I didn’t even get a faint positive until AF was a week late

-crimson stingray: should most likely have shown up positive by now. Best of luck next month

-lemon penguin: it might and it might not, depends on the initial amount of HCG in your urine, did you use FMU (first morning urine)

-mint goose: really lemon?!?! From what I have read online that is pretty rare, I’ll keep my fingers crossed I guess.

-lemon penguin: *baby dust*

Many threads use the term *baby dust* which is a way of saying good luck getting pregnant and having a baby I think. We all wish each other *baby dust* in most threads (save the booger one) and it feels so sparkly and kind. Every few months someone will post “I got my BFP” and waves goodbye as she wishes us all baby dust and advances to the pregnancy ap. Did you guess what BFP is yet? Sometimes I google the acronyms sometimes I just try to guess on my own. Big Fat Positive is what it means, it’s the top banana of TTC acronyms and it’s the best news. In one way it boosts morale that among all these women disguised as colored random animals, among all the personal anonymous questions posted across many age groups and countries and education levels someone succeeded. Someone got their dream, and we may yet get ours.

Listen to Indigo Girls : Closer to Fine

As you faithful friends read my blog posts and stay in the loop of my journey I thank you for cushioning me with prayer and encouragement. I attribute the current peaceful TWW to you- my not anonymous community. Well timed text messages, and crafting collaborations, and loaned books, and phone calls (yes real phone calls), and coffee dates, and dinner invitations have kept me from too much alone time to stew and worry. A few of you have even come to me for advice or encouragement for your own struggles in life and that makes me feel like shiny gold. Its good to be needed when I feel so consumed by my own journey, gets me out of myself and reminds me that even when I feel that my gifts are used up and my energy taxed I am still a useful helpful friend. Hope this was a welcome look into a world not many of you know about, and I hope you laughed. I have a goal of laughing at least once a day during the TWW; laughter is a great tool for survival.


Take each day as it comes

Isn’t it the worst when you tell your friend you have good news and they get really excited like its going to be THE good news? The news that everyone is hoping for you to have, the news you have been looking forward to for 20 something years, the news she is hoping you have has already lit up her face with joy for you and she holds her breath in anticipation. Now you get to reassure her that while it’s not THAT news its still good. Josh’s sperm count has grown by 4 million, and those lil buggers are swimming faster than the last two times he tested.  The category that is the most difficult to improve in is morphology, which evaluates if some of them are morphing in to werewolves in the moonlight or are they all regular hardworking un-morphed classic sperm. There was a 140% improvement in this number (curtsy & bow) so we popped some champagne because our guys are average looking and mostly fast swimming.

We had made this plan that if we didn’t get pregnant on our own this month we would make plans to try our first IUI (intra uterine insemination) but this news has made us think again about that plan. Now that we have more champions should we forego the intervention and stick to the DIY method? Ive got a lot of voices in my head trying to guide me. I can hear the voice of fear telling me that I’m getting older everyday and we don’t even know if IUI will work so we should start trying everything we can while we still can. The Christian voice asks “can I really prompt the beginning of life by hiring someone to sort our sperm and place them in an ideal place to meet an egg?”  The hippie side says go natural take more supplements see the acupuncturist regularly it will happen when it’s supposed to happen.  The mother in me says “where are my children”, and “do they know how much I want to meet them, how I hope they are kind and generous and smart and able to be honest and vulnerable with those they love; do they know I pray for their spouses and for the leaders of the world they will live in, for their health and inner peace as they face life’s struggles?”

I had hoped that by writing out all my inner voices I would see a clear answer rise to the top but they all have valid points.

And now its time for a reading break, here’s a song.

My friend recently told me that when she got engaged in her 30’s she was first happy then sad, real sad to be leaving behind her friends who were still single. She described it as survivors guilt, “why me, why not them too”. They were all in this little life boat together encouraging and affirming each other in their singleness and quest for contentment with this stage of life, now she’s in a married boat with her new favorite person and they are happy for her (probably). I was asking myself if I would feel that way when we finally do get pregnant. I don’t have a boat of people who wish they could have babies, I have people who love me and think they understand my struggle and I would be lost without these souls. Infertility is a boat only Josh and I are floating in. Its lonesome, the water is constantly rocking us to and fro and we have to go to work everyday and contribute to society and to our friends and families lives. As my fantastic Stepmom would say we have to act like something, and some days I feel like I can while others I want to step out of my own narrative for a while and watch as a substitute me acts like something.  Should I join a support group so I have a boat to leave when I become a survivor? I would like to say that the man in my boat is exceedingly generous and so available to me. There is no comparison for the selfless way he joins me in this struggle, how he cries when I cry, and passes a hanky sometimes, and lets me roll my eyes at our friends accidental babies even though that is detestable behavior.

I do not feel courageous or brave I feel like I am getting out of bed and showing up for myself and not very well sometimes. It is against my nature to be inauthentic I only know how to wear my heart on my sleeve (people put that thing inside their chests?) plus I think I’m looking for any other tiny dinghies that might be out to sea surviving this kind of storm. I hope that by saying something I create a little light for them, that gives them hope when hope feels foolish.  It’s a familiar absurdity to grow a person inside you, or to take on the task of turning a baby person in to a full size human that acts like something. Raising a teenager is a terrifying feat, and as we all know but constantly forget adorable babies turn into teenagers and hate us for a while. I have contributed to the parenting of many babies and toddlers and even teenagers, I know what nonsense lies before me. I know that it will challenge and stretch me in ways I did not know existed, that parenting will refine my marriage and my career like a fire that burns away impurities. What’s funny to me is that I know all that and the steadfast desire to have my own story remains unswervingly the course I choose.


I had coffee with a dear friend recently, she became a parent this month. She reminded me who I am, and how I was made, is not something to apologize for. I kindled this fire as a small tiny woman long ago. I have been naming my kids since I heard that was the custom for parents to name their kids. Today as I try to choose between intervention and not intervention this fire feels like a wildfire that is threatening to make me evacuate my home. You know what it actually is, the fire that heats my home and I will not be afraid of it.  I will lean in closer and be warmed by the dream of my babies in my arms. This requires courage, but I think I have a really heroic partner in my boat and between us we can muster the strength necessary.




A Blog about Guts & Uterine Management