personal

Summer, Part one and miss lucy

Here's a little glimpse of our summer so far. Lucy is still obsessed with her bug/spider killing. Yesterday she told Scott,

"Daddy, I saw a spider crawling, and I STEPPED!!! on it. Smash!"

She is fascinated with her owies, and will tell anyone who will listen, "I got an owie at Sammie's house. I feel down. I have an etch (scratch.)" It's her ultimate ice-breaker.

She loves the pool, the blue monster (slide), looking at her bike, and chocolate peanut-butter (who doesn't), sprinkling the cheese on the pizza's, and her new Ariel dolly (which I milked as a bribe all day long.)

We haven't graduated out of diapers, although it is probably time that we do that. She is obsessed with her shoes, and has to sleep with them on, but will hardly let me touch her hair. In fact the Ariel was originally promised, in a moment of desperation, as I tried to curl her hair for family photos. The only article of clothing she will wear are dresses, and preferably, pink ones.

It's crazy to watch this little being, grow into an independent, yet mommy needy person, who has her opinions about everything and repeats everything I say:

"Hold on Mommy, I just need to get sumptin. I'm going downstairs, I'll be right back. Hahahahah, that's funny! I'm going to be a big girl. You okay Mommy? You okay? Wait just a minute. Maybe tomorrow. Ohhey (okay) Let's do it! Time out, right now! Mommy, look at me. Yeah! Sure! Ohhhhh, thank you!!! Oops, hehehehehe, sohwy Mommy!"

Never have I been so aware of what I do and what I say, as I have a mimic who puts her belts up high on her waist, likes to brush my hair, has to eat food on big girl plates, with big girl forks, and has a purse, just like mom.

These last 3 years have been such an adventure with Lucy Bell, and we can only imagine the amounts of fun we will have when Jack gets here!

Twirling in the outfield. There's no crying in baseball, but apparently there is dancing.

Random dog, that Lucy loved.

The, 'I don't know" face.

Lucy, Spider Slayer

I blame myself.

I have gone most of my life avoiding spiders, leaving the room when I see one, and pretending they don't exist in general. When I married Scott, he became President of bug, critter and spider removal, and I happily relinquished all that unpleasantness to him. Then I had Lucy, and decided I needed to woman-up, and get rid of the things before they got to her. So I started killing spiders, and Lucy started observing. I think it wasn't a pretty sight, as I chased them through our house, fumbling to flush spiders down the toilet and jumping around as I tried to brush various crawley things out of corners and off walls. I'm sad to say many a spider died a messy death, due to my incompetence.

Apparently all this has made an impression on Lucy. Scott found her outside the other day, stamping repeatedly on her favorite night-time blanket, with all the concentration and fury her two-year-old self could muster.

When asked what she was doing, Lucy simply said, "Daddy, I kill the spider."

To Scott's surprise, when he lifted that blanket up, there actually was a poor, obliterated spider, smooshed underneath.

I'm not sure how I feel about this, other than I find it fairly hilarious, and I pity the spider that comes within Lucy's unmerciful eye.

Hawaii, the road to the birthstones

Today, Scott made me birthday breakfast in bed. He is the master of Abelskivers. And now I'm off to shoot a lovely wedding, and then we are driving 6 hours for a vacation. It's a busy birthday! While I'm gone I'm posting some of my favorite pics from our Hawaii vacation. This was last year, and we have never been the same. Hawaii, we long for you.

Be Gentle

Disclaimer: I wrote this several months ago, right at the beginning of our 2nd round of IVF. It was written in a moment of sadness and vulnerability. I cried over it for days, but when I got it all out there, all the feelings that have been building for years, feelings that went away with my first pregnancy, and then came back even stronger the 2nd time around, I felt better. It was my first true experience with the catharsis of writing. I put it on a quiet little blog, that has been defunct for quite awhile. I believe there is a power in letting go, however, I never thought I would share myself so personally on this blog, my home in the online world. But I'm going to now, because how I felt that night is such a huge part of who I am as person, the journey I have been on, and is a document to my children of the love I have for them. This is me, one part of me, at my most fragile. I have come to realize that infertility will always be a part of me. But I wont always feel so sad, or lost, in fact, right now I feel pretty darn good. One day, whenever that comes, my years of trying for babies will come to an end. Our family will the one we fought/prayed/yearned for and I hope I will be at peace with that place when we arrive there, I think I will. It hasn't worked out the way we thought, our road hasn't always been easy, but as we look at this 2nd pregnancy, we realize it has been blessed. I think my experiences have shaped me, but they haven't defined me. It's still hard for me to put this out there, but I'm going to be brave, or crazy, or somewhere in between and do just that.

I have struggled with how to write this. How do I say this without sounding bitter, or desperate or angry. But it has been on my mind non-stop, and I'm feeling just fragile enough to write this and just brave enough to say it.

So, here is my story, what is it like living with infertility.

What can I say? It's seeing your life on hold, while you watch everyone's flying by. It's wanting something so precious, but increasingly elusive. It's wanting to hold a baby in your arms. Not someone else's baby, but your baby. It's wanting to be pregnant. To be sick. To have swollen ankles. To stay up all night, rocking a screaming newborn.

And trying, at first casually, then slightly worried, frantically, desperately, and devastatingly, numbingly.

It's trying everything, absolutely everything. It's being on prenatals, just in case. It's thinking about what you will be doing next year for Christmas, you know, when you have a baby. And then maybe next year. And then the year after that. It's planning how you will announce the news. For Easter we will put the good news in an Easter Egg, around Mother's Day we will give a rattle as a gift, for Halloween we will dress up as a Bun in the Oven.

It was maybe silly, but you spent hours thinking about it. And hours thinking about names. Writing them down. Trying different spellings. Realizing that Atticus Scott Stewart had an unfortunate acronym.

It's mourning the life you dreamed. It's trying to adjust to the might not's. It's protecting your increasingly delicate heart. It's sobbing every month, because you were a little late, you thought maybe this time. Month, after month, after month. 72 months of trying, 2,190 days of hoping.

It's being poked and prodded, and giving up blood, and urine. Tests that hurt, tests that are embarrassing, tests that are scary.

It's bolstering your heart, preparing for the worst, and hoping, in the tiniest place in your heart, for the best. Because if you don't, and a babe in arms isn't waiting, you know you could lose yourself.

It's being desperate to give all your love to a child. Children. It's imagining picnics, soccer games, vacations.

It's wanting to comb curly hair, or maybe straight, and wash freckly skin, or maybe clear. And sing songs about boogie monsters, and smell fresh washed hair, falling asleep with a little, warm body next to you.

It's being afraid to say things out loud, because you might make them true.

It's uncertainty. Deafening uncertainty. Overwhelming fear, that you put into a box. And try not to look in too.

It's lonely.

It's rejoicing in other mothers, other babies, other lives. But still not wanting to hear about the ease of others conceptions.

It's constant guilt. Guilt for those 5 years you waited. Guilt that you went to school first. Guilt that you were 27 when you decided now was the time. Oh, how naive you were, that you thought you could control this. That you had your life planned out. You're guilty for your age, for the time you have waited between IVF. If only you did this last year, you would have had a baby now. Your eggs would have been one year younger. One year more awesome. It's the fact that you even talk about eggs. That's weird.

It's staying quiet when told, "Adopt, then you will get pregnant. Think positive, then you will get pregnant. Try acupuncture, then you will get pregnant. Now you have Lucy, you will definitely get pregnant. Be grateful, you already have a baby." As if Lucy wasn't the sun that centers my world.

But, I dreamed of a family, of 5, then 4, then 3, then 2.

It's being positive for others, because they want you to be happy, but you really just want to say,"I'm devastated. I'm heartbroken."

It's being diagnosed with "unexplained," which basically means we don't know, which leads to, "we really can't say what will work and what wont." So it adds up to a high stakes guessing game.

It's shots, after shots, after shots, after shots. It's bruises, in various places, your heart being one of them. It's money that you don't have, but don't regret spending, but still don't have.

It's realizing that nobody really understands that your dreams, although not quite dead, are at breaking stage. It's a limbo between joy and sadness, happiness and pain.

It's recognizing that the treatments you are now doing, are the end of the line for pregnancy. And here you are 7 years older than when you first started this, when you thought you would be done, but really you are just beginning. It's telling Lucy she is going to have a little brother named Jack. It's hoping Lucy will have a little brother named Jack.

It's knowing that you can put everything you have left, into this last ditch effort, all your money, all your emotions, all your walls, and recognize that you can give it everything, but that doesn't guarantee anything. Only 40%.

It's putting your faith in God. Completely. You have no other choice. You have been completely humbled. But you recognize your way isn't God's way. And Faith is a hard road sometimes.

Be gentle. Infertility is a lonely valley, traveled by two people, clinging to each other with all their might.

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Announcing...

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Lucy is going to be a big sister and it's a pretty big deal around here! Scott, Lucy and I are so, so excited for this new little one that will be joining us sometime around November 18th. Getting our babies here has proven to be the great challenge in our lives, and I can't express how blessed we feel to have this new one joining our family. Giving Lucy a sibling has been my dream for a long time, and we are just over the moon that we can be a little family of four.

As far as the pregnancy practicalities, I'll be shooting weddings through the end of September and sessions through mid-October and coming back mid-Winter, after the holidays. I'm so excited for all my wonderful clients this year. I have already worked with so many of you, and your joy and happiness has added so much to mine own. When I look at my job, I feel like I get to be at the very beginning of your journey. It's exciting and new and full of promise. Through my struggles to have a family, I have loved your family even more. I love your nieces and nephews, and when you have your own babies, I maybe cry a little bit. Thank you for trusting me to capture the beauty and love that is yours.

12 years, but whose counting?

image by Yan Photo

Twelve years ago today there was a tornado. Twelve years ago today I married the man I loved, and still do. Twelve years ago, I didn't know a whole lot about marriage or life, or love, really. In those twelve years we have seen heartache, and happiness, have been poor, and more poor. Have watched the sunset at Sunset Beach, and eaten Gelato on the Spanish steps. We have worked hard, and played hard, and sometimes fought hard. We have fought for our baby (s) and we have cried over our journey. We have laughed at our stinky dog, and little house, and crazy life. We have striven for jobs that fuel our creativity, and have defied the odds. We've had schooling and been schooled, traveled, and stayed home. We have loved, and laughed, and eaten lots and lots of food. Which has mainly gotten better over the years. I have more wrinkles. You have less, hair? I didn't know, when I stood there crying, as a tornado swept through our outdoor wedding, what our life would hold. And here we are, and it hasn't been perfect. I certainly haven't been perfect. But it has been absolutely wonderful. I could never ask for a better friend, partner, lover, supporter, father to our children, soul mate, than you.

What do you say? Twelve more, and then twelve more, and then twelve more...?