This has been a tough week. The baby blues are back. There is no rhyme or reason and even though I know to expect this, I am knocked on my ass every time.

I move through this grief in different stages. I feel bad for different reasons at different times.

As Min man grows I am putting away toys, books and clothes. It has been very hard for me to pack away his baby onesies and jammies. I try to be practical and not keep every little thing because I don’t want to have all this stuff sitting in my attic on the chance that I get pregnant and it’s a boy. Then I decide to keep all the items that can be considered unisex. As I toil over whether navy blue shorts would ever be worn by a girl, I throw them in the “keep” pile.

As I have mentioned before if we decide to adopt internationally again, we would most likely ask for a little girl, but I also know that we would accept any child into our home. We just cannot predict the circumstances of a second adoption.

The dilemma of the unknown. The dilemma of my heart’s desire to have childREN. It is very sad for me to think that the baby books, tiny socks, first toys, and sippy cups will never be used by another child of ours.

At what point will all of these items become hand-me-downs? When will we know if we can afford another adoption? When will we release the notion of a pregnancy? When will I give all of my precious childhood dolls and collectible to my 2 beautiful nieces because I won’t have a daughter to pass them on to? These are tough questions. And, this week I really wish I did not have to ask them.

Practically speaking I have decided that by 38 I will take measures to avoid pregnancy. But then I switch my thinking. Maybe it will not be a tough decision in the future. I know I do not really need to think about this right now. But I do.

I don’t want to seem ungrateful for the amazing gift of my son. It is because of the unimaginable love I have for him that I long to have more children to love to pieces. The picture in my head of 2 or 3 little ones all playing together will not fade. No matter how many times I try to envision a different size family, my mind will not let me. I still think about buying a bigger car so the whole fam can fit comfortably- mom, dad, kids and Lucy.

My personal desire to be a mother of several children is there, probably stronger than ever because of the intense joy I receive from being a mom.

When people say the love you experience for your children is indescribable until it happens to you, they are 100 percent correct. I ask myself if every parent rolls on the ground laughing with their 2 year old. This little boy lights up my life in so many ways. When I am with him I feel young, loved, beautiful, and special. We giggle at bedtime, dance together, sing made-up songs, and revel in each other’s company. I look forward to every day with him.

What a complex predicament I am wrapped up in. The range of emotions is extensive but I choose to feel them all and not beat myself up. I do cry a lot still- birth announcements, newborn clothes, the baby carriers, prego pictures, and on…

Our local paper publishes a Babies of the Year edition. It came out 2 weeks ago. There they are, a hundred beautiful babies. I read all their names, their parents names, their siblings names and an intense sadness came over me. Maybe that is what sparked this latest spell of melancholy.

Who knows.

This too shall pass.

What a monumental victory to gain legitimacy in the eyes of the public, health care providers, and numerous other venues of society.

A great step in the right direction for further support of the indelible condition of infertility.

His little voice and cute face looking up at me with wide eyes are enough to melt my heart.

I am finally getting around to sharing some photos of my travelling days. I studied for a semester in Siena, Italia and during that stay I also visited Greece.

In my senior year of college I studied in Granada, Espana which is located in southern Spain. 3 friends and I decided to make the trek over to Morocco and stay in Tangier for a weekend.
Here are a few photos.

Probably my first and last camel ride.

I thought this little girl captured what it felt like to walk down those ancient streets.

This woman was the essence of life in Tangier.

I miss travelling and experiencing new cultures. I am a language major and have always loved learning about other people’s way of life. My short term goals for travel are Ireland, France, and back to my beloved Italia.

More pictures to come.

BTW- the only reason why I was able to do Show and Tell today was because Min man got my scanner to work!

Will the soul searching ever end? I guess I should say no. If I let myself think I have nothing else to work on in life, then what will I accomplish beyond this? What would I end up like?

I appreciate all of the wonderful comments left on this blog. Readers are cheering me on as I tackle what seems to be an insurmountable task of making a charity successful. I know we are fulfilling one half of our mission statement- emotional assistance and coping, offering guidance and hope. The second half, the financial part, is the bear.

Don’t get me wrong. We are awarding grants in June. They will be at least $1,000. But to how many people and exactly how much I do not know. We are planning our first big fundraiser as many of you know, and I am not ashamed to admit that I am scared.

I am scared it will not be successful enough. We won’t sell enough tickets. It won’t make enough money. I don’t want to let anyone down.

I am taking a big risk by putting my heart on the line. This non-profit and blog are a portrayal of what lives and breathes inside of me.

I never thought I would be someone dedicated to charity work. I guess that’s because when you are involved in a charity or foundation, you do not look at it as work but a necessity. The people who have supported me and helped to get PFM off the ground are noble and wonderful. They believed in the cause first and somewhere along the line they began to believe in me.

I began to believe in me.

I recently posed a very difficult question to myself. Why am I doing this? In the beginning my reasons for starting this non-profit were very clear- to help others in a similar situation avoid some heartache. To help them feel less alone.

My struggle with infertility and becoming a parent have not faded, but it has become more engrained in who I am today. As things remain difficult with growing a national non-profit, unfortunately I am losing a little bit of steam. The fear of not fulfilling what I aim to accomplish has set in. I realize that this fear is what will ultimately keep me going. The support system that I have is amazing, and when I shed tears because I am overwhelmed, there is someone there to help wipe them away. No one could do this alone. However in the end, the sobering fact is that this is about me and my continued desire to write this blog, market PFM, find new and exciting ways to spread the word of our cause, and dedicate a huge part of my life to helping others.

I do not forget, though that helping others helps me. I have become acutely aware that every act of kindness is a reaction. Throughout our difficult journey of ART and infertility there were bright spots. We met certain people that helped put things into perspective. We adopted our son from S. Korea because of a woman we met by chance. We have our son because of a chance meeting! I was forced to reevaluate my life and to learn to make the most of things. Disappointment and pain can breed wonderful things if you open yourself up to the possibilities.

I guess my status is that I’m a little tired. There is a fluttering in my heart all the time because I have many tasks to complete. What I need to come to terms with is that the list will never be complete. Not with the non-profit, motherhood, my marriage, or running a household. I will never have the ceremonial scratching off of the last to-do item. I envision a big, fat shar.pie marker, black ink, the left to right motion. DONE. Who wants a Margarita?

I guess for now I will just take the Margarita. Salt please.

I may be getting used to the idea that I am in the press, on TV, the radio, podcasts, reviews, magazines and on and on. However, the focus on my particular journey is becoming less and less as PFM grows wings. I will now be able to speak about the countless number of people PFM will help. I will be able to share success stories. There will be pictures of families and newborn babies displayed as a testament that PFM is needed. I will continue to educate people on the difficulties of infertility and loss, the necessity of financial and emotional support when someone cannot have the family they desire.

I can try to be a voice.

That is why I am doing this.

(Please consider entering our blog entry contest to help educate others on infertility, adoption, and loss. Rules are on the right. It can be an old or new entry. You also do not need to have a blog to participate.)

It’s that time of the month- ha!

My blog is an extension of the non-profit Parenthood for Me.org. Our mission is to provide financial and emotional support to those building families through adoption or medical intervention.

My super great friend Kym organized a fundraiser for our Family Building Dinner and Silent Auction in April. A huge thanks to her and everyone who donated and participated.

I will proudly display the ALI community table sponsorship in April. Is anyone interested in designing the sign? Also look for the ALI community sponsorship to be posted on our website.

It is not easy running and starting a non-profit. Not only did I have this brilliant idea right before the Great Recession, but it is hard to establish a reputation as a legitimate charity. We have gained so much support in such a short time. It is a testament to the necessity of support when going through the life crisis of infertility and loss.

How do I measure PFM’s success? Well, we have already had so many successes. Two babies have been born to parents who struggle to conceive and were readers and supporters of PFM. Other babies are on the way and we eagerly await their arrival. We raised $11,000 in 2009. Not bad for a tiny, fledgling non profit. We have been mentioned in Adoptive Families Magazine and will be highlighted in Parents Magazine this spring. We created our Artwork for Building Families Project to raise awareness and the endowment. The list goes on.

Our first grants will be awarded in June, and although I cannot specify at this point the number of people who will receive grants, we will be able to offer a some support to people on their journey to building a family. Our goal is to have the ability to offer life changing money to as many recipients as possible.

Please read about our Third Blog Entry Contest on the right. Help us educate others on infertility, adoption, and loss.

Also check out my favorite posts.

On the morning of the big day I woke up knowing that I would never be the same again. After two years of talk I was going to walk the walk- all by my lonesome (as my mother says). I dropped my son off, went to work for a little bit, and then hopped in my car for the ten minute drive to the parlor- tattoo that is. Yup, after many years of boasting that I was glad I had not blemished my body, I was joining in. My husband has 2 tattoos from his younger days. For the longest time I could not understand why people would get a tattoo let alone get several of them. Wasn’t one enough? However, as I struggled with infertility and despaired over becoming a mother, counting loss after loss, I wanted something to mark my triumph of motherhood. I lived in hell for 4 years and I was so proud of my little boy and every day I look at him in awe. Our family story is so special to us, and I began to think about finding an image for a tattoo that would be an inspiration. To justify the action I needed to find just the right picture or symbol celebrating the cosmic way our son came into our lives.

In preparation for our son to come home we had a celebratory party. A baby shower just would not suffice for us because my husband and I had gone through everything together. We had a beautiful black and white cocktail party where my parents house was decorated in black and white adornments, everyone came dressed up, and pictures of Min man were plastered all over the house. My sister-in-law’s sister is a fabulous artist. She designed a black and white stork that was used on the invitations for the party and eventually became a symbol of our adoption journey.

Recently I decided it was time to go for it and get this highly anticipated tattoo. Trying to surprise my husband, I asked a few friends where to go and what to expect. I booked an appointment and had an entire week to think about making the move. When I walked in precisely at 11 am, I felt a little nervous but at ease with my decision. After about ten minutes of waiting I was summoned into the room that was off limits to everyone but those getting “inked.”

I did not know what to expect. Up until this point I had only seen the waiting room and the kind woman taking names. The first thing I saw when I walked in? Several men with sleeved arms and neck tattoos? Of course. More importantly I saw about 20 stuffed animal heads and small full size animals scattered around the room. The first statement I made to the artist was, “If you had any idea how scared I am of stuffed animal heads, you would laugh. The tattoo is nothing to me at this point.”

He chuckled and said, “They’re dead. They’re not going to bother you.”

Ha, ha. I have a true phobia. Even if I do not look at them, I can feel their creepiness and it gives me shivers. As I proceed to speak with the artist about the location of my tattoo, not only do I have to ignore the huge moose behind his right ear but I have to hear that the spot I have chosen is one of the most sensitive there is. I chose the rib cage because I really wanted the tattoo to be private.

We proceeded.

I was the only person in the studio at the time. I lay on my side, caught a glimpse of the stuffed bobcat at my feet and shut my eyes as that infamous sound of the needle sparked my ear drums. I never wanted to back out, I just wanted it over. The tattoo is not very big and it is only black so I knew it would be quick. This is the only thing that got me through the excruciating pain.

In preparation I believed that the pain would more localized to the area of the tattoo. I was so wrong. With the first touch of needle to skin shooting pains went down my legs and into my toes, every nerve was being hit. I did doubt my ability to get through the entire tattoo but then a fleeting thought came to mind. I remembered all of the needles I endured during Assisted Reproductive Technology procedures. I filled up at least 10 sharps containers over 4 years. I had endured the worst kind of needles there are. Areas of my body had been numbed- at times I thought permanently. I have had bruises the size of a cantaloupe. With every new line and stabbing pain inflicted by the creation of my tattoo I remembered the abuse my body took trying to have a baby, having an ectopic pregnancy, and the grief of my situation.
All of a sudden the tattoo was not only a symbol of my lovely son but a tribute to my body and myself for the strength I knew I had. The tattoo hurt like hell but I am glad to be “inked.” I did it for all the right reasons, and when I my husband came home that night and asked me what I did that day, I said, “this” and showed him my armor. His reaction was the best, awe and surprise.

“You really did it!”

“Yes, dear. I did it. Hope you like it.”