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Infertility is a Trauma

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Dear No One,

I have publicly begged and yearned for the day I would be a mother. My journey to motherhood has been nothing short of exhausting. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

I naively thought once I built my family, I’d sigh a big breath of relief and cruise into my dream job as a mother.

Here’s the thing, though. Infertility changed me. Changed me to my core. For the most part I think it made me stronger. It gave me a deeper purpose. But years of ignoring the mental and emotional turmoil of infertility has left incredibly deep scars.

Scars. “a lasting effect of grief, fear, or other emotion left on a person’s character by a traumatic experience.”

Infertility is a trauma. Yet it is kept behind closed doors. You don’t tell people you are struggling to get pregnant. You don’t tell people you miscarried. Why?

Because the pain is too heavy to put on someone who can never understand.

Because when you do talk about it, you get the comments “You’re still so young,” “just relax,” “you just get to have more fun trying.” And these comments, while meant to be helpful, only further your idea that your deep hurt isn’t valid. That you should be enjoying this journey somehow. That it isn’t that big of a deal.

So you hold it in. You carry the weight of your pain and trauma on your shoulders. But that pain is too heavy, friends. It should not be carried alone.

Infertility is a trauma, and it should be dealt with as a trauma.

Recognizing your struggle and finding validation is the first step in taking control of your infertility and mental health.

Your life is lived in cycles that bring the highest joys and hope followed by despair and grief. On repeat. No one is meant to do this alone.

Find support groups. Find other infertility warriors. Find a counselor. Find someone who understands and talk about your pain.

I admittedly didn’t do this. I kept to myself for a long time, and I’m still working through some of the scars that it left behind.

So I am here to tell you that infertility is a trauma. It is serious. It is deep. Your feelings are valid. You are not alone.

Recognize the depth of the journey you are on. Work through it, whether it is privately with a therapist or publicly on social media. It will not be easy. It is a long road.

But you are more than infertility. You are worthy of help. Your relationship deserves it. Your spouse deserves it. Your future or current children deserve it. YOU deserve it.

Your life is bigger than infertility. Deal with it as the trauma it is, find the healing you deserve, and move forward into the life that is waiting for you.

All my love,

Betsy

This Is Me

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Dear No One,

This is me, and I have anxiety.

What do you see when you look at me?

Do you see a woman crying in bed, not able to breathe, shutting down with exhaustion?

I have always led with my emotions. And those emotions can be big and bold.

It wasn’t until I was dating my now husband, that I even figured out that some of those emotions are led by anxiety.

In one of my many moments of feeling anxious, Marcus said, “I think you’re having a panic attack.”

Which I responded with, “No. My chest is just tight.”

Cue the eye roll. “Betsy. That’s anxiety.”

And then a rewind of some standout moments and memories flashed through my mind, and I realized in that moment this wasn’t a new thing.

Yet, after realizing that, I made no changes and continued to wonder why I was having these anxiety attacks and constantly sick and tired.

No, anxiety doesn’t just affect your mind. It can affect anything and everything.

After getting married, I dealt with anxiety about moving to a new state and city where I knew no one. Fun fact: I’m not really a social butterfly. New situations and people are often a source of anxiety for me.

So I’m alone. In a new state. My husband was in residency and working a lot (A LOT)!!!! Then we decided to grow our family. First comes marriage, then comes infertility. Then the journey of adoption and raising our first son. Then moving back to Iowa (after finally making some amazing friends). Then starting IVF. Then pregnancy. Then postpartum anxiety (my anxiety multiplied by a thousand).

That one paragraph of one thing piled on top of another was over six years. Six years of not taking care of myself and my mental health.

This isn’t easy to write or admit because there is still such a huge stigma around mental health. But after multiple, major panic attacks after the birth of our second son, my husband (an obgyn) nudged me ever so gently to start medication.

I feel like I am finally coming out of a fog. An at least six year fog. My entire marriage. My entire time as a mother.

I can see. I can see what my anxiety looks like, what triggers it, and some ways to manage it. And I don’t say heal or conquer my anxiety because it is me.

This is me.

It is a huge part of who I am. My big emotions. My empathy. My emotional intelligence. Those are big, beautiful parts of myself that I’m proud of, but I think they are directly linked to my anxiety.

I share this today because:

1) May is Mental Health Awareness Month

2) Sharing my story may make it easier for another person to get the help they need.

3) And honestly, what don’t I share with you?!?

Mental health disorders are so common. Yet we keep it hidden. I don’t want people to see or judge my unshowered self struggling to find joy in motherhood that I begged for publicly for years.

But if we don’t step forward and share our stories, how will we make any type of advancement?

So, friends, (cue The Greatest Showman) THIS IS ME. I have anxiety. It is not all of me. It is not breaking me. It is just a part of me. And I am only at the beginning of learning to manage it.

And if you have or even think you have a mental illness, please get help. Work to manage it. Whatever that looks like for you.

It is part of you, but it does not have to control you. And as always, you are not alone.

All my love,

Betsy

How To Support Your Friends’ Infertility Journeys (when you’ve never experienced infertility)

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by Megan Boettcher

I am generally a pretty happy-go-lucky kind of gal. I tend to look on the sunny side of things, but when things go wrong I rarely know the right thing to say or do. I am awkward and unsure. So you can only imagine my inability to react well the first time a friend shared the news that she’d had a miscarriage. I offered my condolences, but then I did my best to avoid her. I was about 30 weeks pregnant at the time and felt like a GIANT (literal and figurative) reminder of what she’d just lost.

It was my first pregnancy. And the first time I’d personally crossed paths with someone in the midst of an infertility journey. And frankly, I didn’t know what to do.

Since then, I’ve been well educated. Sometimes I joke about my keen ability to attract friends with unique motherhood stories. My friends have suffered losses. My friends have had multiples. My friends have had egg donors. My friends have adopted. My friends have children with special needs. My friends have had secondary infertility. My friends have gone through many, many rounds of IVF.

These fantastic women have put their heart and bodies through the emotional trenches to build their families, and I’m over here like fertile myrtle who thinks about having a kid and a few months later… here comes baby. I’ve often wondered, and I’m guessing you have too, how can you be supportive of your friends’ infertility journey when you’ve never experienced it yourself? Here are my best tips to be an infertility support person.

  1. There’s No Right Answer

You can’t fix this. There are no words that will make the situation all better. There’s no thoughtful gift that will take away their pain. Your job isn’t to fix it. Your job is be there and listen. Somedays they will feel like talking. Let them share all their worries and fears and anger and frustrations. Don’t fix. Listen.

Somedays they won’t want to talk at all. Bring them coffee and sit with them. Give them a distraction for a moment. Plan a girls’ night out, go to a movie, grab a pedicure together, take a spin class together. They are constantly consumed with thoughts of infertility and the desire to have a family. When they are open to it, a fun distraction can be a helpful way to shine a little light into a rough week.

  1. Respect Their “No Thanks”

Social gatherings can be especially difficult. They’re suddenly bombarded with dozens of people saying things like: “When are YOU gonna have a baby? You just need to relax. Did you hear so-and-so is pregnant?” And even if no one says anything to them, they will be overwhelmed by the sight of pregnant bellies and adorable toddlers running around. It’s too much!  If they RSVP “no,” that’s ok. Don’t guilt them into coming. They know when they need to preserve their mental health by avoiding certain situations. Respect that. And plan something that’s just the two of you for another day.

If you do have your own baby news to share, know that they are 100% elated for you! But every pregnancy announcement just reminds them how hard their journey is to build a family. Take a moment to let them know the news personally so they aren’t surprised by a Facebook announcement. And if they send a gift to your baby shower but don’t attend it’s not because they’re upset with you. They love you and don’t want to spoil your big day by running to the bathroom in tears if the day becomes too emotionally overwhelming.

  1. Take a Back Seat

Even if this person is your very best friend, you aren’t going to be their go-to person for everything in their infertility journey. You just aren’t. They will share an instantaneous connection with others who are walking the path of infertility. {The Sisterhood of Infertility} They speak the same language. They share similar feelings and emotions that you can appreciate, but will never actually experience.

Be their best friend by supporting their new friendships. Thank new friends for supporting and sharing insights with your friend that you can’t provide since you’ve never been through it all. They are better equipped with a strong support system. You are one important part of that system—not the entire thing.

  1. Educate Yourself

Learn the lingo. If your friend is going through IVF treatments, familiarize yourself with the steps so that you know what she means when she says it’s “embryo transfer day.” (FYI, that’s a pretty huge day. You should send flowers!)

But you’ll also learn things like why it’s so important to take injections at a specific time. And why they may insist on doing dinner early so they can be home in time to take the shot in privacy instead of trying to manage it in a restaurant bathroom.

The same is true for adoption. It’s a long, arduous process that is mentally and emotionally exhausting. But there are plenty of ways to be supportive. Help her clean up before a home visit or take her out to celebrate each milestone along the way. Paper work submitted? Celebrate! They are “live” to be matched with an adoption opportunity? Celebrate!

It doesn’t take a lot of effort to learn about the journey. Follow infertility and adoption bloggers through social media and you’ll get a window into their world, and a common vocabulary so you can be a part of the conversation. Through social media you may also read how your friend is feeling but can’t articulate. A lot of the infertility mom blogs discuss their journey in retrospect and are able to name their emotions in a way that your friend, who is going through it all, may not be able to fully process yet. But when you hear from real-people’s experiences you begin to understand the devastation they feel. And that will make you a better support person.

  1. Just Love Them

Infertility is an all-consuming experience that is mentally and physically difficult. Even if they have children, every step of the process is tough. Nothing is ever easy. The best thing you can do is just to be there for them. Check in with them regularly. Be prepared for long tearful conversations as well as one-word text responses. Be whatever they need that day.

And remember, you are friends for a reason. You like hanging out together. You probably share the same silly sense of humor and can quote the same movie lines. It’s ok to have some fun. Be the unexpected delight in their day. Send them funny memes. Surprise them with this hilariously sarcastic coloring book about IVF and a Starbucks gift card. If you’re as awkward as I am, let Emily McDowell’s series of awkward sympathy cards help you find the words you need. You know your friend. Maybe all they need from you is to binge watch Grey’s Anatomy with a bag of Lay’s wavy potato chips and some party dip.

Another Infertility Warrior’s Story

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by Rosie Fitzgerald

3 rounds of IUIs, 5 full rounds of IVF, one frozen transfer, countless shots, seemingly endless tears of heartbreak, but it led to two amazing miracles that have changed my life forever. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

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Infertility. Just the word breaks my heart because I know the struggle, pain and absolute despair infertility causes. My husband and I were anxious to start our family, both of us knew children were in our future, we always talked about having 2 or 3. But as time went by, month after month nothing was happening. We scheduled our first appointment with our infertility doctor, went through all the tests only to determine nothing was wrong, there was no cause for our infertility. Some may think this would be a relief, but if there was a problem we could fix it and hopefully get pregnant. We started fertility treatments. At that time I knew no one (or so I thought) that was struggling to get pregnant or had to go through fertility treatments. No one talked about it, that is part of the reason infertility is so isolating. My husband and I believe in sharing our story, so that others hopefully will not feel so alone.

After 3 failed IUIs and 2 full rounds of IVF, we became pregnant with twins. We were beyond excited and could not wait. Hearing both of those heartbeats will forever be a moment seared into my memory, it was one of the most happiest moments of my life. Unfortunately at 11 weeks, we lost one of our babies. They call it vanishing twin, I was broken. We had heard both of our babies heartbeats on two separate occasions by that time. I felt like I failed my baby. People told me to be happy for the one I had, but that just upset me more. I needed to mourn the loss, but that also made me feel guilty for not just being happy for the baby I did have. But eight months later we gave birth to a healthy boy that amazes me every day. He is loving, spirited, funny and smart all round and an energetic little boy.

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We knew we wanted a sibling for our son, so again started back at fertility treatments. A frozen transfer, and two more full rounds of IVF later, we had one 5 day embryo that had not even developed to the standard stage to be graded. We transferred that underdeveloped embryo but had no hope of it actually developing. That will be the last time I ever underestimate my daughter! We were blown away to get the call telling us we were pregnant. We now have a healthy 4 month old daughter who is full of smiles, coos and absolutely adores her brother.

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Infertility changes you. It takes you on a ride you do not want to be on. You try to have hope, when it feels hopeless. But I would go through it all again for my two IVF miracles. They made every tear, heartbreak, shot, procedure worth every bit of it.

For those battling infertility now, try to keep the hope, lean on your spouse, give yourself some grace as you go through this, let yourself process every feeling. This is such a hard journey to be on, but you are strong and amazing. I hope your miracles come to you soon.

 

A Man’s Perspective on Infertility: Carrying the Burden Together

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by Marcus

People rarely hear about infertility from the perspective of a man. Within the infertility community, all of the support groups, social media, and other forums are dominated by women. There is a reason for this. Men and women are different. Men and women process, grieve, emote, and communicate differently. But this does not imply that the men involved are not struggling in their own way.

I can really only speak for myself here, and my perspective is somewhat unique. I am an OBGYN. In my everyday job I am part of the joys and sorrows of pregnancy and childbearing, including working with couples who are trying to get pregnant. Therefore, fertility is something I think about every single day. But I am not an OBGYN at home. I am just a husband. And I am now a father.

When Betsy and I got married, I had just finished medical school and was about to start a residency in OBGYN. I really knew nothing about infertility other than the science. I was very excited to be married, and I was ready to have kids whenever Betsy decided (this is how things work in my house). I always wanted to be a father. I liked thinking about my future as a tee ball coach, or taking my kids on family vacations. Betsy was a perfect match for me, as I knew from the moment I met her that she would be a fantastic mother. We wanted the same things in life.

When we did start trying to have kids, I have to say, I was not all that surprised when we ran into problems. I had always had this weird thought in the back of my brain that I wouldn’t be able to have kids. Why? I have no idea. Young men shouldn’t have that thought. It didn’t happen right away.  I knew that it can take awhile to get pregnant. “Relax. No big deal. It’s just taking awhile”. That’s what I would tell myself. Then it started to wear on us. Each month was traumatic. Betsy wore her emotions differently than me. I tried to stay strong and optimistic. I tried to support her. I tried. I really tried. I don’t think I did a very good job.

As more time passed I had no clue what to do. I was stressed. How do I support her? How do I be there for her when I have to work all the time (I was in residency…)? How do we maintain our identity as a couple? How do I feel about all this? I had really pushed my own feelings aside, trying to be the light of positivity and strength and completely failed to let myself feel anything at all.

Then we did more testing and got some answers. Suddenly everything exploded for me personally. Now I felt the emotions. My initial thought was that since I could not give Betsy the one thing she has always wanted, she would leave me.  Obviously, this was irrational, and this thought did not last long, but it was a part of my individual struggle. I was done trying to the big, strong man trying to comfort her. I was feeling the emotions right there with her.  It was right around this time that we really started talking to each other again. I think we started to understand each others pain as individuals, which helped us grieve together.  This helped us to heal together. We started growing stronger. Together.

What I learned is that infertility is not one persons problem. Women struggle. Men struggle. That struggle looks different from the outside. But the burden is still carried together. The grief is experienced together. It has to be in order to allow room for healing. Healing individually. Healing as a couple. And you never really heal completely. But it can get easier.

Seasons of Motherhood

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Dear Mamas,

While telling my husband about the joys and difficulties of each day of staying home, my new motto has become, “this is just a season of our life.”

My season right now is filled with days at home. Running with a toddler to the potty. Feeding my four month old a bottle with my chin so I can help my toddler undress and get up on the potty (because toddlers always have to go right when you start feeding the baby. Mine isn’t the only one, right?!) Snuggles. Take out food. Laundry. Amazon Prime. Carrying two kids at once. Peanut butter sandwiches. Yoga pants and messy buns. Crying  (baby, toddler, and mama). ABCs. Cooking. Multiple wakings a night. Coffee. Movies. Playing the same game over and over. Washing bottles. Doctor appointments. Giggles.

Some of the best and hardest days of my life.

Some days I feel so accomplished. The toddler pooped in the potty! The baby slept all night! The laundry is done AND folded. Dinner is made. Bills are paid. Groceries are bought. I showered (no…it doesn’t happen every day). Worked out. Kids ate their veggies. Toddler named all the right colors in his book.

Some days I can barely pull myself out of bed after a rough night with baby. We watch multiple movies. We eat pizza and cookies. The only thing close to my makeup being done is the smeared eyeliner from two days before (one of those accomplished days). I am grumpy and snap at the toddler when he cries for my attention.

My biggest realization lately: I can’t do it all. Moms!! You can’t do it all. Or even if you can, you shouldn’t.

You are human. You are allowed to make mistakes. You are allowed to have a bad day. You do not have to be perfect for your children.

If you feel like you aren’t living up to your own expectations for yourself as a mother, that just means you are setting them so high because you love your children. You LOVE them. Even on the bad days (where let’s be honest) maybe your kids are driving you crazy, you still love them. Unconditionally.

As mothers, we will go through many seasons. From being their only caretaker to sending them off to college, we are all in a tough season.

Because motherhood is hard. It demands your constant attention. Even when the kids are sleeping. Or staying over at a friend’s house for the first time. Or going on a first date. They never leave you. You will always be responsible for them and their hearts. And that is a huge responsibility that can sometimes feel too heavy a burden to carry. But you do it anyway because you love them. And as my mother has informed me, it never goes away.

Our children need us. They always will. They will just need us in different ways.

Honestly, there are days where I can’t wait for the next season, but I also know there will come a day when I am longing for my days at home with my boys. The days where I am the one who offers them the most comfort. The days of carrying both boys because I know that soon enough, they won’t want me to even hold their hands.

In every day, even the bad days, look for something good. Look for something to hold on to in your memory. Something to be thankful for.

Today, in all honesty, wasn’t a great day. My husband is working a 24 hour shift, I’m alone with the boys, and I wasn’t my best. But I made Daxon smile his real, beautiful, authentic smile multiple times today. And I snuggled Pace for an extra nap this evening. I wasn’t my best, but I gave them what I had. Instead of beating myself up for what I didn’t give them, tonight I’ll remember the little moments we did have together. I’ll remember Daxon cheering Pace up by dancing and singing over top of him while I was rushing to make a bottle. Carrying them both down the stairs and Daxon grabbing Pacyn’s hand.

Days are long, but the seasons are short. Take them all in with the good and the bad. Give yourself a break because some days are just hard. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be there for them. Love them.

You may not see it, but you are doing a great job. Whatever you did today, it is enough. You are enough for your children. No matter the season, you are an amazing mother.

All my love,

Betsy

 

 

 

 

 

Where Are You God?

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Dear No One,

I’m going to get a little personal. And vulnerable. Bear with me here folks.

My two boys got baptized today. Daxon is two and Pacyn is three months.

GAH!! They are the cutest, right?! I thought you’d think so.

Anyway, you may wonder why we didn’t baptize Dax earlier and here’s the truth.

One of the biggest things I lost during the worst times of our infertility journey was my faith.

Infertility can strip you of so many things, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I let it control my life for too long. Rather than turn to God, I blamed Him. I drank. I cried. I fought with my husband. The only thing I thought I knew for sure in my life was that I was made to be a mother. And then He was going to keep me from that?!??! “Screw you, God.”

Yea. I know. It’s bad. But that’s where I was.

Fast forward to bringing Dax home in December 2016, and I wanted to sing God’s praises at the Christmas service that year. But as time slipped away, I found myself still questioning everything. When asked about baptism by family, I made excuses. “His adoption isn’t finalized. We’re moving. We just moved and need to get settled.” Etc.

But the truth was I was not ready to stand before God and my family and proclaim to raise my child in His church. That seemed too big of a promise when I wasn’t in a good place with my faith.

Time has continued on, and we have found a church we love. I found a group of women that show me love and grace as I continue to grow in my faith. I still question a lot. I still find myself turning away when things get…too churchy…if that makes sense at all.

But I can’t deny that two little boys became my sons in two miraculously beautiful ways. I know God played a huge part in that. And today, I’m thankful for that love. That after turning my back from the church and my faith, it has welcomed me back…no questions asked.

This isn’t me trying to preach at you. This is me being brutally honest and sharing one of the deepest parts of my heart with you.

And to say to anyone struggling with their faith, no matter why, that it’s okay. It’s okay to not be okay. Its okay to questions things. How would you continue to grow and learn without questioning and pushing for answers? It’s okay to struggle. Just know that you don’t have to struggle alone. Whether you find your strength through friends or family or faith, you do not and should not walk through this life alone.

I know now that I didn’t walk through my darkest days in the best way, and I know it’s easy for me to sit here and speak of what to do now that I have my two blessings. But believe me that just because I have hit this point in my journey, I still have hard days. I still struggle. I still question most things.

Growing our family comes with deep, long discussions. And time. And money. And sometimes feeling as though we are “playing God” when deciding when and how to grow our family. Infertility is still a part of our life. It always will be.

Although I still struggle, I choose to wake up and thank God every day for two of the biggest blessings in my life. And when I forget, my two year old reminds me when he tells me to pray at every meal. I’m choosing today to lean on my faith, lean on my husband, lean on my friends and family as I walk through this crazy life.

I’m not perfect, and I’m guessing you aren’t either but show yourself some patience and grace as you continue to grow. There will be dark days. There will be bright, beautiful days. Choose to love yourself through them all. You’re worth it.

Today I was proud and humbled to see both my boys baptized, and I will do my best to stand by the promises I made to both my boys and God.

What a bright, beautiful day in my life. I thank God not only for this day but for the darkest days that led me to this bright one. And I pray you find the support you need (faith, family, whatever you want) to get through your worst days.

All my love,

Betsy

Adoption Language

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Dear No One,

Let’s talk about adoption language. This is not to criticize anyone who says or has said any of these things to me. It is simply informative, so we can all continue to grow and learn as the modern day families are changing. Believe me, I’m continuing to learn more about adoption every day.

The best thing anyone can do if they feel uncomfortable about what to say is to ask me. I will answer (the best I can) with absolutely no judgment.

First, this may sound like an easy one, but I get it a lot. Marcus is Daxon’s Daddy. I am his Mommy. He also has a birth mom and birth dad, but even they call Marcus and I mom and dad. If you are talking about his “real parents” that is Marcus and me. If you are talking about who he shares genetics with or who carried him for nine months, those are his birth parents.

Why is this important? This is not to spare my feelings. This is for Dax. How confusing would it be to have people asking about your mom but they aren’t talking about me? Or his “real parents?” To him, we are his parents. Just like every kid at school, he lives with and is taken care of by his “real parents.” This does not take away from his birth mom. He is and always will be her son.

In the same respect, Daxon is our son too. He is not our adopted son. He is just as much our son as our biological son. And even though they don’t look alike, they are brothers.

This second thing is what I want to stress the most, though. Daxon was NOT GIVEN UP. He was placed for adoption. His birth mom, stronger and braver and more loving than she knows, CHOSE adoption for her son. Again, what does that say if Daxon hears he was “given up?” And what does that tell a birth mom who may struggle the rest of her life thinking her child thought he was given up because he wasn’t loved?

“Given up” is negative. Placing a child for adoption, although complicated and difficult, is a positive decision. Choosing to parent is also a positive decision. And until that woman or family decides to place a child for adoption, they are simply that parents child. They are not a birth mom or birth dad.

This is hard when you are prospective adoptive parents. You want to instantly think of the child as yours, but they aren’t yours until the parents decide to place them for adoption and they have gone through all the legal processes.

Does all this sound a little confusing and messy? It is. Adoption is difficult and messy and beautiful and challenging.

Why am I writing this post? When I was in the hospital after delivering our second son, I was given a bunch of paperwork to fill out. On the back of the paper, I saw question 26…

First, I cried. Then I got mad.

I put myself in the shoes of a parent considering adoption. The weight I felt in my heart was indescribable. Yet countless women make the most difficult, selfless, decision in the next couple days to place their child for adoption. Hormones raging, babies bonding, recovering from a physically and mentally draining experience.

After delivering Pace, I instantly felt even closer to Daxon’s birth mom. I got to experience the same journey and pain and hormones you experience during pregnancy, labor, and hours after. But I didn’t have the added stress of considering adoption and talking to a social worker and meeting random people that could potentially adopt your child. I just can’t imagine the pain or stress that brings. And then as they are filling out and signing discharge papers, they have to say they are “giving up” the child?

I understand someone slipping up and saying this. I don’t understand it being on paperwork. In the hospital. Filled out by a new mother considering adoption. I. Don’t. Understand.

You may think I’m overreacting. You may think it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but if you are any person within the adoption triad, it is.

If you support adoption, (which why wouldn’t you??) we need to support everyone within the triad. That means the birth parents before they even become birth parents. Let’s not make this decision anymore difficult for them than it already is. Let’s not add to the guilt they may already feel. Let’s show them the love and support they deserve.

In the end, this will only benefit everyone in the adoption triad and all of their relationships.

As I said before, no one expects you to say the right things all the time. Just be conscious that children can hear you. If you don’t know how to say something, ask. If you support adoption, support everyone within it. We are all learning and growing together. The more people that understand the intricate layers of adoption, the more people that can truly relate to and support my son and all children who have been adopted.

Thank you for taking the time to learn and grow with me and my family.

All my love,

Betsy

Happy Birthday Marcus

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Dear No One,

Today is my husband’s birthday. Now I know it is easy to say nice, generic things about people on Instagram that make them look perfect.

The truth is that he is not perfect, but he’s pretty darn close to the perfect man for me and my family. It’s impossible to completely capture someone in writing, but here is my attempt.

He is a gentle giant. 6’6 so he really is a giant to most people. But the gentle part is what I want to focus on here.

We went on a cruise a few years ago with my sister, her husband, and some friends. Marcus got hypnotized one night. They told them all that they were eating at a restaurant, their meal got messed up, and they were as mad as they can be. I leaned over to my sister and said, “Marcus doesn’t get mad. I don’t know what he’s going to do.” Sure enough, he kind of pointed down to his plate and shrugged like he was a little disappointed but understood. When hypnotized and all inhibitions are gone, he still couldn’t get mad.

Even with a fairly controlling, anxious, hormonal wife, he never gets too worked up about anything. He’d rather talk it through and move forward.

He is hardworking. He is an OB/GYN, so just getting through medical school and residency was an incredibly long, challenging road. And now he spends every day caring for women with as much or more empathy than he shows me every day at home (which is a lot). He then comes home and helps me with literally every request I have (with no complaints), cleans the house, cooks if I don’t want to, mows the yard, scoops the snow, fixes everything we broke during the day, and continues to check in on patients. He will call a patient on a Sunday because he knows they are sitting around, anxiously waiting for a result. He will work 28 hours in a row and come home and start cleaning or playing with the boys. His work is never done, at his job and at home. He functions on little to no sleep just to spend more time with us. I think it must be that Iowa farm boy in him that makes him so hardworking.

He is also EXTREMELY gifted at multiple things. One, he is very smart. I mean, he’s a doctor. But he also knows the most random facts because he has a thirst for knowledge.

Two, he is very athletic. He played football in college, and he went to state in high school for every sport he played. Anything we play, I tend to just get frustrated because I will never beat him. Except golf. He refuses to play with me because he knows I might actually beat him at one sport. Everything else, I lose.

Three, he is an amazing musician. He will hear a song, sit down at the piano or with his guitar and be playing it within two minutes. He can harmonize any song, play the piano upside down (see video), play full songs on kid toys, and will learn any song I request. (My favorite is when he plays “River Flows In You” on the piano. I walked down the aisle to it at our wedding.) Now we just need to work on his dance moves. I told you, he’s not perfect.

I could probably keep going, but I’m hoping you are getting the picture. He is a big kid at heart, works extremely hard not only for his family but his patients, loves with everything he has, and is extremely handsome (I had to throw that in there somewhere).

It sounds cheesy, (what about this post hasn’t been cheesy??) but he makes me a better person. He empathizes with me instead of trying to fix me, he pushes me to do anything I want, shows me patience when I don’t deserve it, and lets me nap as often as I want.

He is often overlooked right now. Our life is busy, and my daily focus is on our boys. But Marcus, if you are actually reading this, I see you. I see everything you are doing for me and the boys. I don’t always show it, but I love you for every perfect and not so perfect part of you. Now I’ll throw it back to 2011 and your favorite picture of us.

Happy birthday love.

All my love,

Betsy

2018: Thank You, but Goodbye

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Dear No One,

Happy New Year! I’m not really a person that has a resolution every year. A year is a long time and a lot can happen. Just like my 2018.

We started the year off with a bang. January. IVF. Shots. Meds. Hyperstimulation. Delayed embryo transfer.

February. Patience. Or learning about patience. More meds to prep for frozen embryo transfer.

March. Embryo transfer. First positive pregnancy test. EVER!

April-June. Morning sickness (all day). Some fun trips and summer fun with Dax.

July-October. Overall feeling well. Tired. Swollen. Loved watching my belly grow.

November. Baby born 4 weeks early. The rest is a blur.

December. Figuring out life as a family as four.

2018. Another year of growing our family. I am beyond grateful that we had great success with IVF and we welcomed another baby boy in the same year, but it was a personally challenging year. I would do IVF again to get to Pacyn, but it was hard. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

This was followed by morning sickness where I spent most days on the couch. We watched a lot of Moana. Survival mode.

Honestly, even on my best days, I did not enjoy pregnancy. I’m saying it. I felt so guilty every day feeling that way. I know so many women that would kill to be pregnant. I was one of those women. Like I said, I’m so grateful for the experience, but I did not enjoy it like I thought I would. Pregnancy is hard. It was draining. I felt guilty every day that I couldn’t play with Daxon the way I wanted. And after struggling with fertility, I was constantly in a state of anxiety and fear that something would go wrong.

Then I got preeclampsia and Pacyn came into the world 4 weeks early after a week of feeling miserable, multiple trips to the hospital, and 29 hours from induction to his birth.

We have been working on growing our family since 2014. We are so lucky to have our two boys. But growing our family takes a lot of time, effort, money, emotions, etc.

2018 – You were necessary to become a family of four. I’m grateful to you. You brought me Pacyn. You showed me I am way stronger than I thought. Thank you, but goodbye.

2019 – We are ready to just enjoy our time as a family instead of constantly thinking and working towards “growing” our family. For the first time in five years. I may not have a resolution, but I’m pretty sure we’re going to make this a great one. As a family of four.

All my love,

Betsy