I hope that you had a lovely day.  I know that this day can be tough to face when you are trying to celebrate the moms in your life while feeling like you’re on the outside looking in.  If you’ve followed me for a while, you know I get it.  All I can say is that you have choices in this journey.  There are so many ways for you to become a mom and you’ve got to find your own unique path.  No path will be easy.  Unfortunately, these are the cards you have been dealt.   But there are many routes to get to where you are going.  I just wish that the road didn’t have to be so littered with heartbreak, uncertainty and disappointment.

I had a truly wonderful day.  After over a decade of struggling to become a mother, I have a three-month-old baby boy who has the most kissable cheeks.  He really couldn’t be more loved.

He loves his play mat, where he rolled over for the first time yesterday.

He also gets a kick out of his “business center.”  My sister-in-law named it that because my niece, Button, looked like she was sitting in an office doing her business at her desk when she played in it.

We go for walks in the B.O.B. and he falls asleep every single time.  We did Couch 2 5K together this morning and it felt SO GOOD.

He is not only loved by us and our entire family, but he is truly loved by his birth parents and their parents.  This morning, I got a special poem via text this morning from his biological grandmother who is my aunt.

“With each passing year God knew exactly what he had in store for you.  A beautiful baby boy with kissable cheeks who’s up every three hours wanting to eat.  When he seeks all that attention and love, it was that gift from heaven above.  He is a little angel that flew into your arms with that cute smile and all of his charms!  You are a mother and a great one too.  When God designed Rocky, he did it for you!  Happy Mother’s Day!”

Along with this Mother’s Day text, I got one from Rocky’s other biological grandmother as well.

I also got this from Maya, his birth mom via text.

“Hey new mom!  Happy Mother’s Day!  I hope you have a wonderful day!”

I responded with this.

“Thank YOU, Babymama, for making my dreams come true.  We love you!”

She replied.

“It’s nice to see a smile on your face.  I love you all too!”

I sent out Mother’s Day cards a few days ago that included an update on Rocky and a little thank you to ALL of the important mothers in his life.  In turn, everyone else felt comfortable to let their love flow back to me.

Open adoption can be a beautiful, beautiful thing.

To all moms, moms-in-waiting, birth mothers, birth grandmothers, grandmothers, aunts, teachers, godmothers, and to all of you who make a big impact on the children who are blessed enough to know you, Happy Mother’s Day.

In the wake of the devastation from yet another unsuccessful cycle, I found myself instantaneously full of hope and scared out of my mind.  ”How could this be?  What baby could my mom possibly have for me?  Babies aren’t easy to come by.  Did she secretly hire a surrogate?  Does she know of someone who is considering placing her child for adoption?  Was this baby left abandoned at the hospital where she works and did she call dibs on it?  What baby is she talking about?  I hope that she knows how serious what she is saying truly is.  This better be for real.”  I had only one choice.  Obviously I had to call her immediately.

She told me that my aunt, who she only reconnected with a month prior after almost two decades of losing touch, contacted her because her daughter (my little cousin), *Maya was expecting a baby.  My mom had been telling my aunt  about our struggles to have a baby.  In fact my aunt, who has very deep faith in God, had been praying for me during our last transfer cycle.  Coincidentally (or not) my aunt suspected that Maya was pregnant while I was waiting to find out if my cycle was a success.  As much as she didn’t want to believe it to to be true, her suspicions had been confirmed with a positive home pregnancy test.  Maya, though very young to be experiencing a pregnancy, made what was perhaps the biggest leap of faith in her young life.  Although she had never met me and Michael, she asked her mother if she thought that I might consider being her baby’s mom.  My aunt, through her own tears,  called my mom that same day.

My mom insisted that both families, Maya and my aunt, and the birth father and his mother, discuss this situation ad-nauseum.  She refused to approach me until two conditions were met.  One being that they were all on the same page and ready to move forward with the adoption.  My mom knew that I would be excited about adopting a baby whether I was involved with the pregnancy from that point forward, or whether I got a call well after the baby was born.  There was no need for them to feel pressured into any decision.  She wanted everyone involved to discuss all of their options and be really comfortable with the adoption before bringing me into the discussion.    By all accounts, Maya was well into her second tri-mester and had not yet seen a doctor as she was in denial about the possibility of pregnancy.  She was scared to death.  My mom knew that without a doubt, I would take this baby into my heart as soon as I stepped into this situation.  She was not willing to set me up for another heartbreak.  The second condition was that they waited until my two week wait was up.  My mom didn’t want the added stress of a possible adoption on the horizon to in any way effect my decision to adopt or how I felt about the possible failure or success of my transfer cycle.

My mom gave me my aunt’s phone number.  She told me that my aunt was waiting for my call.  She knew that this was the day that she would be able to finally talk to me about her daughter and the baby she was carrying.   She already knew that my cycle was not a success and she had scheduled Maya’s first prenatal visit for exactly one week later.  She and Maya both wanted me to be at that appointment to hear my baby’s heartbeat for the first time.  They had been praying that we would be open to being this baby’s parents.

It was up to me to make the call.

*All names in this story will be changed in the interest of privacy.

On the day that I wrote this post, I was absolutely broken and defeated.  If I were in rehab, this would have been described as my bottom.  My bottom involved drugs, needles, wine and tears.   I was ready to live a different kind of life, one that didn’t keep beating me down every time I stood up.   I remember driving to the doctor’s office in the morning not knowing what the day would bring.  I was steadily praying that the next time I’d make the drive would be for my repeat beta to confirm a healthy pregnancy, NOT to do a baseline blood draw for my next cycle.  I was feeling in my heart that if this wasn’t it, that I just didn’t think I could do it any longer.

When I got the call from my doctor he started out with his usual, “Is this a good time to talk?”  Of course, I had been staring at my phone all morning making good and sure that I didn’t somehow miss a call. It just so happened that I was at the beauty school getting my hair done to pass the time.  If I was getting good news or bad, my trashy roots didn’t fit into either scenario.  I sure as hell wasn’t going to make him call back.  I needed to hear whatever it was that he needed to say.  The two week wait was coming to a close and I desperately wanted to be put out of my misery.  As I sat at the shampoo bowl, he stated, “I’m sorry.  You’re not pregant.”  I am sure that he said something positive and hopeful to console me right after that but I don’t really remember what it was.  I had to focus with all of my might to not cry.  I hung up to phone with a towel on my head, forcing myself to be void of emotion.  I am sure that the girls were wondering what was wrong, as I was no longer my friendly and humorous self.   I became a robot.  I obeyed when it was time to return to the mirror, declined when asked if I wanted a trim, paid and left without a smile or a tear but sporting a thousand yard stare.  I got into my car, drove out of the parking lot (God forbid anyone see me cry!) and pulled over onto the side of a small residential street.  I then proceeded to lose it.  I sobbed and heaved and snotted until exhaustion.  I was done.  I just couldn’t take any more pain and disappointment.

When I was able to regain my composure, I called Michael and cried the news to him.  I yelled into the phone, “I am sick of this.  I am just so SICK OF THIS!  I HATE THIS!!!  I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!  I JUST WANT A BABY TO LOVE!  IS THAT SO HARD?  CAN SOMEONE JUST HELP ME FIND A BABY TO LOVE?  WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE SO [insert favorite explicative] COMPLICATED?”  He tried to reassure me.  He reminded me that we still had embryos in the freezer.  He promised that he would do whatever it took for me to become a mom.  But mostly, he was helpless.  In that moment, the world was an unfair sonofabitch, and I didn’t want to hear anything to the contrary.  I sent out a group text that said, “Negative.”

I went home and walked my dog.  I cried some more.  I put a positive spin on things for my blog, but in reality, I stayed pissed off.  I hated everyone and everything and there was nothing that anyone could do about it.  Then, after I was all cried out and trying to recover on the sofa, this text came in from my mom.

 I am sure that I only saw the message at 7:24, as I was pissed off at my phone as well (always the bearer of horrible news).  So, I called her. That’s when a huge door came flying open for me and I dove through it without really knowing what the final outcome would be, without thinking twice.

Hello everyone!  I’ve missed you!

I took a temporary leave from here.  It wasn’t easy.  But, for the past few months, it was for the best.  I felt an intense need for privacy to protect all of the parties involved in our adoption.   I’m sure you can understand.

Here is a picture of me and my son.  He is now three months old and he will be known on this blog as Rocky.

I was with him since before he was born.  The circumstances under which I became his mom are nothing short of a miracle.  After he was born, I received a card in the mail that said, “Miracles have a way of being worth the wait.”  I’ve been repeating that quote over and over.  I’ve said it out loud to whoever is listening or might need to hear it.  Sometimes I just think about it in awe.  I am sorry for being cryptic, as it’s not at all my style.  It’s just that I have a lot to share and am so grateful to be finally inviting you back into my journey.  How do I even begin to do justice to this amazing experience?

I suppose I should start at the beginning.

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving filled with the fellowship of family and friends.  Christmas is coming at us like a freight train and I am just as happy about that as ever.  I am a bonafide Christmas nerd.  While I have scaled back on the decorating over the years (Christmas used to throw up all over my house), I just love the season.

We have moved and we are now settled into our new digs and loving it.  Yes, we loved our old city house, but it was time to move.  Honestly, living in a newer home is a lot more convenient (not to mention that the move cut my husband’s commute in half) and, I’m not gonna lie, we don’t really miss our old house at all.  We can now run the dishwasher, both showers, do the laundry AND flush both toilets at the same time (not that we’d ever just do all of that for the hell of it)!  The old place was beautiful and served us well over the years, but it was time to part ways.  It’s all good.  Can you say garage?

I am making the final tweaks to my big fat action research proposal.  I have close to thirty cited sources and it still needs some changes, but there is light at the end of the tunnel.  I will be so glad when this masters degree is finished.  Seriously.  I am not cut out for academia.  I find not one tiny part of this entire research process to be enjoyable.  It is tedious and time consuming and it is a struggle for me to sit and focus on it.  I hate scientific writing. Where’s the section for creativity in the APA manual?  I will stop whining now.  One of my professors has been known to peruse my blog from time to time and I would not want to hurt her feelings because she loves this stuff.  I am doing my best, Doc, I swear!  I WILL do this (under protest)!

Let’s move on to more burning questions.  Today, I will answer what Britney asked.

How in the world do you summon up the courage to stay positive and upbeat in the face of adversity?

Good question, Britney.  I have had my heart broken a hundred times over.  It’s true.  I’ve had the rug swept from under me in more ways than I choose to blog about.  There are family members who read this blog, so let me put this delicately.  There is something to be said about NOT being born into the Cleavers.

Webster defines resilience as, “an ability to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change.”  Now, I don’t know how easy it’s been, but you get better with practice.  Resilience is a skill.  It’s part practice and part personality.  In my own life, it’s also part perspective (how’s that for alliteration?).  I truly believe that happiness is a choice that we must make every single day.  It might be easier for some than it is for others (who are dealing with a chemical imbalance), but truly, we can choose to be happy.  There are going to be times when life really makes us feel wronged, forgotten, and alone.  However, if we can grieve when needed but generally approach life being grateful for what we have instead of focusing on what we don’t have and the wrongs that have been inflicted upon us, we can be happy.

I am grateful for the loving support of my friends and family.  I am grateful for a career that I love.  I am grateful for the food on my plate and the laughter in my heart.  I am grateful for shelter and clean drinking water and safety.  There are many people throughout the world who have none of the above.  Having children does not make one happy. I know plenty of miserable parents.  I am grateful that I can recognize that and be happy about the life the I do have.

 Have you ever considered traditional adoption?

Yes, I have.  I actually started out in the China adoption program before pursuing embryo adoption.  In adoption, there are no guarantees, just like there are no guarantees in any given treatment for infertility.  Traditional adoption is downright scary for someone who has travelled the road that I have.  However, I am open to becoming a mother by any means.  Adoption has never been second best for me and frankly I’d love to enjoy a glass of wine and some sushi while expecting my baby.   I would be thrilled and grateful beyond words to adopt a baby.  I would love and appreciate anyone who was willing to help make that happen and that little baby would have a mama with a heart that was overflowing with love, peace,  and gratitude.

Hi Everyone!  Do you remember me?  I am still here.  I miss you!  It’s one of those times in my life where the expression, “When it rains, it pours,” fits perfectly.  I am feeling overwhelmed, anxious, overworked, excited, and the list goes on.  It’s all good, though.  It’s all good.  Sorry to be so cryptic.  I hate cryptic Facebook status updaters.  Let’s just say that life is insane right now.  M’kay?

I am going to try to jump back into blogging by answering some of your questions.  They are all great and I will answer each of them.  Today, I’ll start with Ashley.

How did you meet your husband and where did you honeymoon?

I met my husband a few days after I graduated from college in May 0f 1997.  I was temping as a receptionist for a small business while I waited for my first teaching job to begin.  One of my duties was to deliver the mail to the employees.  It was my favorite part of the day because Michael was cute and flirtatious and the job was otherwise like watching paint dry.  One day, he asked me if I’ve ever been skydiving and proceeded to tell me how he jumped quite a bit when he was in the Army.  He suggested that I could go with him some time locally and I was intrigued.  The rest is history.  For the record, we’ve not gone skydiving yet.  Nice pick-up line, though.  Well done, sir.  We honeymooned at the world-famous luxury destination, Ocean City, Maryland.

I was cracking up when I saw the above photo, because it really looks like the photo below.  Throw in a huge board walk lined with trashy t-shirt shops, places to get pierced,  and people shoving funnel cake, ice cream, pizza and boardwalk fries into their mouths as far as the eye can see, and you’ll get the picture.

Sorry Shutterstock.  I totally get why you needed to watermark this photo.  It’s priceless.

What can I say?  We were broke and in love.  They got it wrong when they made the show Jersey Shore.  When it comes to sea side resorts, OCMD has got any place in Jersey beat.  Bring it, Snookie.  If OCMD is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.  Nonetheless, it has always had a special place in my heart because this is where we vacationed when I was growing up.  We still frequent its beaches from time to time and it never fails to entertain.  Remind me to tell you about the time Michael and I got kicked out of the jacuzzi at the pool bar of the Hilton.  Classy.

Other than your wedding ring, what is your favorite piece of jewelry?


This is so hard for me to answer because I LOVE my jewelry.  It’s one of the ways I have defined my style.  Lest you think I walk around clanging my chains like Mr. T, I should explain.  My engagement ring is absolutely perfect for me.  It’s an antique setting in platinum filigree in which a perfect mine-cut diamond from the 1920′s is set.  It’s unique and vintage and could not better suit me.  Michael knew what he was doing.  Never mind the fact that he proposed to me in front of my entire family on Christmas day.  But, I wasn’t supposed to describe my engagement ring.  I’m not sorry.

I also have this amazing collection of my great-grandmother’s vintage costume jewelry.  My grandmother, also known as Nan, wears the real stuff, exclusively.  Real gold and real diamonds are some of what makes her sparkle, and who can blame her?  Luckily for me, she didn’t want her mother’s costume jewelry and neither did my aunts.  I’ve raided the jewelry box on several occasions and eventually ended up with most of the loot.  I am so glad that I have it, as I never knew her.  She passed away when I was a baby.  But, I wear her jewels all of the time.  It not only gives any boring old outfit a fun vintage flair, but it makes me feel like she’s smiling down on me, happy that I am getting use out of her treasures.  Here’s a picture of me yesterday at work.  Sometimes I like to wear a couple of the brooches together to to bring a cardigan to life.

I have been wanting to do a post on my vintage costume jewelry for a while, so, thanks for the swift kick in the keister, Ashley.  The jewelry really deserves a post of it’s own.

It’s your last day on death row… what meal do you ask for?

See my Death Row Meal blog post.  Honestly, I don’t know if I could pick just one.  I love food.  Can I get a Death Row buffet?  Let’s start with plenty of wine and bread from Tribeca and a nice cheese plate with some antipasta.  We’ll need an assortment of my favorite homemade pastas with a variety of cream, garlic and butter and tomato sauces.  For dessert?  Maybe some tiramasu and a nice french press.  I’m sorry, what were we talking about?

What is your dream vacation?

This is tough, too.  I would love to go to a cooking school in the south of France and spend my days cooking, eating, drinking wine and taking my big ass to the beach.  I’d also love to visit somewhere remote and exotic (I’m not sure where exactly) where I could scuba dive in water that is crystal clear and deep blue.   I’d sleep in a hammock and explore the waterfalls and laze on the beach.  The locals would serve me the day’s catch and delicious rum drinks.  I would make friends with them and they would never want me to leave.  If I disappear some day, you’ll have an idea of where I might be.  You will know that I’ve made it in life when I live on the ocean.

Thanks for the great questions, Ashley!

Stay tuned for Part II.