To Hope for Bliss~

I survived November 7th. Approaching like a giant tidal wave, my original due date scared the living crap out of me. I kept thinking these last few months, "If I'm at least pregnant again by the time my first due date comes, then it will be at least a bit easier". I don't know why I expected any of this process to be made easier, but I guess I kind of thought that God would buffer the continuous blows along the way. I wasn't asking for it to become easy; there is no way that it could have been, but perhaps without the bitter sting of scraping along the gritty bottom. I felt that if I could at least just live with my head above water for a bit I could SEE the place I would finally be marooned. But as each blow came I was pulled under, swirled around, and left sputtering and gasping for air, relief, peace.


A friend began to pray Psalm 91 for me knowing what was coming my way, asking God to tuck me under His wings and let the storm pass over me, that I would be sheltered, protected, and possibly even comforted. Intensity grew with each day that passed, finally peaking the day my friend delivered her baby due the same time mine was. Weeping into Lee's arms I kept asking, "Why did it have to be this way? Why? Why like this?" And even as I wept for my babies, my disappointment, my absolute brokenness, I knew what God was asking me to do.


Let it go.

No more should've-beens, no more what-ifs, no more whys, AND go to the hospital to visit this brand new baby girl, something that I had already decided months ago that I wasn't going to be able to do. I still don't understand why God keeps asking me to do these really hard things, why I feel like I'm under constant demolition and construction. I understand that suffering produces all these incredible qualities, but was I really that bad to start off with that I required this much character-producing heartache?


A few Sundays ago a drama video played during the service where "God" took a hammer and chisel to this guy to shape and mold, blah blah. All the while this video played and I heard the "tink-tink" of the chisel and I couldn't help but think how inaccurate the drama was. Maybe for that guy it was as simple as "tink-tink" here, and "tink-tink" there with a little "Ooh, ouch that hurts", but nothing about these last several years (this one in particular) has felt anything like a chisel. How about a wrecking ball? Explosives? THAT I'd like to see in a drama.

So as I prepared to go to the hospital I was expecting to be shattered once again. But an interesting thing happened as I made my way to my friend's room........I was okay. I didn't even have to stuff it or pretend; I was actually okay and not once while I was there did I think that I should've been across the hall in my own room. Walking the hall with Jeremiah toward the elevator, a hospital volunteer bent down, greeted him and asked if she could give him a trick-or-treat bag. For some reason being able to share that moment with Jeremiah, where his eyes got huge when he squeaked out a humble, "Sank-ooo!" (thank you), was a sweet time when I wondered if the whole time at the hospital was going to be torturous. I loved that it ended up being a fun, meaningful time for not only me and Jeremiah, but for me and my friend as well.

Holding her baby was healing for me, ending the anticipation of something I thought was going to be excruciating. Not once while I held her did I have to say, "This is not my baby." I had already held a newborn after my loss and I can't tell you why that helped me, but it did. So as I left the hospital I felt undeniable relief. A promising sense considering how I had spent the last several months. I only hoped it would continue through my due date.

And wouldn't you know? It did. Not a sense of bliss, certainly not, but breathing room in the noose I've been wearing. Is it possible that I'm on my way out of "The Great Sadness", like is described in The Shack? Like I mentioned in my last post, I've been at odds with myself in how to approach this season of silence with God. Tempted to escape it all and satisfy whatever I feel like satisfying and then wanting to stick it out to prove myself faithful, desiring to put myself into God's good graces. I just want it to be made right, I want to walk in success- even if it's just for a while. I want this all to mean something beyond the promise of personal growth.

O Lord, come back to us! How long will you delay?
Take pity on your servants!
Satisfy us each morning with your unfailing love,
so we may sing for joy to the end of our lives.
Give us gladness in proportion to our former misery!
Replace the evil years with good.
Let us, your servants, see you work again;
let our children see your glory.

And may the Lord our God show us his approval
and make our efforts successful.
Yes, make our efforts successful! (Psalm 90:13-17)

So I guess I stick it out and wait for God to make it right, for my years of suffering to be replaced with years of bliss (can I be so bold as to hope for bliss?), for the days and days upon days upon years of emotional and spiritual construction to be fruitful, successful and with much-awaited approval from God.

I have a moment of peace right now. It's naptime, freshly baked ginger snap cookies are cooling on the countertop, and pandora.com is soothing me with ballads from the likes of Allison Krauss and Patty Griffin.

This is the only moment of peace I've had so far today. It's been a day full of pain and I'm so very exhausted but I find that my desire to write has finally returned after a several month hiatus. Depleted beyond words I've had nothing to say. Nothing intelligible, anyway, as the tides of continuous grief have swept over and over again. We lost another baby in July and the following two months were consumed with almost insurmountable anger. I do not ever want to experience pain like this again. My faith has been bloodied and I've begun to live in expectation of grief rather than joy. I expect pain rather than blessings and am not sure what to do with that. I'm disappointed that this is what I've become and wonder just exactly what God thinks of me.

But even as I write words come to me, "He remembers that we are dust". So now I'm going to Google that to find the full passage...

Here we go:
The LORD is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.
He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him;
for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust (Psalm 103:8-14).

My prayer lately is that I would be able to experience God's love in a tangible way rather than His seemingly painful sovereignty. I'm still waiting and wondering how much of my own junk is getting in the way. I can see God's love in all the "generic" ways- job, home, health, etc. But is it okay to say that right now I want more? Sometimes I even feel entitled to it, like God has to give in order to make right what went so wrong this year. So here I am, dust, having entitlement issues. THAT, I feel, is my biggest hurdle. When did I start feeling like I deserved anything good? But when has God ever been in the business of treating people as they deserved, whether good or not?

I find myself vascillating between the behavior of the brothers in the parable of the prodigal son. Wanting what I want when I want it, I storm away and pretend that what I'm pursuing is going to replace not only my desire but being in close relationship with the father. Other times I sit in my disappointed entitlement and can't believe why God wouldn't honor my obedience, my years of doing what was "right", my faithfulness. But both are on my terms, aren't they? I know I'm not supposed to be either brother, but what I'm supposed to be is elusive at best.

So I'll eat my fresh cookies, perhaps even make myself another pot of coffee, and continue to pray that God shows me what in the world to do with myself all the while hoping this precious moment of peace will carry me through the rest of the day.

The hand that holds the needle~

Three months have passed since losing the baby and I felt like I was off to a good start, acting as though I had this grieving thing down and could just blast through the process. I have failed miserably at doing that, however, and have spent far too much time than I would've liked in the dark and scary places. I don't know if I'm past it yet, but really hate who I am in it so am eager to move, to breathe without the pressure in my chest, to look up into people's eyes and smile like I mean it. I'm lonely, but don't want anyone around.

It seems that all that was safe and dependable has been lost and I'm fighting the urge to start over completely in an entirely different place. My grief will follow me, that I know, but the things in my life that are like big, sharp, chunky, grains of salt in my wound will not face me every day, tempting me to destroy my relationships, my ability to be involved with anything church-related, and satisfaction with my life as it sits today.

I want the last nine years to have meant something. There are days when I feel like I'm back to square one and all the lessons I learned about waiting patiently for my desire to be fulfilled, loving others who are being blessed while I still wait, being content with the here and now, are not applicable anymore. I know they should have prepared me for this time but I wonder how well I actually, if at all, learned. I'm no longer grieving a desire, but a person who I loved so very much and never got to know. Time, I've decided, and space from all that obligates me, seems to be the only solution. Things I've been involved with over the last few months are slowing down and clearing from my plate and I am not replacing them with anything. Almost like God is saying, "Tiffany...............stop. Stop everything." I'm fighting the urge to reply...."Why? What do YOU want? I don't really want to talk to you right now."

But I sense there are some things that need to be said, some tending-to in the really raw places and as much as I don't want to spend time dissecting my pain I long for the peace that comes afterward. It's like digging around to get that sliver out all the while squirming against the process.

"Hold still so I can get it out."
"Nooo, it hurts!"
"I know it does, sweetheart, but the sooner we get it out the sooner you'll feel better."
And at long last relief comes, trust restored and confirmed in the hand that held the needle. I'm praying God's grace and mercy to cover my life. Praying that I begin to have more good days than bad. Praying that God gives me what I am completely lacking, that I wouldn't be interested in trying to do this alone, that my heart would soften towards Him and what He's obviously doing in my life. Praying for endurance to do this whole waiting thing again, for strength to resist the downward pull into yucky places, for joy to return.


"God wants the combination of his steady, constant calling and warm, personal counsel in Scripture to come to characterize us, keeping us alert for whatever he will do next. Oh! May the God of green hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope!" (Romans 15:4, 13 The Message)

Enter the Silence~

I must be entering some new stage in the grieving process, or just realizing that I've spent the last month in relative silence. Oh, there's been plenty of noise but the silence I'm talking about has more to do with me and God. I don't really know how to talk to Him right now and I'm desperately attempting to cling to the faith I once knew. We are literally surrounded by difficult circumstances that seem almost unbearable and I don't know how to join the bandwagon that says these difficulties are not God's doing. I cannot tell you how many times these last few weeks people have said we've been robbed from and that God's angry about it. Honestly, I don't believe it. The God I believe in is not taken by surprise by anything and certainly does not have things snatched from His hand. Sure it would be easier to believe that God only does good, or what we can see as good, instead of believing that God brings and not just allows grief. And you know what? I'm okay with that. Even if my current circumstances make it harder to see how God could make anything good of this that will make up for the loss.

I've been reading this passage in Lamentations 3 quite a bit lately:


"21 I'll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness, the taste of ashes, the poison I've swallowed. I remember it all—oh, how well I remember— the feeling of hitting the bottom. But there's one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:
22-24 God's loyal love couldn't have run out, his merciful love couldn't have dried up. They're created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I'm sticking with God (I say it over and over). He's all I've got left.
25-27 God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It's a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God. It's a good thing when you're young to stick it out through the hard times.
28-30 When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter the silence. Bow in prayer. Don't ask questions: Wait for hope to appear. Don't run from trouble. Take it full-face. The "worst" is never the worst.
31-33 Why? Because the Master won't ever walk out and fail to return. If he works severely, he also works tenderly. His stockpiles of loyal love are immense. He takes no pleasure in making life hard, in throwing roadblocks in the way;"


So I've got to believe that my relative silence has got to be more about waiting for hope to appear than that God is absent. I cannot believe in a God who makes Himself unavailable to me, so instead I willingly 'enter the silence'.

I started writing this post last weekend and am now just returning to it (Wednesday). Sunday brought the beginning of some much-needed healing for me. As I listened to our pastor pray and thank God for the trial he's facing in his own family I knew it was time to follow suit. I almost couldn't believe that I was thanking God for the miscarriage- not like, 'Thanks God that my child is dead', but, "God you have proven yourself to me time and time again that nothing, absolutely nothing that happens in life is wasted. I hold that to be true right now and believe that this is evidence that you are actively working in my life- however painful the procedure might be. Thank you for this time...."

Ugh, it was not easy to do at all and I almost felt like it was something my mind was doing with the expectation that my heart would fall in line at some point, but when I got home and talked to Lee about what was going on I knew that something had shifted for me.

I don't know where this is going. I still don't entirely know how to talk to God right now, but I know that the bible says that when there are no words the Holy Spirit intercedes on our behalf. At times I feel my spirit groan and even if I can't put words to it or explain exactly what I'm feeling, God knows it thoroughly to the very last breath. I know that it's time for me to start moving forward. So I will take this step, this one beautiful but little bit scary step and wait, wait, wait for hope to appear.

As Deep calls to Deep~

Early Pregnancy Loss.

That's what I watched the doctor scratch onto the lab forms during last Thursday morning's appointment. I lost the baby. I knew already that I lost it- I felt it rip away from my body and watched as it passed. A few sharp pains and my dream was gone.

But as I watched him write those words, I just wanted to scream, "STOP! You can't write that! Write something else!!" Something that wouldn't be such a stark conclusion to the brief weeks of beautiful promise I had been living. But there they were, those black scrawled letters screaming at me while I carried the form down to the lab. My eyes met Lee's and we spoke not a word, but poured our hearts out to each other all the while trying to stay out of the way of the phlebotomist. Could she hear all the words we were crying out to God? She had propped the form up next to her computer and all I could do while she was taking blood from my arm was stare at those three blasted words.

Last Wednesday had been spent cramping and spotting and as the day neared its end I knew something wasn't right. I rocked and rocked all the while praying, "Please, please, please save my baby! With a snap of your fingers, God, all could be well! Please don't take this away from me." But still the cramps came, the spotting never ceased.

In the morning when the baby passed I tended to it as best I could. I needed to hold it, to see it, to solidify in my mind and heart that it was real. I washed the tiny sac and held it in my hands. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm just so sorry I couldn't keep you longer. Go rest with Jesus now. Go rest with Jesus......"

As soon as the ground thaws our baby will be buried by my tulips in the backyard.

"Each bulb placed in the flowerbed had become a prayer- for freedom from the ache of the last several years of infertility, for understanding why I was unable to be whole, without constant pain... and as I dug down into the dark soil I began preparing my heart for change. A memorial, of sorts, was created and at the risk over over signifying and over spiritualizing things I cannot help but look at those flowers as a symbol of God's faithfulness! He took what I used for peace and closure and tripled it to blow me away. To me, it's just another sign of His desire to bless and a reminder of how He did." -May 17, 2008 entry

So here we are again, broken and waiting, trusting God to be who He claims to be when the ache of my loss tells me otherwise. How long and how deep must my sorrow run in this journey? As I cried and prayed myself to sleep last Thursday night that's all I could say. " How long and how deep, God?" In the morning when I woke up the words to Oh the Deep, Deep love of Jesus came over me.

Oh the deep, deep love of Jesus,
Vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!
Rolling as a mighty ocean,
In it's fullness over me!
Underneath me, all around me,
Is the current of thy love.
Leading onward, leading homeward,
to my glorious rest above!
O the deep, deep love of Jesus.
Spread His praise from shore to shore!
How He loveth, ever loveth,
changeth never, nevermore!
How He watches o'er His loved ones,
died to call them all His own.
How for them He intercedeth,
watcheth o'er them from the throne!
O the deep, deep love of Jesus,
love of ev'ry love the best!'
Tis an ocean vast of blessing,
'tis a haven sweet of rest!
O the deep, deep love of Jesus,
'tis a heav'n of heav'ns to me.
And it lifts me up to glory,
for it lifts me up to Thee!

It seemed to me that God was reminding me that however deep my sorrow runs, His love is deeper. I'm really trying hard to see that right now.

We already know all the things people are saying in their attempts to console. What helps is just knowing that people are hurting and praying with us, and hoping for us that God will pour out some much-needed love and bless us again. (Thank you to all of you that have been praying and sending cards, flowers, notes- we really do appreciate you thinking of us...)

I cannot argue with God on this one point- where our child rests is better than being with us, but as a mother I want to hold my child here and now. How grateful I am for the beautiful boy that spends his days seeking my arms, hugs, and kisses! God has used Jeremiah in so many ways to heal my heart and I love that little man more now than ever before. What else can I do but persevere? God has been faithful, He will be again.

Miracle of all miracles.....

By this time in my life I really shouldn't be surprised by anything, but for the first time in 8 1/2 years.........I'm PREGNANT!!

To say that we are surprised is a major understatement, and I've been riding this crazy wave of emotions for the past two weeks since we found out. I looked at three pregnancy tests that all told me the same thing, but still I couldn't wrap my brain around it- I still can't, but I guess that's partly due to the events leading up to the evening of March 2nd.

January was Sanctity of Life month and I was asked to share Jeremiah's story with our church's congregation, so at the end of the month I got up in front and began to share our whole story. How could I just share Jeremiah's story without giving a little background on where we were in life? So what was meant to be 10 minutes turned into 25 and it became evident that God wanted the whole story told. God moved in the congregation that Sunday- I don't even know how to fully explain it, but it was almost like a reverberation. Anyway, suddenly our life and the most sensitive struggle was opened up for all to see but was met with incredible support.

The following week we were approached by a woman who said that while I had been speaking she felt this incredible burden to pray for us and she attempted to find us after the service. We had already left but the burden persisted during the week so when she saw us that next Sunday she knew she had to grab us. A circle of people formed around Lee and me, and prayers for healing in my body, that I would conceive, that we would be encouraged, and hope began to swirl around us. Stunned and curious we left for home. As we got into the truck I looked at Lee and said, "Wow. I have no idea what to do with that....."

"I don't think we're supposed to do anything with it," he said. "I think God was just encouraging us, letting us know that it's still on His mind."

'Okay', I thought, 'I can handle that'. I spent the next several days processing through what occurred on Sunday morning, trying desperately not to work myself into expectations that things were going to happen in a specific time frame. So again there was hope that I would conceive, hope that never really disappeared but was set aside for so long that I didn't know how to cling to hope without facing harsh disappointment month after month after month. I didn't want to do that again. Pray and wait, pray and wait, pray and wait. The story of my life.

The next week brought turmoil that I hadn't seen in over two years; low lows that made anything baby-related extremely painful. I couldn't understand why I was struggling so much. I kept praying all week for God to prepare me for disappointment. One evening as I was praying I realized that at some point over the last several years I stopped asking God for what I really wanted and hoped for. I had been asking for all good things: peace, patience, a joyful attitude towards pregnant women, joy in my life as it is today, etc. But I had stopped asking for God a pregnancy. So I started asking, all the while saying "Okay, God. I'm asking....show me how to do this..."

I came down with a really nasty cold and spent the next week drugged with as much dayquil and sudafed that I could in order to survive the day. As the weekend approached I fully anticipated that I would start my cycle. Lee left town for a few days and I spent the weekend trying to get over my cold and take care of Jeremiah. Each morning I wondered about taking a test, but then feeling silly because I knew as soon as I did things would begin and I would've just wasted the money. I also knew I couldn't take a test while Lee was gone. We made an agreement over 8 years ago that we would always do it together. Monday rolled around and still nothing had started and I began to get frustrated. 'Of course this would be the month that things would be off for me! Why do I have to be late this month of all months?!? Haven't I already been struggling and now this? This is absolute torture!'

That evening I talked with my mom on the phone and I told her that I was late and struggling with it. "Can you take a test yet?" she asked me.

"I could, but I just really don't want to go there."
"Why not? Why not just solve the mystery and have peace of mind? Watch, you're pregnant and have been taking cold medicine all week......"

Agreeing that I would call her once I decided what I was going to do we hung up and I returned to my evening with Lee. We watched The Bachelor and it actually was a really good distraction. I was getting ready for bed when I decided to take some more cold medicine in order to get some good sleep. As I was ripping open the package to the tablets my mom's words came back to me......'Watch, you're pregnant and have been taking cold medicine all week....'

'Fine!' I thought, 'I'll just do away with the wondering so I can get some decent, guilt-free sleep!'
I had one pregnancy test left from when we were in the midst of fertility treatments back in '06. As I grabbed it I noticed that it had an expiration date of June 2008 but I thought- 'Who cares when all I need is a negative result in order to take this medicine?' I didn't even tell Lee what I was doing because I honestly didn't think I needed to involve him in it. Not even 15 seconds passed and TWO LINES appeared on the stick. I freaked out and ran downstairs.

"Lee, you've got to come upstairs right now." That's all I could say- I couldn't even tell him why. The poor guy thought something was wrong with Jeremiah but like I said, I couldn't even speak. I just pointed to the test.

"You've got to be kidding me!!" he said. "Are you kidding me?"
"It might not be real....what if it's not real?" Suddenly I really cared about that stupid expiration date. So we ran downstairs and did the only thing we could think of doing. We Googled it.

"False positive result on expired pregnancy test" To which we got absolutely no clear direction. The only option we had was to take another, NEW, test. Sweet Lee headed out to Walgreen's and came back 20 minutes later with a 4-pack. He ripped open the box and handed me a new test.
"What, now? I don't have anything left!!"

"Girl, if I have to scare the pee out of you I will. You're taking another test! Go!"

Back upstairs I went all the while praying, "God please let me have enough to wet the stick!"
Sure enough I did and immediately put the test on the edge of the tub. I couldn't watch the result appear and pulled the shower curtain closed, hiding the sacred test while it did its thing. No sooner had I pulled the curtain closed that I opened it back up to see, once again, TWO LINES. I bawled and bawled and bawled. "I've got to call my mom!!" Racing downstairs once again I grabbed my phone and dialed my parents' number.

By this time it was about 11 o'clock at night. I woke them up only to speak absolute gibberish to them over the phone. "What, honey?" they kept asking.

"There are TWO LINES!! There are two of them........whahahahahah." Seriously, I'm not even exaggerating. I really made no sense but somehow we were able to rejoice together in what had happened. We spent the next few hours making wake-people-from-the-dead-of-sleep phone calls and finally settled into bed after 1am. Needless to say we didn't really sleep that night and the next morning I took another test for good measure.

I've been walking around the past two weeks in a state of shock. I feel great, have had no morning sickness (yet) and almost feel like I'm pretending. I have the tests in my kitchen still, so that when I have moments of disbelief I just look their way and believe it to be true once again. Toward the end of last week I got a little scare and went in for blood work. My hormone levels were low and I was able to go in on Friday afternoon for an ultrasound. The doctor was unsure if what we saw was the pregnancy sac or just a blood clot and scheduled me for another appointment for this morning. Friday was a very difficult day for me. I knew that God had done a miraculous thing in allowing me to conceive, but I wasn't sure if I trusted Him to complete the process. You'd think I'd have learned that lesson by now, but the pain of disappointment lingers even when the big picture has been revealed. I was terrified that He was giving this to us only to test our faith again by taking it away. I almost lost the joy in being pregnant and couldn't really even think clearly until Saturday. Lee and I had a huge conversation and he challenged me to believe that God blessed completely. A friend quoted Proverbs 10:22 to me and I revisited that over and over again.

"The blessings of the Lord make a man rich and He adds no sorrow with it." The question was whether or not I was going to believe that to be true. Saturday and Sunday were spent in prayer and clinging to the assurance that whatever was coming our way was God's doing. I couldn't attempt to start controlling events that I did not put into motion. God did that, and my part was believing Him, praising Him. Like our pastor preached on Sunday, worry and thanksgiving cannot coexist. Which one was I going to choose?

So this morning as my mom and I sat in the exam room waiting for the doctor I was..... excited. Nervous, but excited. I was going to see my baby. And I did!! What the doctor was concerned with on Friday was resolved today as we saw this tiny thing appear. Suddenly we saw a flicker, like a small little blink. Again and again we saw the heart beating - a most miraculous moment- and my heart was overwhelmed with thanksgiving. I could feel my body relax all the tension that had built these last few days. I know my journey in trusting God to complete what He started has only just begun. This baby will be born shortly after Jeremiah's second birthday. God knew that a desire of ours was to have our children close together- like two years apart, and He answered THAT TOO! How cool is God? Really. So cool.

450 Nights

The other evening as I was putting Jeremiah in his crib for the night the thought crossed my mind of how many times I had done just that very thing. I think the number hovers somewhere around 450. That sounds like a lot, but I've only just blinked and the time has been spent. As I'm sure almost every mother does, I grieved a little bit over the time that has gone by feeling like I didn't get enough of it. I don't think I ever will, though, but I'm determined not to be one of those women that weeps uncontrollably at her son's wedding (you can hold me to that, I promise).

Since my last entry Jeremiah has blossomed into this incredibly animated and somewhat precocious child and I absolutely LOVE it. We spent the latter part of September taking hikes through Fall foliage up the North Shore, and most of October celebrating Jeremiah's first birthday and all his developments. I think one of the most incredible moments of this past year was hearing him call me Mama. I never tire of hearing that- not ever. It's a title I wasn't sure I would ever have, not much less hear coming from my child's lips and I am just so very grateful. I've been a bit addicted to watching this show called The Locator, which is all about reuniting people. I watch, transfixed, as I see person after person with an ache to reconnect with someone, listening to their stories of feeling incomplete or less than loved completely. Jeremiah may decide someday to explore his biological roots- I have to be okay with that- but what I am not okay with is that search ignited by inadequate love on my part. He has been and will continue to be, more than enough for me, above and beyond what I could have imagined, and I pray that is communicated to him every moment of every day.

We hope and pray that God continues to grow our family, and even still hope for at least one pregnancy. I'm processing through how to desire something without feeling guilty for wanting it when I've been given such an incredible gift. Is it ungrateful? I don't think so. Is it normal? I hope so. Does it diminish my love for Jeremiah or the recognition of what God did? Absolutely not. I'm holding it gingerly for the time being, not quite sure what to do with it but to continually trust God's plan like we've been doing for the past 8 1/2 years. God has been faithful, He will be again.

Obviously I have my hands full at the moment, and when I do have those moments of uncertainty, all it takes is one look into those huge brown eyes and it's almost like he's been given to me all over again. What more could I possibly ask for but more and more nights like the 450 I've already had?