distraction

Blake has gotten shy and requested that I not post photos or videos of him before he's approved them. He's also gotten very difficult to get photos or videos of in the first place. Thankfully, I have someone who is not so opinionated to make up for it, and I don't have nearly as many snaps or vids of her at this age as I do of him at this age... just so that you know I am not playing favorites.

Besides, if I were playing favorites, don't you think I'd choose the offspring that wipes their own ass?

 Our little wood sprite, sporting new duds from Grammie (who also gets the photo credit).

 Rob's Tennessee orange hat that is now too small (due to washing, I think, not his head swelling). Vesper loves it and tries to put it on herself, and will wear it willingly for up to a full minute or two.

Some of the Halloween crew. We loaded up on chili and cornbread with our neighbors, then hit the streets. Those boys aren't excited at all.

expansion

I keep meaning to write something here, because goodness knows I'm talking about it ALL THE TIME, but I don't feel like writing something here, because I'm talking about it ALL THE TIME.

In short, our hearts are well following last week's miscarriage. I had suspected the pregnancy's viability for a few weeks, so getting confirmation was hard and disappointing, but not devastating or even shocking. Tuesday was very difficult, as was Wednesday morning, but then... something changed. I don't know if I was simply tired of crying (that doesn't mean I'm DONE crying, just tired of it), if I was ready to move forward with conviction and knowledge, or if God was doing a work in my heart. Probably all three, and more I'm not even aware of. We met with the doctor Wednesday, he wrote us a few prescriptions, and we went home.

So, here's the thing with miscarriage: they are all different. Still upsettingly common, but my experience seems unusual to other women who have shared with me their own losses. I've now had two miscarriages, have had to take drugs both times to force my body to finish what it started, and I have very little pain. Some cramping, yes, but compared to the women who went to the emergency room for the agony that felt like a hot knife in the gut? No. Not me.

Dr. B: Have you ever taken oxycodone?
A: Um... yes? Is that Vicodin?
Dr. B: No, that is HYDROcodone.
A: OH! No. I've never done oxy.

(long pause)

A: That sounded terrible. I have never taken oxycodone.

Turns out I do not NEED to take oxycodone, a fact I learned about twenty minutes too late, as I sat on the couch feeling the worst kind of drunk, with my head in my hands and a bowl next to me. I had to text Rob (who was upstairs at the moment) to come get Vesper after her nap, because not only could I not go pick her up and feel safe to do so, I couldn't even rise to a standing position. The rest of Wednesday was unpleasant, but not as uncomfortable (I took half doses of the oxy after that, and probably could have stuck with ibuprofen). Rob took two days off to help out and treat me gently, and the kids were not even a little bit aware or respectful about what was going on.

We had friends over for dinner all three nights this past weekend, and I wouldn't have done it any other way. It was good for my soul to serve others, and this past week and a half has been a testimony of God's strength in my weakness, because I NEVER have that much company, EVER. On purpose! I'm too lazy! Rob's been working the late shift for the past two nights and eating at the office, so Blake and I have the easiest kinds of dinners that require almost no cooking because we can! But cooking for a bunch of guests? Yes. Sign me up. Taking meals to others in need? Yep, I can do that, too.

I've still been surprised by tears, and I deliberately asked for prayer from our entire church family. I knew that if my fears of miscarriage were confirmed, I would need to talk about it, openly. Not often. Not lots of gory details. But enough so that folks knew what to pray for, why I might need gentleness, and to give others courage to speak up about this otherwise very private suffering. Rob and I had hesitated to go public with our pregnancy, and we did keep it from the internet. But I told damn near everyone face to face, because I was SO EXCITED! I wanted the news from us to be pregnancy and joy FIRST, and if we had other news later, so be it. We weren't going to lead with grief or keep the grief tucked away. I don't operate like that, and if others do, God bless them.

And if God can bless others because I'm an open book about joy AND suffering, then I will let them read. The pain of my past doesn't give me a "get out of suffering free" card, even if I wanted it to (ok, I kind of want it to). The pain of my present isn't all there is. We are hopeful and expectant, anticipating good news and positive pregnancy tests (I LOVE THOSE THINGS and I take more than one because they are FUN!). Our baby Maui and baby October will always be in our hearts, and one day, I'll hold them in my arms.

Until then, I have some pretty amazing people to wrap my arms around today.

it is well with my soul

Though we had hoped to make a joyful announcement of another Bedford joining our family, unfortunately, we've received confirmation that we've lost this wee-est of babies. And the reason I'm telling you all like this is because miscarriage is shockingly common and shockingly quiet... but I have never been quiet about anything. God is ushering us through a season of disappointment, tears, and pain, and we are praying expectantly for hope-filled tomorrows. He has been replacing my "what ifs?" with "even ifs" - "What if this pregnancy isn't viable?" into "Even if this pregnancy isn't viable, God is still good and we trust Him with our lives." Each child is a miraculous gift from God, and we now have two in the arms of Jesus. I am excited to meet them. And once the narcotics wear off, I will be having a glass of wine in their honor. Love to all, and we're so grateful for all the love being lavished upon us.

the not so fertile road, part 3

(Read Part 1)
(Read Part 2)

On the day after Christmas, I was saying goodbye to my folks as they headed back to Billings when I got a text. I opened it to see the picture of a stick on which a friend had peed. It was a positive pregnancy test.

The text was from Hannah.

I screamed. I cried. We had an immediate conference call with the three of us. It was a miracle. Just mind-blowing. The statistics that I haven't shared (to protect Hannah's privacy) made this such a miraculous gift from God. This wasn't one of those "relax, stop trying so hard, and you'll have a baby!" moments. God had moved. Hannah was pregnant.

The emails continued in a flurry, because even though the miraculous had happened, Hannah was experiencing the following in full force:

I'm worrying a lot... remember this email from Addie a long time ago? "Just know that the fear and worry do not stop when you get a positive stick. They actually increase, to the point where you might be fearful of sharing with others because that jinxes your pregnancy and you'll lose it (wrestled with that one). Then you're fearful if you don't feel movement as often as you should." I vacillate between panicking every time I feel a sharp twinge when I cough or sneeze (1 of 14 indicators of an ectopic pregnancy; I have no other symptoms of ectopic, but sharp twinge when I cough) or panicking because I don't feel sick or in pain, which of course means that the embryo has died and that I'm going to miscarry. There's no winning with me!

Hannah had the unenviable task of sharing her happy news with other infertile friends, and her wisdom and compassion for both sides of that aisle grew in admirable ways. She knew how her younger sister had felt, sharing her own pregnancy with a still-trying Hannah.

Missy and I demanded a belly shot.

On September 6, a mere two months ago, Charis Alene entered the world. Charis is a Greek word, meaning "grace," because after three years of infertility, God gracious gave my friends a daughter. She is ridiculously cute.

Just borned.

Ridiculously cute.

And while this "not so fertile road" ends in the most unlikely of results, I know that for many, it's still a painful, lonely road. Perhaps by talking more openly about such things will help it be less isolating, will help keep the fertile from smug answers, will help us grieve and love and walk TOGETHER, because we'll have discovered the enormous truth that we're all on the same road, after all.