Journey through Motherhood

2010-01-10T13:49:00.000-08:00

Surprises were in store in days to come. More surprises than we ever imagined. When Aaron and Connor were 18 months old we found out we were expecting again. We had sadly lost a pregnancy 8 weeks prior and did not think we would conceive again so quickly. You would think by now we would realize that our days of infertility were over, but I guess I have always been pretty hard headed. My first post twins pregnancy was more than a surprise, it was honestly a stressful idea. I did not want to go through the same kind of pregnancy I had with the twins and I felt like there was no way I could parent four kids. When we lost that pregnancy however, I was sad. It was a sadness that told me I really did want more. When we found out 8 weeks later that we were expecting once again, I was filled with mixture of panic and excitement.

As Scott and I did the math we realized that we would have four children aged four and under. We were nervous to tell people we were expecting for a variety of reasons. One, we had just lost a pregnancy after telling people we were pregnant and didn't want to go through that again. We also had received such negative reactions with our first announcement, we were not ready to hear those comments again. Many people, out of concern for my health, expressed their feelings quite clearly when we told them were were expecting. Most of the comments were, "Are you crazy?" The best one was said by a close friend of ours who is a therapist. His comment? "Wow, that is what brings people into my office."

We knew we had to tell our family first. I was planning a trip to Minnesota to see my parents when I was around 8 weeks or so. I knew it would be better to tell them face to face. I knew my Mom would have reservations. She had been there in the hospital watching my life sit on the brink of death with the birth of the twins. I knew she did not want to go through that again. I was very nervous about telling her. I almost felt like I was 16 years old having to tell my Mom I was pregnant and not married. Here I was, 30 years old and scared to tell my Mom I was going to have my fourth child.

My parents picked me up at the airport and I sat in the back seat the whole way home wondering how I was going to tell them. I knew I couldn't hold it in for too long. I have never been one to keep personal news from my family. Once we got home we ended up standing in my Dad's office for some reason. I knew the news had to break. I looked right at my Mom and told her I had some news. I am not sure how much she understood right away, but her face looked a bit panicked. I smiled the best smile I could muster for the moment and said, "Well it seems like God really wants us to have four kids."

Now normally when children break the news of a new grandchild there are hugs, smiles, maybe even tears. Not this time. As soon as I divulged the news there was an awkward stunned silence in the room. I felt like the air had been suddenly escaped from the room and I desperately needed to gulp some in. After what seemed like an eternity, though was most likely only a matter of seconds, my Mom smiled and said, "Well congratulations. I hope this time it goes well."

I knew my parents would support me no matter what. I knew that they were happy to add another grandchild to the mix. I knew that they would love and adore this child just as all the others. I also knew, though, that they were filled with a sense of anxiousness and maybe slight fear. The wondered not only if my body would be able to carry another baby but whether my mental health would sustain the raising of four kids so close in age. I knew they were right on the money about my physical health. The mental health issue was the one that was unknown and little did I know how much it was going to be tested.

2010-01-10T10:59:00.000-08:00

Life was getting more and more hectic everyday. Scott and I felt like our family was complete with our three boys. We were busy going to the lake, pushing on the swings, singing silly songs and giving countless baths. We felt blessed that we had three more children than we ever thought we would have and even though there were days where my hair was on the fringe of being torn out, I knew that I was blessed beyond measure. We had our challenges: Joel being overly active and impulsive and the twins learning how to work as a team to get into as much mischief as they could. They learned the famous, "distract and destroy" method many twins learn early on. One twin would distract Mom with something while the other climbed on the table, raided the pantry or found toilet paper to be a fun diversion as it clogged the toilet. Yes, life was busy and I ended my days collapsed in bed wondering what surprise the next day would hold.

2009-06-12T14:32:00.001-07:00

There is a part of this story that I didn't share. I felt that it was unnecessary at the time, but after thinking about it, I realize it needs to be told. It is an event that will hold paramount implications in the future of my parenting.

During the first part of my pregnancy, my Mom was dealing with pain in her back and pelvis. She tried all sorts of things to help with the pain to no avail. If any of you know my Mom, she never complained. She kept going on as if she was fine. We made our annual trek to Beaulah Beach to stay in the "refurbished" cottages, where one wonders where the refurbished actually starts and the original cottage ends. I was pretty sick, pregnant with the twins, completely oblivious of the true pain my Mom was suffering. My self absorption is embarrassing to remember.

Upon our return home, Mom continued with her life as usual. We knew she was hurting, but we all assumed she just had injured herself and would soon get better. As time went on, Mom knew that she needed to be seen by a physician and so she made an appointment. I am not sure the ins and outs of the time frame here, Mom and Dad were living in Minnesota and I was stuck in bed in Illinois.

I do vividly remember the day I got the call. I was sitting in bed, once again placed on bed rest. Mom called and I could tell by the sound of her voice that she was not well. For those that know my Mom, she is one of the strongest women I know. She rarely shows emotion and is a stereotypical German stoic. Hearing her voice shaky on the phone alarmed me.

Mom was quick and to the point. She had cancer. Again. The Dr.'s had done an MRI or CT scan, I can't remember, and found that her cancer had returned. Mom had fought and won her first battle with cancer when I was a teenager. It had been 20 years since her first fight. This time, however, the end result was already determined. Unless God intervened with a miracle of physical healing, Mom would not win the fight this time. The cancer was already stage 4 and in the bone.

I remember at the time that I didn't really process the information well. I remember that in my puny mind I assumed that since she beat the odds the first time, she would obviously do so again. I refused to read online what the prognosis was, since Mom had never followed any medical norms to begin with. Mom did fight, for much longer than the doctors believed possible. Mom tried every treatment and lived long enough to see her last grandchild be born, whom we named Joy after her.

Mom fought for 7 years, 5 more than most patients with her cancer live. She lived for her family and showed us that by battling on and on until it was obvious that there was nothing else left to do. Mom and Dad moved to Illinois 2 years before her passing in order to be near family. She passed away on May 14, 2009 with her three girls and her husband near her. It has been so difficult to continue on this journey of motherhood without her here. She was my sounding board, my source of wisdom and my fountain of strength. I am now mothering motherless. This trek through parenting is now much more challenging without my Mom to help me forge ahead.

2009-06-10T15:09:00.001-07:00

I thought I would find some pictures of our life at the time. Life was full of busy days and long nights. The boys kept us on our toes. They seemed to have boundless energy. Joel began going to preschool a few mornings a week and Aaron and Connor were still napping twice a day! On those days I felt like a new woman! It seemed like months would pass before we knew it and suddenly the twins could walk and Joel was riding a tricycle.

2009-06-10T06:27:00.000-07:00

2009-06-09T12:08:00.000-07:00

Days slipped into weeks and then into months. Aaron and Connor were healthy and strong. Their issues with prematurity diminished before our eyes. They kept us up all night, they chugged down formula like some kind of starved ape-like mammal, and kept us in the poorhouse with the amount of diapers they required on a daily basis. That being said, they were still a source of great joy.

Joel struggled with all the changes. Suddenly he was no longer the center of attention. He decided the only way to counteract the lack of attention was to go on the attack. I mean, negative attention is still attention right?. He decided he would do everything he was not allowed to do until someone cared. He drew on the walls, took a dozen eggs and broke them all over the floor, would throw himself on the floor screaming, you know typical stuff. I decided something needed to be done.

I hired a teenage girl to come over and help. She would either watch the twins while I took Joel out or she would take Joel to the park to play. It helped, but Joel still demanded more than I could give. I was starting to feel pulled in so many directions and would collapse on my bed at night frustrated and near tears. This motherhood thing was way over-rated and I was not at all living the sweet life I had planned. It was too hard. I started crying daily, losing my temper and snapping at Scott over every little thing.

After a lot of long conversations with Scott and other close friends, I decided to seek help. I had always felt that I could do it. I believed I was strong enough to withstand whatever came my way. One meeting with the therapist led to a quick diagnosis: post partum depression.

For those that boo-hoo this issue and stand next to Tom Cruise and his drivel, I challenge you to spend a day with a woman with twins, a highly energetic two year old, countless bouts of rotovirus and overactive hormones. Trust me, the issue is real. It certainly was for me. I was in over my head and needed some kind of break, or a nervous breakdown was inevitable. The therapist recommended hiring someone to give me some much needed respite. My parents had always taught me to follow doctor's orders and this was no exception. When Scott realized that the help would ease my constant sour spirit, he was on board.

God brought a wonderful woman into our lives who helped me more than I could ever share here on this blog. She helped me stay sane. She cleaned my house, took care of my kids and just let me leave and sit at Panera for two hours reading a book. My kids called her Nana, but she was more than that. She was an angel sent by God. She helped us celebrate the twins' first birthday, saw their first steps and loved them without reservation. I look back and realize how my life would have collapsed around me if she had not stepped through the door of my disheveled mind. She stayed around for almost two years, until she moved to help her daughter care for her children. Whatever sanity I have left, I owe to her.

2009-06-09T08:18:00.001-07:00

The drive home was surreal. I sat in the back staring at these two little ones who were so tiny they're bodies were secured with rolled up towels so they would be sure to not slide out of their car seats. All I could think of was how now I really was a mother of three. Three boys no less. I woman who had been raised with only sisters, now had to figure out how to mother three boys. I really didn't know if I was up to the task.

As we pulled into the driveway, my stomach was in knots. I had wanted this for so long, and now I had a sense of impending doom. Scott helped me out of the car and took both car seats. As we walked in, my sister had her video camera. I can not stand those things, but I guess these momentous occasions catapult one to freak show status. I gave a half hearted smile to the blinking red light shining in my face, and tried to dodge the paparazzi as I made my way into the living room.

Joel was asleep upstairs, which in and of itself was miraculous, since that child rarely slept. My friend Liz was there, a woman who herself struggled with infertility and whose pain that night was sadly far removed from my mind. I should have known better than to ask her to watch Joel. Why in the world would she want to be there when I brought home two newborn babies? It shows how self absorbed one can become when dealing with stress and I have always felt badly for having such an attitude. (Liz is now the mother of a beautiful little girl name Aliyah)

As we set the twins down on the ground and began to unbuckle their straps, Connor began to wail. Well, for us it seemed like a wail. Little did we know how loud that little one would truly become. I went into the kitchen and made the first of thousands of bottles which would become our daily morning ritual. As I walked back into the living room, my sister was holding Aaron and Liz was holding Connor. I looked at these two new little lives and hoped they would bring me all the joy I envisioned. How tiny and perfect and beautiful they looked, that is until Connor decided to wail again! That was when reality set in.

2006-12-23T10:39:00.000-08:00

We entered the hospital and scrubbed our hands for the last time. The smell of iodine and disenfectant were becoming tiresome and it seemed to stay on my hands for days. As we pushed open the doors to the ISCU, we knew we were ready to end this chapter in our lives. As we walked toward the twins, a nurse approached us and mentioned that one of the car seats did not pass the test. The straps were not adjustable and since the boys were so small, they needed to be supported in their car seats with rolled up towels. The straps were too high on the car seat and we would not be able to take one of the twins home if we did not buy a new one.

It was already late, and we had no idea what would be open. I started crying, thinking we would have to leave one of them behind because nobody thought to call us ahead of time and tell us about the car seat. Scott said he would go to the closest mall and hope something was open. I told him money was not an issue, to buy whatever he could find. As he rushed out the door, tears were streaming down my face.

I walked over to the twins and picked each of them up. I sat on the rocker and held them close. I loved to smell their little heads, which seemd to almost fit in the palm of my hand. They now were back to their birth weight, around 4 pounds each. They had lost a bit of weight the first week, dropping them down to a little over 3 pounds. They were still so tiny.

As I sat there, the nurses started to pack up some of our things. The boys were on a high calorie formula, which was very expensive. The nurses found a case of unopened formula and told us to take it with us. It would last a few days. They also gave us a lot of bottles and nipples, since the boys still needed little ones. The store bottles were still too big for their little mouths. They also gave us preemie diapers, diaper rash cream, preemie pacifiers, and the little hand made quilts that covered their bodies while they lay in their incubators.

It felt like an eternity waiting for Scott to return. I was so scared he would not find a carseat and we would have to leave one of the boys behind. How could I decide who would stay and who would go? It didn't seem right to me that they were created at the same time, spent 7 months inside my womb together, three weeks in the hospital together, just to be separated the day they are discharged to go to their forever home. I was not going to let that happen. I decided to put their "coming home" clothes on their little frames. I had purchased them 4 months prior, in preparation for a dual homecoming. They looked like little clowns, the brightly colored fleece clothes drapped over their tiny bodies.

Scott came in smiling holding a big Graco box. He had found one. A Graco no less, which would also work on our new double stroller. I was thrilled. The nurses looked it over and adjusted the straps. They gently took Aaron out of my arms and placed him in the carseat. He was so small, the car seat seemed to consume him. The nurses than showed us how to take towels and blankets and roll them up so they could keep him snug and stable. They did the same to Connor. Once we had them all snug and warm, we knew it was time to go.

We took pictures, hugged a few nurses and took all the pictures and papers we had taped to their incubators. The nurses checked our wristbands and compared them to the twins and then the moment arrived. One of the nurses took a pair of scissors and cut the wristbands off, smiled and said, "Congratulations, they are all yours." With that, we pushed open the doors and walked away. We were ready to leave that place. We were ready to be done with the roller coaster of emotions, the dinging of the monitors, the constant worry about weight and eating, and the days of seeing other parents in anguish over the impeding loss of their newborn child. It was too hard. The grief seemed to often outweigh the joy and we were ready to begin a new joyous chapter. We were done with grief.

2006-10-27T13:23:00.000-07:00

A very tired Mom! Aaron and Connor are about 6 weeks old

2006-10-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

Mommy and Daddy with Aaron and Connor on December 20th

Joel meets his brother Aaron for the first time

We were slowly getting into a routine. I would stay home with Joel during the day and Scott would go to work. I would call the ISCU in the morning to see how the twins did through out the night. I would call again around 3:00 while Joel was napping, and then Scott would come home. We would eat dinner, get a babysitter, and drive an hour to the hospital to visit with the twins. The days started to blur together, since my recovery was taking a long time and my heart was torn between the needs of my 2 year old son and my inability to care for my newborn twins. It was a difficult time in for me. I felt I had failed as a mother, incapable of carrying my twins to term, and unable to meet my son's emotional needs. I spent many hours crying while Joel napped, not wanting him to see my fear and grief.

Joel seemed to sense a change and we decided it would be a good idea for him to go see his brothers. We had yet to take him to the hospital, since we did not want to expose him to the noise and chaos of the ISCU. His sensory issues made him extremely sensitive to sound, and the ISCU is not a quiet place. There are monitors, nurses and lots of babies. Yet Joel knew I had been pregnant, and couldn't figure out where the babies were. Once the doctors said that Aaron and Connor were well enough to visit in the "family room" we decided to take Joel with us one night for a visit.

It was a sweet moment, one I will never forget. After scrubbing our hands and making Joel washed his longer than we ever have, Scott waited in the family room with Joel. I walked into the ISCU and let the nurse know I wanted to take the twins into the family room for more privacy. We took all the leads off Aaron and Connor, wrapped them tightly in blankets, and wheeled them into the family room. They loved to lay together in the basinett, and since that is not the normal policy of the hospital, we tried to do it as much as we could.

As the nurse re-attached their monitors in the family room, Joel just stared at the boys in awe. He was a bit unsure. Once their monitors were back on, Scott picked up Aaron and sat down. I motioned to Joel to go and meet his new brother. Timidly he walked over and leaned across his Daddy's chest, staring down and his new little brother. He was scared to touch him and asked about the tube in his nose. He then leaned over and gave him a kiss on the forehead. We knew then we were going to be okay.

Aaron and Connor spent a little over three weeks in the Intensive Care Unit. Their primary problem was their inability to suck on a bottle. They could not be released until they were able to take all feedings with a bottle. They would suck for about three minutes, then were so tired they would fall asleep. It took too much work to drink all of it. The bottles were so small and they really only had to drink less than an ounce, but that alone was too much for them.

We were surprised when I made my daily call on December 20th and the nurse told me they were scheduled to go home that day. We had no warning. I was scared because Aaron had an apnea episode the night before. I did not feel they were ready to come home, but we could not afford the $3500/day it was costing to keep them there. Once the doctors okayed their homecoming, insurance stopped paying. We had to bring them home.

We needed to bring in two car seats for a car seat check and hopefully bring them both home if they could tolerate the car seats. Some preemies have trouble breathing for a long time sitting up, and that is a concern with a car seat. The nurses place the preemie in a car seat in the hospital and keep him in there for about an hour. They monitor the child to make sure he can breath without difficulty. We knew the twins would be fine, since they had never had respitory problems. In a rush, I called Scott to tell him the boys were coming home and we had to get things ready. They day was mayhem and my excitement could not be contained. We were finally bringing our little boys home!

2006-09-17T14:27:00.000-07:00

By the time I reached the hospital, I was disoriented. I was not sure what was going on, and all I remember are blurry images of people running around trying to help me. I remember hearing words like, "pack her in ice.. lower her temperature, and emergency c-section." When I felt the ice around my body all I could think of was watching "Little House on the Prairie" when I was a little girl and viewing a young girl being packed in ice, shivering and cold. I did not want to be that girl. To be honest, I do not remember the ice. I did not feel cold. I was so sick I was not aware of what was going on.

I remember my doctor sitting down by my side and telling me we had to take the boys. I was so sick and the babies were concerning them. Their heart rates were erratic and there was concern that they were also getting sick. They needed to be treated, and I needed to get well. They did not think that would happen if I remained pregnant. So at 31.5 weeks, I was wheeled into the operating room to have my baby boys.

Connor James was born first. He came out screaming. Scott said he sounded great, though I could not hear him. I was in and out of consciousness and my mind was cloudy. Aaron Paul came out a minute after Connor. He needed some help breathing and was given some extra oxygen to help him breath. Connor weighed 4.2 pounds and was 17 inches long. Aaron weighed 4.0 pounds and was 17.2 inches long. Scott cut the cord and they were rushed to the Intensive Care Unit.

Once they were delivered and I was closed up, I was transferred to the trauma unit. While there, my blood pressure starting to drop dramatically and my heart rate started racing. I was going into shock. The doctors decided to give me two units of blood and two units of plasma, on top on the heavy antibiotics they were pouring into me. I remember not wanting the blood, but my Mother convinced me it would make me feel better.

While in the trauma center I had some episodes of psychosis, due to the medications. I was not aware of my surroundings or how seriously ill I was. My parents were visibly upset, and I could not quite figure out why. Scott was torn between his ill wife and his tiny sons. It was a difficult time for everyone. Friends came to pray, one of our pastors drove down to lay hands on me. I still did not understand what was going on.

After two days in the trauma unit I was ready to go into a regular room and see my sons. I had yet to see them or hold them. I was feeling better and had a miraculous recovery. The Lord saw fit to heal me and bring me back. Even though the pain of the c-section was worse than I had imagined, I wanted to go see my newborn twins.

I was not prepared to see them. I had never been in a pediatric intensive care unit, and had never seen babies so small. Sure, I had seen them on TV, but nothing prepares one for the reality of such tiny fingers and toes. Compared to many of the other children in the unit, Aaron and Connor looked huge. To me, however, they looked so small.

I never saw Aaron with his c-pap. (oxygen support) By the time I saw him, he was breathing fine on his own. I wanted them to be placed together in an isolette, since I had read that helps them grow. However, that was not normal practice at the hospital. Their isolettes were next to each other, and I would stick my hand in one and hold on to their little fingers. Then I would walk around to the other and do the same. They looked so frail. I was scared to hurt them. All I wanted to do was hold them and bring them home. I knew, however, that they were going to have to stay in the hospital for quite a while. I needed to realize that this was now going to become a home away from home.

Connor James 1 day old

Aaron Paul 1 day old

2006-08-30T12:29:00.000-07:00

I should have been so happy. This was our dream. Not only had God seen fit for us to have a child, He blessed us with two. I should have been beaming. I was wretched.

I had never felt so sick in all my life. That is saying a lot, because God in his divine Providence not only saw fit to give me two babies, He also saw fit to allow me to be born with a variety of extremely rare ailments. I was born a geneticists dream, with a variety of anomalies. Those problems have led me to the hospital on various occasions. I knew my way around IV's, central lines, and countless other procedures. This pregnancy, however, took the cake.

I was also uncomfortable. I had never known my body in a pregnant state and it wasn't pretty. I was huge. Carrying two babies at the same time is just not what we are designed to do. My respect for women that carry higher order multiplies grew overnight, in synch with my ever expanding waistline.

I was in and out of the hospital. I had fluid around my heart, severe chest pain, and my legs were so swollen I looked like a baby elephant. My dear husband went out and bought me a size 10 slipper, I normally wear a size 7, and I still could not get it on my feet. It was awful.

Friends came a prayed with me. One dear friend drove down and gave me a manicure and a pedicure. It was one of the nicest things anyone had done for me in a long time. I did not care that I could not see my toes, I knew they looked pretty. I would take long hot showers and pray the end would come. Little did I know how those prayers were about to be answered.

We knew we were having boys. Scott and I toyed around with names until we realized the only way we would ever agree is by each naming one. We had some veto power, if one of us chose a name like Rufus, for example. I named Aaron Paul and Scott named Connor James. We had a baby shower, filled a closet up with diapers, set up the nursery, and waited for the day we would hold our two tiny little boys in our arms.

Joel was struggling. Life was not easy on our little guy. Scott took every Thursday off to take him to therapy and be with him at home. I was put on bedrest at 21 weeks, which meant I could not care for him anymore. We had great friends that pitched in to help. My sister took him two days a week. Our church family rallied around us and supported us. We do not know how we could have made it through without them.

We tried to explain to Joel that he was going to have two brothers. It seemed a bit odd to him and he wasn't quite sure what to think. We told him Mommy had two babies in her tummy and he was going to be a big brother. He was going to be two and a half when they were born, so I knew I would most likely find myself with a jealous toddler. His poor world was turned upside down, and Mommy wasn't even around to make it all better.

I was in and out of the hospital. My wonderful doctor realized she was not comfortable with my care so she sent me to a high risk practice. I had to go down weekly for ultrasound and visits, if I wasn't already admitted. The day after Halloween the pain in my chest was so severe, I was taken by ambulance all the way to the high risk doctors in their beautiful hospital. I stayed for 3 weeks.

I was back and forth and finally discharged the day before Thanksgiving. I knew something was wrong but the doctors said I could go home. I had a low grade fever and continued to have contractions. They said the contractions were normal with a twin pregnancy and to call if it got worse. We lived about an hour from the hospital, and I knew Scott was getting very tired of the drive. I was also tired of staring at the same four walls day after day, and agreed to go home.

My Mother in Law was visiting from New York when I walked in the door. I felt weak and dizzy. I lay on the couch feeling and watching my swollen belly harden with contractions. I wasn't in any pain, but I felt very sick. Scott told me to go on to bed, I would feel better in the morning. As I walked up the steps, I thought I was going to faint. I held on the handrail and slowly crept up the stairs. As I put my head down I had a strong suspicioun that something was terribly wrong.

At 2:00am I woke up and was feverish. I was burning up and I didn't know what to do. I did not want to disturb Scott, so I made my way downstairs and found a thermometer. I took my temperature, stared and the numbers in disbelief and tried to take it again. Once again the readout was the same. 104.3 I panicked and called my doctors. Things were not looking good.

2006-08-27T18:52:00.000-07:00

Joel was 18 months old. I was sick. I felt uncomfortable and couldn't figure out why. I was exercising almost everyday and was in good shape. My jeans were still getting tight and I felt light headed. I finally decided to take a pregnancy test, even though I was certain it would be negative. It wasn't.

I sat on the toilet staring at this little white stick. There were two blue lines staring back at me. I was in shock. I ran out to the store with Joel in tow and bought two more tests. The answer was the same. I decided then something else was causing a false positive. I called Scott and told him. I reassured him I could not be pregnant, but we needed to find out what was causing this. I then called my doctor, who assured me the test was right but I could come in for some blood work. After all the tests were in, Scott and I sat in the doctor's office waiting for the news. We were anxious, expecting the worst. Suddenly, the door bursts open and my smiling doctor laughs as he shares the good news. We really were having a baby!

Three weeks later I knew I was pregnant. I could not stop vomiting. I had never felt so sick in my life. I would take a sip of water and it would all come up. My Mom came down to help me and realized I needed to go to the hospital. I was so dehydrated I couldn't even think clearly.

After two days on IV fluids, I was hydrated, but I still could not keep anything down. My regular Doctor has a daughter that works for him. She is a feisty petite woman with a heart of gold. She decided to take over my case and become my regular doctor. She ordered an emergency ultrasound to make sure the baby was okay, since my morning sickness was so severe.

They wheeled me down to ultrasound and I wished Scott was with me. He was on his way to the hospital to see me, and did not know the ultrasound had been ordered. As I lay on the table, the technician kept asking me questions. I felt so sick I could barely answer. As she rubbed the paddle around my abdomen the only words I kept hearing were, "Hum, mmmm, wow..." I began to get worried. I finally mustered the strength to ask her if the baby was okay. She smiled and nodded. I then asked the fateful question which God alone must have put in my mind, "There is only one, right?" Her smile grew as she turned the monitor toward me. "No, there's two, hon. Here is baby A and here is baby B." I burst into tears.

As the technician printed off the first pictures of our babies, she asked me if I was surprised. I then told her our story. She was so excited she decided she wanted to wheel me back to my room so she could be there when I told Scott. As she weaved through the hospital corridors, I could not peel my eyes off these little black and white pictures in my hands. They looked like little organisms I studied in biology class. They were our babies.

Scott was waiting in my room. He stood up with a look of concern. He didn't know where they had taken me and wanted to know if I was okay. I smiled and said I was in ultrasound. I then asked him to sit down. I have an aunt with twins, who Scott knows. I looked him in the eye and said, "You know Aunt Connie?" He nodded. Then I handed him the ultrasound. As he stared at the picture his mouth dropped. He was stunned. The technician was clapping and smiling. Scott and I were in shock. We knew everything was about the change, again.

2006-08-18T21:26:00.000-07:00

The entire ride home was surreal. Joel, our new son, waited until he was strapped in his car seat to open his eyes. Danielle had tried all evening to wake him up, but he kept his eyes sealed shut the entire time. As soon as he was alone with us, he popped open his beautiful brown eyes and gazed into mine. I melted and knew right away this child was meant to be. He was meant to be ours.

I sat in the back of our second hand Infiniti, the car I always felt so cool driving, and checked out my son. I looked at his toes, his fingers as they curled around mine, his little dimple on his chin and his amazingly long eyelashes. He was perfect. He was ours.

The next few months went by so fast. The cool Infiniti was replaced with a safer SUV. I stopped working and devoted all my time to my newborn son. Joel was such an easy baby, that life was easy. He rarely fussed and he slept through the night by six weeks of age. He would happily spend time in his swing while I cleaned up the house and did the laundry. Life was wonderful.

Joel was always an active baby. He climbed out of his crib by 8 months. He walked before his first birthday. He had an incredible pain threshold. We always just thought he was a tough little boy, until one day he burned his finger. He was 18 months old and ran up to a hot grill. He placed his finger on it and it turned beet red. Joel didn't even flinch. We knew then there was something wrong.

After different evaluations Joel was diagnosed with Sensory Intergration Dysfunction. We had never heard of such a thing. As a former teacher, I thought I knew about all kinds of dysfunction. This one, however, was new to me. We found out it was new to many people, and often people questioned the validity of such a disorder. We knew we wanted what was best for our son, and began therapy right away.

Joel did well in therapy, and we began to see some changes in his behavior. He became more cautious when he played. He started to sleep under the covers. He let us hug and kiss him more. It was so wonderful to see these little triumphant changes in him. We knew he was getting better. Though we knew there were some things with which he would always struggle, we were seeing some of his idiosyncrasies fade away. We were on the right road.

Through it all Joel was a trooper. He not only had therapy twice a week, but he also had to have tubes put in his ears due to chronic ear infections. Though he never complained about the pain in his ears or the jostling and body brushing in therapy, we knew he was uncomfortable. He handled everything with such strength. We were so proud of him.

After four weeks of therapy, we all received a some shocking news. Joel's life was never going to be the same.

2006-07-30T18:50:00.000-07:00

After finding out I was going to be a Mother, I did the first thing mothers do. I shopped. I stepped out of the car, dried my tears, and walked happily into Old Navy. I had never looked at the children's section, since it had never been an option. I felt like a giddy school girl as I thumbed through the faded jeans and tank tops that looked more like clothes for a twelve year old Brittany Spears wanna-be than a beautiful newborn baby. I bought a green onesie and a pair of jean overalls. I smiled the whole way home.

When I got home, I waited for Scott to walk in the door. I didn't know who to call, since I was still scared the whole deal would fall through. I called my Mom and Dad, who were thrilled. They were very excited about adding a new grandchild to their brood. I called my sister, who is also my best friend. She was excited and wanted to come right over and celebrate. I asked her to wait, we could celebrate when the baby came home. I was still nervous.

When Scott got home, we cried and laughed. We couldn't believe it had finally happened. We were going to have a baby! We were going to be parents and God had given us a perfect, healthy baby boy. We made calls, wrote out lists and went shopping.

It was decided we would meet Danielle at the agency the following night. The baby, named Angel, was currently in a loving home waiting for his forever family. The agency has wonderful volunteer families that take in children and love them as their own until their placement is complete. Danielle hadn't seen Angel since she had placed him in their care 2 weeks prior. The agency brings all the parties together, birthmother, foster parents and adoptive parents. Danielle got their early to spend time with Angel and sign over her parental rights. We arrived, were lead to an office and went through tons of paperwork. We had spent all day trying to come up with a name. We were finally able to write it down. Joel Thomas. "God is Willing"

After filling out the paperwork, we walked down the hallway ready to meet our son. We had never seen him and we had no idea what to expect. We hadn't even seen a picture. We also knew Danielle wanted to be there when we saw him, so we were both nervous. As our caseworker opened the door, we saw him for the first time. Cradled in Danielle's arms was this small and absolutely perfect little boy. He was dressed in a little blue and white sleeper and he had a mop of black hair. He was sleeping peacefully, oblivious of the emotions running wild in the room.

I sat down next to Danielle, giving her the time she needed. We had an open adoption agreement, so she knew she would see him again soon. Yet she was in pain. Though she didn't shed a tear, I could see her loss in her eyes. She knew she would never be Joel's Mom. She was going to miss his first smile, step, jump. She wouldn't be there when he took his first ride on his bike. She wouldn't hold his hand as he walked into Kindergarten for first time. She was giving us these gifts. She was giving part of herself to us. She loved Joel more than anything in the world, and she wanted what was best for him. She was giving him to us. There is nothing more humbling in the world.

When she was ready, she held him out to me. "Here is your baby." She said. Tears welled up in my eyes. "He is beautiful." As I held him in my arms I knew right away that he was born to be my son. My love for him was instantaneous. I handed him over to Scott, who couldn't believe he had a son. He held him gingerly, cradling his head and kissing him on the nose.

After exchanging hugs, gifts and taking countless pictures, it was time to go. Danielle and her mom left with their caseworker, who was then going to spend some time with them at home counseling them and their family. We stood in the middle of the room with our caseworker, wondering what was going to happen next. She looked at us and said, "Is your car parked out front or in the back?" "What? It's time to go?" I asked. That was it. We were done. We had our son. It was time to head home. We were a family. Life was about to get a crazier, busier, and full of life.

2006-07-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

We entered the room wondering how it was all going to pan out. This was the first time we had met a birthmother and we were nervous. We knew that she had given birth to a baby boy 4 weeks prior, and had made the heart-wrenching decision to place him for adoption. She was sixteen years old and was not ready to be a mother. We also knew her family was not supporting her decision, but she had made up her mind.

We sat down on an old brown sofa with our case worker. She had given us fair warning about some of the questions Danielle might have for us. I was so nervous, I thought I was going to throw up. I had no idea what to expect.

Danielle walked in with her mother. I realized then exactly how young she really was. She looked down at the ground and seemed very nervous to be in the same room with us. Her long brown hair was highlighted with tints of red. She was beautiful. Her baggy blue jeans trailed along the floor and her white t-shirt was a bit too tight for her frame. As she turned I noticed she sported a Winnie the Pooh backpack. She looked exactly like the many middle school students that crossed paths with me everyday. I counseled girls like her as they sat by my desk and cried desperate tears, their hearts breaking from a recent break-up. Danielle was no different.

We smiled at each other, said hello and then looked to our caseworkers. Danielle's mother looked uncomfortable, and I realized then that at the age of thirty-six, she was not much older than me. We weren't quite sure where to start, so I just smiled and thanked her for meeting with us. She smiled also and told us how much we looked like our pictures. She liked the profile we had put together.

After about an hour and a half of questions we were done. She asked us about our faith, our parenting, our work, whether we were going to change the baby's name, and our desire for a family. We asked her why she wanted to place her son and what kind of open relationship she was expecting from the adoptive family. We spoke in almost hushed tones, hoping against all odds she would choose us. I have never wanted to be chosen for anything more in my life. I was always the last one picked for dodgeball, I was really praying my luck had finally changed.

When Danielle left the room our caseworker told us that we had to go home and pray about the meeting. We had to decide if we were willing to work with Danielle. Though in our hearts we both knew this was going to be the mother of our son, we were not allowed to call the agency with our decision for twenty-four hours. The agency wanted us to be sure. We already were.

The drive home was exhausting. Scott and I talked and talked about our future. I don't think we ever asked each other if we wanted to work with Danielle, we already knew the answer. We stayed up all night worried that she would not want us. We prayed, pleaded, and begged God to give us this son. I read the story of Hannah in the book of Samuel until I couldn't cry anymore.

The next morning we called our caseworker. I couldn't wait twenty four hours. I told her that if Danielle wanted to place the baby with us, we would be willing to go through with the adoption plan. She said that as soon as she heard, she would call me.

I decided to go shopping, since I knew I had to relieve some stress. What better way to do that than by spending money you don't have on things you don't need. As I was driving down the road my cell phone rang. Thinking it was Scott, I answered quickly. Suddenly, I heard my case worker on the line. "Cristina, what are you doing?" "I'm driving, why?" "I need you to pull over and call me back." In a panic, I pulled into the parking lot of Old Navy and quickly dialed the phone. She answered right away. "Cristina, congratulations. You have a beautiful baby boy." Suddenly, my heart was so filled with emotion I could not speak. The case worker knew. She had done this before. She had been on the other end of silence many times. "Call Scott, " she said, "and call me back when you are ready." I hung up. The flood of feelings that consumed me took over and tears began to stream down my face. I was a mother. I had a son. In my wildest dreams I never expected to hear such news sitting in front of an Old Navy store. From that moment on, nothing in my life has ever been quite the same.

2006-07-22T20:05:00.000-07:00

Scott and I returned from Mexico feeling great. For two very white thirty-somethings we looked pretty good sporting our new tans. We felt refreshed. We felt like a new couple. Boarding the little island hopper plane back to the mainland, we both knew we were heading back to the land of uncertainty and questions. We were not looking forward to what lay ahead.

A new school year began and I was busy setting up my new classroom. Scott got back into the swing of things at work. We ignored the elephant that sat in the middle of our living room floor every night we returned home from work. We figured if we didn't talk about it, it would just go away. That didn't last long.

We knew we had to make some decisions regarding our future. We knew if we wanted to have a family, adoption was the path destined for us. We were nervous we would be rejected again. The door had been slammed in our face once, we were not ready to hear it slam again.

We prayed, talked to other adoptive parents, and of course, surfed the web. We knew we wanted a domestic adoption, since we were not prepared for the paperwork, the travel, and the expense of an international adoption. After a lot of consideration, we decided to we wanted to work with an agency that shared our faith. We knew it was a gamble, working with a small agency. The pool of birthmothers is much smaller, and the wait can be long. Yet we felt that was the way to go.

The first day we stepped foot into the waiting room of our new agency, we knew. Gone were the marble floors, fresh cut flowers and antique furniture. Martha Stewart wouldn't be caught dead in this place. The paneled walls and brown tweed furniture gave the place the aura of a Salvation Army store. The building smelled old. We knew we were home.

We met with the Director of Domestic Adoptions. A tall, white haired man who spent his younger days as a pastor of a church. He was humble, kind, soft-spoken and listened to us as we spoke. We hit it off right away. He told us all about the agency and their policies. We knew we were in the right place. We knew that this was the place where our family would grow.

Our lovely case worker led us through countless hours of counseling. We attended every meeting the agency recommended. We read books, wrote our autobiographies, were fingerprinted and even had to draw out an emergency evacuation plan for our home. The case worker believed Scott's adoption was an asset, not a hinderance. We spent time in prayer with the staff and we knew our child was out there, somewhere, waiting to be born.

We just had to be patient. We were told it could take up to eighteen months. We were prepared to wait as long as God had planned. Everything felt right.Nine months after our initial visit with the Director, we got the call. We made arrangements and hopped in the car to go and visit our new angel, Danielle. She wanted to meet with us and discuss the possibility of becoming parents to her newborn son. This was it. We were ready.

2006-07-22T20:03:00.000-07:00

Scott and I licked our wounds after the infertility fiasco and decided to plunge right into adoption. We knew Scott and his siblings were adopted, so how difficult could it be? I knew someone who worked in a very well-known adoption agency in Chicago and decided to meet with her. After a lengthy conversation, we set up an appointment.

We entered the agency and looked around. It smelled like money. We felt we were in the middle of a spread for Better Homes and Garden. I was expecting Martha Stewart to turn the corner to place a new vase of fresh cut flowers on the antique pedestal table, which sat upon gleaming marble floors. We were definitely out of our element. We are simple people.

We were escorted to an office which once must have been the maids quarters, since it was about the size of my closet. We sat down with a well meaning case worker who asked us some questions. She then proceeded to give us a tour of the agency, including the fully staffed nursery and medical wing. We made a follow-up appointment to see her again in a week.

We met with this case worker over five times. We spent three months working with this agency. We tried to do everything they asked, including classes and book work. However, when we met with our case worker for the sixth time she hit us with a bomb. According to her we were not ready to adopt. Her reason? Scott had never grieved for the loss of his biological parents. He had decided not to search for them, and she felt that was proof that he had never come to terms with his adoption. As an adoptee himself, if would be too difficult to face the reality of having an adopted child.

This was the most ridiculous comment I had ever heard. Scott is one of the most well adjusted men I have ever met. He loves his mother, brother and sister. Sure, he has always been curious about his biological family, but he has never felt the need to grieve for something he never knew. An adoption agency, an organization that should be promoting and encouraging adoption, is denying someone the gift of adoption because they are adopted themselves. So much for encouragement.

We were stunned, hurt, angry, and sad. We could not believe they had denied our application. We were decent, loving, faithful and kind. We had a relationship with God, we were involved in our church, owned our own home, and had pretty decent jobs. (Scott was no longer weather-stripping.) We knew other couples had adopted that were struggling in their marriages, jobs, or parenting. We were denied because Scott was adopted. It was ludicrous.

We decided to take a break from this adoption nightmare and relax in the sun. We took the hard earned money we had ear marked for an adoption and took a trip to paradise. We spent one week in Cozumel, soaking in the sun and drowning our troubles in fruit smoothies. We jumped the waves, took in day trips to ancient ruins, and decided it was time to be romantic again.

2006-07-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

Scott and I decided to follow the doctor's advice and try to have a baby. Everyone else was doing it, how hard could it be? We were surrounded by couples who seemed to be able to breathe on one another and conceive a child. We jumped into the ring thinking it would only take a few months, at most. I happily threw away my birth control, positive it was the reason we had been child-free for over two years.

One year later we were sitting in the infertility waiting room. It was a room that seemed to try to cheer up a whole bunch of miserable women. There were beautiful fresh flowers on the table, oriental rugs on the floor, and damask upholstered furniture. It didn't look like a doctor's office, but rather a day spa for the rich and famous, of which we were neither.

We sat down with our Cuban doctor, and discussed our situation. I kept glancing at Scott who almost had a pained look on his face, one of such profound concentration I was actually impressed. The more I looked at him the more I realized he was desperately trying to understand the doctor who had a heavy Latin accent. Since I worked with the poor uneducated Mexican population, such speech was normal. I hadn't noticed at all. I just kept hearing Scott say, "Can you repeat that?"

The doctor kept asking us how often we were romantic. It was embarrassing. Looking back I realize that in all the time we spent with that office, I never once heard the doctor use the word sex. Obviously, he never struggled with infertility, since romance is certainly not part of the equation. It is sex, that is all it is.

We left the office with scheduled appointments and lab orders. I knew none of them would be fun. Especially for Scott, since most men are squeamish about such things. However, if we wanted kids, this was the way to go. In my heart, I knew this wasn't for us. I did not want to waste my time trying to conceive with a bulb syringe. Scott, however, really wanted a child. A biological child. Though he loves his adoptive family, he has never seen one person who resembles him. He needed that. Since I am a carbon copy of my father, seeing a mini-me was not high on my priority list.

We spent one year with our wonderful Desi Arnez doctor. He was patient and kind. We had a timeline and a line in the sand. We made the decision before we began the infertility rollercoaster that we would only go through it for one year and we would not subject ourselves to invitro-fertilization. We sat in the floral colored waiting room for the first time in January 1998. We were told we needed to try invitro in January 1999. We were done

2006-07-22T19:59:00.000-07:00

Scott and I married in 1994. We were young, too young to be honest. We had our lives all planned out. We had this grand idea that we were going to spend the first four or five years enjoying each other. We were going to backpack around Europe, spend every summer white water rafting, take exotic trips and spend lots of money. Of course, we were going to do this on a teacher's salary and a weather-strippers salary. As I said, we were young.

We also decided we were going to hold off having children for at least four years. We needed to get settled and established. We honestly had so little money, that having children would have been irresponsible, however we just told people we had bigger plans at the moment.

After we married we moved to the great expanse of the west coast, also known as Oregon. We resided in the thriving neighborhood of Salem, with it's five correctional facilities all within the city limits. It was a lovely city. It was there that we grew as a couple; we survived a flood, five moves and one eviction. We stayed two years.

On a whim we decided to move to the Chicago area. I had family here and we knew we were not going to become Oregonians. It wasn't in our blood. A New Yorker and an Argentine didn't stand a chance making it in pot happy Portland, Hippie-land Eugene, or rough and tough Salem. We needed a change. The windy city was calling us and we heeded the call.

After a year in Chicagoland I became ill. I was suffering from a lot of pain in my side and I went to see the doctor. Thinking I had pulled a muscle exercising, I was surprised when he referred me to an ObGyn. I made the appointment the next day with my Dr. Huxtable incarnate, Dr. William Woods.

Four days later I was in the operating room having an ovarian cyst removed. Dr. Huxtable looked at me and smiled. He patted me on the head and with his Southern drawl assured me everything was going to be fine. Ten days later, sitting in his office, he tells me I have stage III endometriosis. If Scott and I were planning on having any children, we needed to start right away.

"You want us to what?" I exclaimed! This was not part of the plan. I was not ready to be a mother. What about the trips to Europe? My wild white water rafting expeditions? I went home to tell Scott the news. It was time for him to be a Dad.

2006-07-22T19:58:00.000-07:00

My journey toward motherhood began at a Hardees. My parents made the decision to move to a one stop light town in the middle of nowhere. The town consisted of a handful of eating establishments, some schools, two gas stations, and a farm equipment rental store. I was quite the oddball, since I was not a native to this bustling metropolis. Not only had I recently lived in New York, but I originally hailed from an unknown land south of the equator.

I decided the best way to fit into this town was to get a job at the local fast food joint. I donned my brown polyester pants and matching beret with pride as I walked down the hill toward my new job. I was free to make some money and make some great friends.

Though I actually enjoyed the job, I realized after the first home football game that it was not the place to work. The cool kids hung out there after games and the nerds provided the greasy fries and watered down soda pop. I did not want to be a nerd. I quit.

I denied ever having worked there and decided to find some cool friends. It was the only way to make it as the strange South American girl with a New York accent. I was lucky enough to catch the eye of one of the best looking boys in my class, co-captain of the football team and all around nice guy. We dated for two years and I never went back to Hardees.

My experience at Hardees made me realize I needed a cool job, with good hours, and decent pay. I found it working at the local daycare center. I always liked kids, and I knew I would never have to work on a Saturday or Friday night. It was a perfect job, and like my relationship with Jason, it lasted two years.

I enjoyed working in the infant room. I liked to cuddle the little ones and feed them bottles. I would rock, burp and soothe their cries. I also witnessed their first smiles, steps, and claps. I realized early on that their parents were missing the best days of their infant’s life. These small children were six weeks old, and were left in the care of strangers for twelve hours a day. I vowed I would never chose my career over my children.

I am now a stay at home Mom. I left my not so lucrative job as a middle school teacher to feed, burp, soothe and smile at my own children. I have four of them. Is every day full of laughter, joy and kisses? No. It is hard. There are days of belching, screaming, spanking and tears. Would I trade it for anything else in the world? Not on your life.