Foster Care

     It dawned on me today, for the first time in a long time, that, once upon a time, blogging was my outlet. I did it consistently, frequently and for many years. It was my coping mechanism, my version of therapy. Writing things out to document that they had, in fact, happened and then moving on. I suppose it says a lot about how we (I) have been doing recently given the fact that I blogged once on here in the entire year of 2017. Even The Sister Stories hasn't seen a blog post from me since October 2016.

To recap, it looks like I left things off ridiculously excited about how 2017 was going to play out and the truth is, we ended up exactly where I thought we would. Honestly, I knew in the summer of 2013 that this is where we were meant to be all along. Before we did the two Race to Parenthoods, before we pursued almost every possible avenue of ART, I knew Foster Care would be our final destination. I also knew back then, it wasn't where WE wanted to end up and we knew, in order to embrace this avenue fully and compassionately, we had to feel we had left no stone unturned.

It feels odd to sum up our almost 5 year journey of getting to this specific week in one measly paragraph. It's like describing your entire high school or college career in the sentence "One day I started classes and then 4 (or 5) years later, I graduated". It's a true statement, right? You knew (hoped?) that when you started, you'd eventually graduate, but that statement, while true, does nothing to acknowledge the lessons learn, the personal growth that occurred, the heartache/heartbreak you undoubtedly endured, the people who shaped your days, the reasons you made certain decisions and how you come out a different person in the end.

We wrapped up 2017 by completing all the requirements to become Foster parents and we waited to get our official letter in the mail.

As it turned out for us, we got our first request to take children the same day our social worker told us she would be mailing out our certificate within the week. The details behind our first two requests are too personal, both to us and the children involved, but let's just say we learned some big, important and hard lessons in about two weeks.

And now for the real reason behind this post. I think I would be missing a major milestone in our life if I didn't document it on this blog. My very first blog post said hopefully the main purpose of this whole blog would be to update you on a baby and by gosh, 8 years and 5 months later, I finally get to do just that.

It's been one week....(cue Bare Naked Ladies song in my head). One week of absolute joy. One week since a little one entered our home for us to love, nurture and protect. One week of all things baby.

A week of firsts. Firsts that I think many people don't think twice about.

Y'all. I had a baby (not a niece or nephew either) in Target. I can't be sure, but according to social media, I think having a baby in Target is some kind of unspoken mom rite of passage. Or maybe it's getting to Target without the baby? Oh whatever. I had a baby in Target. And you know what the baby did? That sweet thing let out the loudest, shrillest scream I have ever heard while I was in the check out line and I'm pretty sure every other mom in the store did a quick duck and cover while I resisted every urge to throw my hands in the air and proudly exclaim "Yep, that one belonged to me!"

A week of groggily walking down the stairs in the middle of the night to make a bottle. Of coming downstairs exhausted just to see a sink full of dirty bottles. I'm not sure I have ever seen a more precious, welcome sight.

And boy did I wear those unknown stains on my shirt at work proudly.

This little child was in our care within two hours of getting our phone call. I was able to 'nest' for about 30 minutes while Britt and the children at her house that day played with and loved on the new-to-us baby.

We could not have gotten through our first week without the outpouring of love and support from our tribe. I can't even begin to thank all of you who have provided us with baby items (used and new), who made us meals or yummy goodies, who stocked us with diapers and formula and clothes. We are eternally grateful for how much you valued and cherished this one along with us. Seriously. You made this week easy.

Most importantly, this week, we learned that we are, without a shadow of a doubt, in the right place. Our hearts are here. We remain confidently committed to loving, nurturing and protecting any child that comes into this home, no matter how long we have them. Our future with this baby is uncertain for sure, but we know our paths were intended to cross and this one was meant to be ours, even if just for a short while.

2017

I'd like to say Happy Anniversary, but this month marks an anniversary that I wish we didn't have. January 2017 officially closes out our 9th year of trying to conceive. 

I re-read the last post I wrote on here back in September and I slammed the door to advanced reproductive technology pretty forcefully.

It's a door I can promise you we will never open again.

Unless we win the lottery and someone says here's some adopted embryos and a surrogate and then we'd be like...well, yeah, duh, we're in. 

But that won't happen, so the door shall remain shut.

4 months after writing that post and we're as confident as ever about that decision.

See, life flows on. Rapidly.

The years pass by.

I'm not telling you anything new.

And Paul and I continue to make the daily decision to spend time in the present and focusing on the future and not dwelling in the past.

We expect life's random sucker punches...it does however suck that they're random. The amount some of those punches knock us off our axis can be quite dramatic, but luckily the punches are very few and very far between these days.  We've developed a thick skin in response to this whole infertility thing.

I am still puzzled by the amount of people who've yet to grasp that we can not only be okay with our reality, but actually embracing it and enjoying it.

I can't reiterate enough how freeing it is to not be focusing on the how's & when's & finances of using ART.

We've got some big plans for 2017.

I'm so excited for the year, y'all, I can hardly stand it.

So cheers to the new year.
Cheers to putting our 9 years of ART adventures into a box and sticking it on the top shelf in the closet and (kind of) forgetting about it.
Cheers to new adventures.

And most importantly, cheers to our next ten years of marriage.
The best is yet to be.

The hardest part

Since the very beginning of our infertility journey, we've been warned that the hardest part of all of it is knowing when to stop...or in every day terms...when to call it quits.

But that statement, that thought, is so far off basis in our world and I'd like to shed some light on what many couples (or at the very least-us) think in regards to 'calling it quits'.

For us, this is admittedly one of the easiest decisions we've ever made. 

The actual hardest part is conveying to the outside world the why's and the how's behind our decision.

Which is, undoubtedly, one of the worst parts of infertility...feeling like you owe the outside world some grand explanation.

Because sometimes, just sometimes, you think that if you can explain it to the outside world, you can somehow better understand it yourself. 

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In every phase of our family planning, we have always, always been at peace with whatever we were trying in that moment. It doesn't mean we didn't think parts of what we have had to go through have been fair, it doesn't mean we liked always having to figure out another avenue to pursue, and it certainly doesn't mean any of it was easy, it just simply means once we arrived at our decision for the next step-we were comfortable with it and always all in. 

But when we were on the hunt for the next direction to go, the what ifs, the financial burdens, the questions for how to accomplish the next step were always weighing heavily on our shoulders.

So this decision, the decision to close the chapter of using Advanced Reproductive Technology, is incredibly freeing.  

Hear me loud and clear, we are not calling it quits.

We are choosing joy.

We are choosing financial stability.

We are choosing to focus on all the other areas in our life that are so richly full instead of wasting another second on the one thing that hasn't gone according to our plan.

Y'all, there are hundreds of ways to arrive at a destination. We have just simply said no more ART. 

Those closest to us know our next move. 

They know what's been tumbling around in our hearts for awhile.

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It's hard to write this blog post without feeling like I'm trying to sum up our infertility journey in one package because no matter how hard I try, I could never put it all in one box and wrap it up with a pretty little ribbon. It's too messy. Infertility has changed us and molded us in a way we never expected. 

Being open with our story happened more because of The Race to Parenthood than a true need to share publicly what we were going through.  I can't stand nosy people and here I've been writing a public blog for almost six years now, providing the ultimate wide open avenue for every nosy person out there.  But then I think if reading my blog helps just one person to stop and think before they say something ludicrous to someone who's hurting privately and deeply...then read away all you nosy nellie's ;) 

I have often pondered what could possibly be the purpose behind our infertility story. What's the greater meaning? Why were we chosen to go through this ordeal?  Which are all just a more adult version of the 'why me' childish tantrum I'd like to have every now and then. 

I do know that we feel honored God had more faith in our marriage than we did in the beginning. To have a marriage not only survive infertility, but actually end up thriving because of it is a blessing not lost on us. 

Perhaps it was to renew a faith in each of us we didn't know was missing.

Perhaps it was to share our story so others wouldn't feel alone.

Perhaps it was to share our story so people would become a little more compassionate towards this subject. 

Maybe it's our fast approaching 10th Anniversary that has me in such a reflective mood.

We fought for every one of those years. 

But, when I really stop to think about it, saying goodbye to everything from the first 10 years, just leaves me really, really excited for what's to come in the next 10 years.

All in

     If you've followed along on our infertility journey for awhile chances are you've heard me say 'we're either all in or all out.' Any infertility story is written in a series of hurry ups and waits. Hurry on to the next step, wait for the diagnosis, the blood work, the results, the ultrasound….then hurry on to the next step when that one didn't work.  Paul and I have gotten so used to things not working out, that we're constantly thinking about our next move, be it in the form of family planning or trip planning. We always need something on the horizon to keep us moving forward.

     This summer has been just a little different though. We're in this odd space of half in and half out. Surrogacy with adopted embryos is our final stop on our infertility roller coaster. And if the roller coaster was a real ride, the ride attendant would be yelling at us to please stay seated and keep our arms and legs inside the moving vehicle because half of us just wants the ride to be over already. We have our eyes so trained on the next piece of our plan that we need to remind ourselves to slow down and give thanks in this particular season…the summer of 2016. The summer where our air conditioning went kaput and we engaged in a six week war with the home warranty company to have them fix it (no we still don't have A/C). The summer where three of our dogs became violently ill and required unexpected trips to the vet with days of their humans cleaning up from their accidents and which required a small fortune to be spent on our fourth dog during his week long battle with pancreatitis and luxury stay in an animal hospital for four days. The summer where our first attempt at surrogacy with two adopted embryos ended up in yet another chemical pregnancy. The summer where we used our very last adopted embryo and began mentally closing this chapter without even realizing it.

     But the summer isn't over yet and luckily, I don't stamp any part of any year with a negative label. Because this was also the first summer of living within walking distance to our niece and nephew, with impromptu cook outs and ice cream eating and porch sitting. It was the first summer of watching all the new plants bloom at a new house (and all the weeds I've managed to let grow). And, it's the summer of our very last two week wait…ever. That is enough to make me jump for joy despite whatever the outcome may be.

     It was so weird sitting in the clinic this past Friday knowing I would never, ever be back (unless I miraculously win the lottery).  There's a strong possibility that was also the last time I'll ever see my fertility doctor again, too. Which is just weird to think. They're a huge part of your life and then it's just over. Luckily, my doctor is just as quiet as I tend to be in awkward situations and perfectly responded with a "Well, I hope to see you again" when I made mention to the fact that I might never see him again (pending blood work results).

     And that takes us to this moment. This moment of our last time of waiting for pregnancy results. This moment of being in perfectly imperfect balance, with one foot still firmly planted in our infertility journey and the other foot tapping its toes impatiently on the 'rest of our life' platform.

     Sometimes we like to surprise people with the results of one of our family growing steps other times, we take you along for the ride. Last month, we let everyone know after the fact about our chemical pregnancy and 1st failed attempt at surrogacy with adopted embryos.  This time, we're asking you to join us on our final ride. We ask you to pray with us and for us and hope along side us as we wait to see how this final chapter of our infertility journey is written. We are so grateful to have had this surrogacy opportunity from my sister and to the biological parents who gave us the gift of possibility and hope by letting us adopt their embryos. There is always much to be thankful for indeed.

Our Roller Coaster

Last week my sister and I made a very public announcement over at The Sister Stories regarding her being our surrogate. Before this very heavy topic fades away into the background again, I wanted to take a moment to dive into the situation a whole lot deeper. 

So, let's start at the very beginning shall we?

It's a very good place to start.

When our infertility roller coaster first began all the way back in 2008, I knew we'd be one of the lucky couples. The couples who kind of have to struggle, but not really. I had faith our answers would come quickly. Looking back, I'm sure it was the 24 year old naivety, but that same faith has served me well over the past almost 9 years. 

I vividly remember laying in my bed, in the darkness late at night, searching for infertility bloggers and following as many as I could. I joined chatrooms and even met a fellow blogger for coffee. I read til my eyes couldn't see straight anymore. I absorbed every lesson I could. 

Those blogs I followed have pretty much gone silent.
In fact, all but one haven't had a post in over five years.

Yet, here I am still blogging about the same issue. 

For this gal who operates on facts and logic, it can be a hard road to navigate. 

It's tough to put into words and then to convey into feelings, what my brain has already logically processed and my heart understands so matter-of-factly.

But let me try.

To all those people who are starting out on this journey…my heart hurts for you. It hurts for the relationships & friendships you will undoubtedly lose. It hurts for the family members who just won't understand who will therefore say unkind things. It hurts for the heavy decisions that you will have to face. It hurts for your bank account and your savings and the financial burden infertility brings with it. It hurts for the shattered dreams and this ugly path you will have to navigate. It hurts for the self-doubt and questioning that will creep into your way of thinking.  It hurts for the way this thing called infertility will taint the rest of your life in the ways you will least expect. 

But it also leaps with joy for you. For the relationships and friendships you will undoubtedly gain. For the family members who will be there to support you no matter what. For the appreciation you will gain for all of life's trivial decisions. For the way in which penny pinching will bring about a certain awareness of all the free pleasures in this life…the sound of a thunderstorm, the rainbow after a storm, the smell of autumn, the sight of falling snow, the sound of the waves and the birds chirping. It leaps with joy for you for the discovery of the path that was destined for you and all the growth and enlightenment that will occur on a journey you never considered. It leaps with joy for the inner strength and resilience you will find deep within you, in ways you didn't know you could. It leaps with joy for the ways in which infertility will teach you to count all your other blessings in areas you least expect. 

Know this.  I am here. I am here to listen. I am here to offer advice. I am here to punch someone who says something awful to you…okay maybe not that last one. 

Know this. You are not alone. Seek advice and council from people who you trust with the most honest inner parts of your soul. But also know that this story is yours and your partners. You must be willing to learn and grow. You can close as many doors and options as you want while you are in a season of life, but be willing to peek behind those doors in the future as your seasons shift.

Once upon a time, we said we'd never do IVF.
We did and it failed.

Once upon a time, we said we'd never use a sperm donor.
We did and it failed.

Once upon a time, we said we'd never use adopted embryos.
We did and it failed.

Once upon a time, we said we'd never use a surrogate.
We did and it failed.

So here's the lesson from this older (and occasionally wiser) infertile gal.

Whether you end up with kids in some way shape or form or you don't, infertility doesn't define you.
Your children or your childlessness doesn't define you either.

Your infertility roller coaster is yours. It can be as tame or as wild as you make it.
As terrifying as it may be some days, it can also be thrilling and exciting and exhilarating if you let it.

I hope you learn to enjoy your ride.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow's just on the horizon. I can see it creeping in slowly...yet it got here so quickly.

Tomorrow involves another trip to VA IVF. To the 3rd floor of that building. To the place where all my hope is always at an all-time high, yet nothing positive ever seems to stick around for long.

It will be our 6th time there for an embryo transfer,

though I went four times before that for stuff related to our IUIs.

I can't help but feel like we should get some sort of an award for all the times we keep getting knocked down but keep showing back up.

Then again, I don't believe in participation trophies.

Maybe a frequent visitor punch card though.

Punch your card for five visits, get the sixth free.

Wouldn't that be lovely.

Tomorrow will be so different, yet exactly the same in many ways.

Different mainly because the embryo won't be transferred to me and my hostile womb, but to our surrogate.

Different because I won't be the one putting on the gown or the free no-skid socks.

Different because for once I'll finally be able to look into the incubator to see the embryo pre-transfer.

Different because I'll actually miss having the opportunity to take a valium to take the edge off the weightiness of the day.

And yet, the same hope will be there.

The hope for the possibility of what MAY be.

The same wonder and awe of technology and science and God being present in exactly the same moment.

The same feeling of pride I have in our marriage. For surviving yet another year...another hurdle of this beautifully ugly journey of infertility.

The same stoic looks of bravery on our faces while inside we silently wonder just how much more we can endure.

The same awareness of all the amazing things we could be doing with our thousands of dollars, yet knowing that becoming parents is priceless.

The same prayers that we won't ever have to go back again, yet the knowledge that if we do, we'll be okay.

Baby steps

No, not actual baby steps.

Figurative baby steps.

That's what we're taking in the Ziolkowski household these days when it comes to our journey towards parenthood.

Each year that passes brings new insight and oddly, new closure, if that makes sense.

It's as if the years of the crushing weight of infertility have vanished.

Honestly, I'm not sorry to see them go despite the fact that we're still not actually parents.

But I can tell you that if you're looking for them, they're in a huge box in the bottom of my new hallway closet. I have dreams of having this amazing picture one day showcasing every syringe, every medication bottle, every...everything used during our infertility journey. When we moved, I consolidated it all and as I stared at this huge box packed to the brim, I saw more growing and love instead of heartache and grief and then I promptly realized how weird it was to be staring at old syringes and I closed the box and shoved it to the back of the closet. It was oddly cathartic.

This season is definitely different from our four year sabbatical of what I now refer to as 'the complacent years'. Perhaps its basis is in faith, perhaps its basis is in maturity, but regardless of where this season of life is stemming from, I love it. It feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold winter's day and that equals a sense of comfort and security.

A little over a month ago, we had one of infertility's lovely curveballs thrown at us again when we got confirmation that we would actually have to pay to adopt our baby if we used a surrogate.

It's because the child is not biologically ours.

Even though we technically have 'ownership' (such a cold word) of those frozen embryos, once a baby is born, we have to go through the adoption process. This next phase includes a lawyer and contract writing ($1500-3k), embryo transfer (around 3k), home study (3k) and about a 7k-10k price tag for the actual adoption.

Meanwhile crack heads on the street corner...I digress.

Our worst case life plan scenario is our best case financial scenario. And our worst case financial scenario is our best case life plan scenario. Either our pockets hurt or our hearts hurt.

At this stage of the game, we're used to both...so luckily no scenario has an advantage on the other.

Obviously, we want a baby, but if it doesn't happen through the surrogate route, then we're both (slowly) getting used to the idea of fostering.

Again, our ultimate goal has always been to be parents.

The means by which we get there quite mattering years ago.

 I'm not sure how the rest of 2016 will play out and for once, I'm perfectly okay with that.

We have full confidence that we go nowhere by accident and that where we are always where we're meant to be.

As of a week ago, that's two houses down from our niece and nephew and that's the most perfect place.