#Microblog Mondays: Are We Boring?

A part of the 22-page application we had to submit to our adoption agency was a set of short-answer questions--eighteen of them.

One of them was, "What would you like a prospective birth mother to know about you?"

It felt like an audition of sorts, like something to gauge what your profile would look like ostensibly before you may even know what a profile is (that Shutterfly book that I am by turns really excited to put together and really terrified to put together, that is an encapsulation of you and your husband and your home and the life you hope to provide to the expectant mother's unborn child, that is placed in front of her along with others so that she and possibly her family may choose adoptive parents...but no pressure).

We live kind of a quiet life. I mean, we love hiking, and cooking, and music, and reading, and traveling to Maine and Vermont for hiking (and cooking, and reading)... but when I first wrote up our answer to that question and put it in front of Bryce for approval, the purple pen I'd given him for editing had scrawled,

Are we boring? We sound boring....

I was like, we are NOT boring, we're just...quiet (and then I added in some more exciting verbs). We don't go ziplining in the Amazon, we don't take trips to Napa (not that we wouldn't have loved to, it's just that we've been dealing with the whole MASSIVE INFERTILITY thing and now are focusing on adoption, so wine tours in central California take a bit of a backseat...), we aren't sports fans, we aren't clubbers (although I would think that would count against you), we aren't a part of any major organizations. 

What we are is stable, desperately in love, literary, musical, lovers of good food, adventurous out in the woods, if not in the world. That has to have value, right? Somewhere out there, there has to be a future birth mother who is seeking loving bookworms who enjoy the outdoors and listening to Baroque music and playing their instruments while they wait for the homemade tortilla soup to thicken, right? 

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

The Whole Nursery Thing

We have a room, that we call the Little Room (and boy, is it little). It is not a nursery. It is not a guest room. It is most like a guest room that's haunted by the nursery that it has yet to be.

Just wide enough to fit a full-sized (guest) bed. That stack of books are pregnancy
guides I would love to gift to someone, as I'm pretty sure I won't be needing
them anytime soon (or ever). Love the owl pillow from my sister. Right now
the cats are using this room most, as evidenced by the cozy divot in the folded
comforter on the bed. At least someone's enjoying it!

We never set one up, see, because we never made it into the fruit stage of either of our pregnancies. We never had a reason to turn that room that collected nursery-like things into an actual room that a baby could occupy fairly imminently, because it just never seemed like that was going to come to fruition. Often, the door stayed shut.

Still looking guest-y, with my seashells
and ocean-y hanging vase and the view
into the hallway nook that houses my little
"attic" office I wrote about previously...
Note the door is open. Wide open.

But now... now THERE IS A BABY THAT WILL LIVE IN THAT ROOM. We don't know who this baby is yet. We don't know if this baby has even been conceived at this moment in time--it's strange to think that our baby could be growing, right now, or that our baby is just a tiny cluster of cells, complicating someone else's life at this very moment. Or the complication for someone else that will ultimately be our greatest joy has yet to be in any way, shape, or form yet. But what we do know, is that our baby is out there, or will be out there, soon. Maybe...even...right...now. 

So it gives the room a different kind of feel, right? 

The owl lamp Bryce got me for Christmas...
sense a theme? Also, the lotus candle
holder is a fertility throwback. That lamp
made me cry, because I knew it was for
the nursery, that isn't a nursery...yet.

I don't see that room as a culmination of my failures to get and stay pregnant anymore. I don't see that room as an airless tomb, a place where 27 embryos that came and went should have resulted in at least one real live baby residing in its dormered walls, but just never did. 

I see that room as a space full of hope. Of yet-to-be. I can visualize a baby sleeping in there, living in there, laughing in there. I can see either one of us holding, rocking, feeding our baby in that tiny little room. I just don't know when it will take place. But I know that it will. 

A lot of resources say that when you are adopting, you really shouldn't set up a full on nursery. It's not emotionally practical. It can make things harder on your heart. There are strings of what-ifs... What if you don't get called for a longer time than you thought? What if your match falls through? What if that room becomes difficult to live with, because it's empty? 

But then there are other resources. Ones that have different what-ifs. What if you get a call and you have to bring a baby home with very little notice? What if you end up buying a whole lot of gear right at the last minute, amplifying the stress of an already stressful (and potentially WONDERFUL) time? What if you want to feel like the expectant parent you are, and nest and prepare even though your "gestational period" is highly unpredictable? 

What if being prepared trumps being disappointed? 

Here are my thoughts on the nursery conundrum. 

I want to be prepared. I want to feel like an expectant parent. I want to be ready to accept A baby, not necessarily a SPECIFIC baby, into our home. I want that room to reflect its true purpose, in a non-haunty-way. I want to CELEBRATE that we are waiting. 

That room has been empty for years. 

It has had an unfulfilled purpose, incredibly thinly veiled, for years. 

It can't make me sadder than it has in the past, and quite frankly it no longer makes me feel stabby in the chest, empty in the womb, when I go visit it. 

What DOES make me sad is the thought of NOT preparing for this baby who will come into our lives, who-knows-when. 

What DOES make me sad is the thought of rushing through decisions at the last minute, getting things together for a baby when we could be preparing ourselves, centering ourselves, and bonding with our baby...not frantically shopping while working through all the conflicting emotions and stresses that come with that time when you are going to the hospital or wherever it is you are going to bring that precious soul home.

We don't plan to start nursery-ing now. We'd at least like to be home study certified first, ready to be profiled. We want it to be a true waiting-for-baby time. Now is too soon. But when we're done with the home study process? Then it makes sense to us. Then we are officially expecting.

Do I know it could be a room that is babyless for years, maybe? Of course. It's been babyless for five plus years already. Let's give the room the true purpose, the one we designated it to have when we first started shooting me up with drugs and putting me under anesthesia in hopes that would bring us our FutureBaby. Now a binder full of paperwork, personal scrutiny, education on the multifaceted challenges and joys of adoption, a team of social workers, and an amazing birthmother will bring us our baby. It IS going to happen. So let's make that room a happy place for the waiting. A gender-neutral, not over-the-top place, but a place that says...

FutureBaby, we're ready for you. Come on into our lives. We love you so already.

Probably should have moved the sad little
knitting bag that's been left neglected for
a while... There's that little dresser that
holds our stash of onesies, washed and
ready to be filled whenever...

The scale of the room is becoming apparent, right? TINY. But cozy. That's not
a supernova, it's a touch lamp of crackled glass. Lots of art for the nursery
when we transition fully from guest room to baby room, laying out on the
sewing table with our little Buddha that represents our last lost little baby.
I love the windowseat Bryce made me that houses picture books, and that
is my childhood rocking chair, given to me by my mom with the stuffed
good-luck elephant when we thought maybe that pregnancy was going to be
okay. It wasn't. But the rocking chair and elephant are meant for SOMEONE...

Closeup on rocking chair and window seat.
Also you can see how close that is to the
bed. Tiny storybook sized space, this is! 

The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that Bryce
built us, that unfortunately probably have
to come out to make space for baby furniture
and glider and stuff. I have a lot of children's
books. We have a lot of books, period. Unsure
where they're all going to go, but they can't all
stay here. Not sure the baby will enjoy all
that Stephen King quite yet... :)

#Microblog Mondays: One Line

Even now,
after so much loss and disappointment,
and moving on
to a pee-stick-free pathway,
Seeing just one lonely line
still
hurts.

Even when that one line
is what I needed
(and expected)
to get to
peace of mind
in the form
of a pillpack.

For a crazy nanosecond
I actually believed
I could have a miracle...
Despite
everything I know.

But I know that
my miracle
is waiting for me
not through a double line
on a pee-soaked stick
but through a future call on the line
that will change my life
far more than any
pink or blue
line in a window
ever did.


Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Will Someone Please Take Responsibility for My Uterus?

I feel like it's slightly unfair that I had to do so much finagling around my uterus and its care this week, considering I am done with fertility treatment. Things I have decided to be true: My uterus still hates me, Medical bureaucracy sucks, and I am still sad and angry that my body is so freaking dysfunctional.

So, last post I talked about how I need, need, NEED to get back on the Pill so that I can have peace of mind and not own stock in pantiliners. It is beyond frustrating to be spotting, just enough to not be able to forgo the pantiliners (by the way, I love these sheer liners from Always, they come in little packets you can stash in your bathrooms and your purse so you always have them and they are surprisingly effective for being paper thin. I am not being paid by Always to say that, just in love with them, since I have to use the damn things daily now). But not enough to be called a period. When I do have my OB/GYN appointment next month, how the hell do I respond to "What was the first day of your last period?" Hmmm? What is the effing answer to that one? Probably technically sometime in January, since I don't think I can count any of this half-assed spotting nonsense.

This week I'd had enough. I was spotting again a little heavier, but not period heavier, and I called the fertility clinic in Buffalo. And got an IVF nurse that I am not especially fond of, who is not exactly warm and fuzzy, or sensitive. Why couldn't it have been my favorite nurse, who has a bit of a filthy mouth and is super sensitive and responsive???

I called from the stairwell at school, to see when I could start my Pill. Because my pharmacy had managed to get a refill called in, so I had the goods but had no idea of the protocol for starting and didn't want to screw myself up. I just wanted to know if I needed to wait for a period, or if I could just start up anytime.

She asked what our plans were, were we on a break or were we not coming back again. I explained (AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN), that we were pursuing adoption but were planning to come back if we considered a sibling, later, to finish out our frozen embryos.

Then, she said, "Well, I can't really tell you what to do then because you're no longer our patient."

WHAT?

Okay, fine, we're not planning to drive out to Buffalo anymore and do any kind of appointments, but I kind of consider this closing out the cycle from JANUARY. I never truly got a period to end that cycle, and in my eyes I feel like they need to close that shit out.

Then the nurse said, "You need to call your OB/GYN, and then they can order a pregnancy test and then get you started on the pill, but it's out of our hands."

At that point I was trying not to cry, cursing myself for thinking I could take care of this during the school day (thank goodness I was done with students for the day), and feeling all the feels that bad clinic calls bring up in a lady who has had more than her share of frustrating and upsetting calls. I didn't feel like explaining that I was also going to a new doctor, and that I REALLY REALLY didn't want to call my current OB/GYN. Plus, I laughed out loud at "pregnancy test."

"I understand why, but a pregnancy test seems patently ridiculous at this point. That would be insane."
To which she replied, "That would be nice, though, right?"

UM, NO. No, it is not at all sensitive to tell me that there is a possibility of a "nice" pregnancy test and that a whoopsie pregnancy after all this would be nice. I have been enjoying my wine like a champ, and I have not exactly been taking prenatal vitamins, and if I was pregnant, without progesterone support I would be sunk. I wanted to scream, "HAVE YOU READ MY EFFING CHART???" But instead I said, "well, no, because I've been drinking over the past few months." AND SPOTTING. And the thought of a FAS/no folic acid baby or a miracle miscarriage is not "nice." As much as we are not friends, I know my body. And it sucks in this department. I just haven't gotten my period yet because my uterus is dysfunctional and doesn't know what to do with itself without all the drugs. It is not smart. It doesn't learn from its mistakes. It just fucks me over.

I mumbled a goodbye and she said a final, "You understand why we can't help you, right?" which didn't make me feel better, and I got off the phone and tried not to cry.

The next day I called my new OB/GYN office and spoke to the front desk nurse. I explained the problem. She was MUCH nicer, but also annoyed with the clinic, because as she said, "We can't help you, because a) we haven't seen you since 2011 and b) we didn't prescribe the Pill. THEY prescribed the Pill, THEY need to counsel you on it." She felt really bad. She was sensitive and thoughtful. I am really happy I am making this switch.

However, I felt a distinct frustration of, "WHY WON'T ANYONE TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR MY UTERUS?" Where is my closure? I felt dropped like a hot potato. We didn't have a final consult because we weren't planning on returning anytime soon, but it would have been nice to have been given instructions on how to reset myself.

Luckily, the nurse at my new doctor's office said that if I haven't done the records release yet for my old clinic, yes indeedy I AM still their patient. And they should be able to counsel me on starting the goddamn Pill.

I felt encouraged, but still frustrated that it was taking so long and so many calls to figure this business out. I didn't cry this time, but the stress of school and IEP season and the stress of trying to get my body to behave had me sitting at my table, head in my hands, until I took the next step.

I called in my cheater card. I texted Dr. Fabulous. I was done speaking with the clinic, because I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't run up against the people who are shaking me off like a layer of dust. And I knew that he would take care of the situation. Honestly, I should have done this first, but I didn't want to bug him.

He took care of it immediately. He texted me from the freaking OR (obviously not while operating, which would be disturbing). He was horrified that I was told I wasn't their patient anymore. He said something that sounded very Spock-ish, "You have been and remain our patient." (Not quite what's said in the radioactive chamber, but it was close enough it made me giggle.) He said he'd call me later that evening, and he followed through, discussing the end of the last cycle and where I was now and genuinely wanting to know how the adoption process was going. Most importantly, he counseled me on what to do next to wrangle my body into compliance.

And so, I didn't even need a needle stick, just to pee on one of the stockpiled pee-sticks I have that really don't have much of a future in our home, and then start the Pill. I may have breakthrough bleeding, but I should be good to go until I see my OB/GYN in April.

WOW. It should not have taken all that rigamarole to get me to being on those little pinky-brown pills. I felt kind of passed around (until I went straight to the source and felt taken care of and closed out...why I didn't do that first is beyond me). It was amazing to me that the IVF nurse could be so callous in dismissing me when really, was it that hard to tell me to pee on a stick and start that day? Was it even that hard just to have my doctor call me back through proper channels, instead of me feeling like I had no choice but to totally backdoor that nonsense?

In the end, it's all good. I am on the Pill, again. I am hopeful that the spotting will stop soon. I am hopeful that I can figure out a birth control situation with my new lady doctor so that I can have minimal side effects and maximum peace of mind. And put my body into a normal state, even if it's controlled medically. It just doesn't know how to do things any other way. A takeaway from this--if you can get in direct contact with your doctor, just do that first. Avoid that annoying medical bureaucracy if you can. It will save you days of putting your head in your hands and possibly some sheer pantiliners to just go straight to the source instead of "proper channels" that can't (or won't) help you.

#Microblog Mondays: Um, Excuse Me, It's Rude to Be a No-Show

I was kind of hoping that after all the cycles, after all the synthetic hormones (that make perfectly NATURAL babies, by the way...) and finagling of my lady parts, that I might get a month where my body knew what to do with itself.

Apparently not, as my final canceled cycle ended Friday, January 30th, and I was told to stop all meds and wait for my period to show up. I started spotting on Sunday February 1st, and it didn't stop for two weeks, during which time I spotted slightly heavier for four days and so maybe that was a period? Maybe? If I can't tell, does it count?

But now, I have spotted very lightly off and on since and never have I had a definitive, 100% recognizable menstrual cycle. IT'S MARCH.

This is why I need to go on the Pill, so that I can have periods monthly instead of quarterly, so that I can stop myself from the insane thought that maybe, maybe in a canceled cycle where I couldn't get my lining above 6mm and my estrogen dropped through the floor, maybe the next month I miraculously got pregnant. (I don't ACTUALLY believe this, not really, but it does lurk in the nethers of my subconscious, which is incredibly crazypants.)

To go on the Pill, I need a period.

Cue frustrated screaming, right about...now.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Click here and enjoy!

#Microblog Mondays: Just GYN, Please

When choosing (and re-choosing) OB/GYNs, my question of choice has always been, "Do you deliver at such and such hospital?" The hospital I'd wanted affiliation with was smaller, friendly, had beautiful birth suites, and just seemed like the perfect place for me to give birth. 

Now that no longer matters. 

I made an appointment today with a new/old OB/GYN, the one I left to go to a more New-Age-y, friendlier, more spa-like office to escape my old OB/GYN (the one who totally missed that I had PCOS, and told me I'd just need "basting," who at every annual exam wanted me to explain to her exactly how it was I wasn't pregnant yet, and who we ran into at the grocery store once, literally, because she aggressively ran over my husband's foot with her cart and DID NOT SAY "excuse me" or "so sorry," she just gave HIM a dirty look and sped on), only to find that just a few months later SHE JOINED THAT SAME PRACTICE, the one I had just run to. 

I needed to leave my current gynecologist because of several reasons: a) I did monitoring there and feel the office is tainted with my most recent infertility experience, b) I have never had such a quick, drive-by annual exam in my life, one that ended with a chirped, "Okay, call me when you get pregnant!," and c) the office is the most pregnancy-centric place I have ever been to in my life. I am fine with seeing pregnant people, that doesn't bother me, but when every print, every sculpture, every FOUNTAIN is of a pregnant or nursing woman, it does bother me, because my care is so much more than my ability inability to reproduce. 

I called today and tried to get set up with a doctor at my original practice that a friend of mine sees and loves, one who specializes in endocrinology and genetics and is just a GYN, not an OB. Which is fine, given my new reality, just...strange. She isn't accepting new patients, but I am on a waiting list and will see one of the other 5 doctors or so in the practice in the meantime. I am interested to see what this new chapter of my lady health will bring for me -- how much explaining I will have to do about my arduous and sad-sap tromping through IVF, and how different it will be to just focus on just my own body's health, instead of the process of preparing to create another body. 

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy!

Infertility Blogging Vs Adoption Blogging

I have spent four years blogging about my infertility. I started in 2010, after I failed my first IVF cycle. Or rather, my first IVF cycle failed. Kind of an important distinction. I felt my blog had a variety of purposes. I wanted it to be a place where I processed my own emotions and chronicled my story, for better or for worse. I wanted it to be a place where there was helpful information about various aspects of the infertility treatment world -- how to do injections, what a cycle looks like, what to look for in a clinic, what questions to ask when things are going poorly, how to talk to fertile people (and how fertile people could talk to you), how to deal with painful holidays and family events and milestones in your life, when all of those things are tinged with the grief of infertility. I wanted it to be a place where I shared all the completely insane (and yet, at the time, very useful...until they weren't) things I did to try to bring good juju my way -- the candles, the orange underwear, the flying wish paper, the owls, the elephants, the rose quartz, the vag steams, the vision boards, the magical foods, the host of meditation mp3s. I wanted it to be a place where I asked questions about protocols and tried to figure out where mine went wrong when others' went right, and questions about how to deal with different circumstances that I was unsure of. 

I wanted it to be a place people could go to feel normal (I felt like that!), to get a laugh, to get information (understanding that I can only speak from my own experience), and to feel a part of my story. I wanted our stories to connect. 

Above all, I wanted it to be honest, and transparent. Especially as we headed down the donor material path, I felt I owed an apology to my child for sharing so much about how he/she was conceived, but at the same time I felt I owed people the right to know what these things really looked like -- choosing a donor, feeling conflicted, feeling hopeful, feeling crushed and dysfunctional when donor didn't work. And it helped me tremendously to put it all out there. 

I'm finding, though, that there will be a distinct difference with adoption blogging. My blog isn't going anywhere--I don't plan to move it or discontinue it at all. But I have to be sensitive that there is a difference, and that I can't be as transparent as I once was. 

At this point in the process, as we are gathering our information and meeting with our agency and getting ready to get our home study classes done in May, I feel that things are still the same. I can share my thoughts on the process, what it looks like for us, how we feel about various aspects of collecting evidence of our life and preparing a portfolio of responsibility and parent-readiness. It's really not so dissimilar from creating an APPR portofolio to prove I'm a good teacher, only at a much grander scale. The sense of scrutiny seems similar. Right now, everything is pretty much still about us. OUR pasts, OUR life together, OUR parenting philosophies, OUR home, OUR ability to parent. So I feel good about that. 

But then, things take a sharp turn into territory that I can't be honest about, can't discuss, at least not personally. What type of child we can parent (yes, that's how they phrase it on the paperwork). Everything from race to exposures to physical/cognitive disability to family history of mental illness. It's fascinating, and heartbreaking, to make these decisions. But I can't write about them. Because that's not MY history, it's my baby's. 

Everything else is fair game up until the point where we are profile-ready and getting matched. That is, everything else that does not reveal information about our FutureBaby or his/her possible birth family. 

I feel like I'm sorting through all of this process and dividing it into piles -- 

Definitely Write About:

feelings about paperwork (without revealing choices)

feelings about the process

information about the process

updates on the process, to a point

being expectant parents in a completely different way

classes

educational requirements

how to deal with waiting

how to prepare for a baby who has no discernable due date or gestational period

how to manage paperwork 

how to manage questions (both mine and those others are asking)

resources on adoption

how to do a profile book

why the profile book is so stressful

different takes on profile books

managing the wait and balancing emotions between hope and disappointment

And on and on and on... with the focus being on ME and BRYCE

Definitely Can't Write About: 

specific choices on application/grid for "type of child"

specific information about our matching process (who, where, when...)

specific information about potential expectant/birth mothers

anything that would constitute telling my child's personal history that is not mine to share

anything that, if someone who was affiliated with my agency or affiliated with our future birthparents read, would find hugely upsetting (this one is tricky because I want to be honest still, but I don't want to shoot myself in the foot)

I'm sure there's things that lie in the middle. But it feels different from my infertility blogging, and trickier, because there are so many other people involved. And it makes me reflect back on my infertility blogging and wonder if I put a little too much out there when it came to donor information, but there's really not much I can do about that now. It's a learning process, right? 

What stays the same is the emphasis on the emotion. And the process. And hopefully being a helpful resource to others traveling down this road, or wanting to know more about the road before going down it.

What's interesting is that a friend of mine who's read my blog forever apparently said to her husband that while what I'm talking about has changed, the tone of my blog has changed since we've made this switch in our path -- it's lighter, more hopeful, and just different. In a good way, I think.

I'm sure as we get deeper into the process we'll figure things out as we go. I'm sure that as we get into snags that are probably unavoidable, there will moments of despair that show through the posts, but I'm hoping not to the extent that we experienced with IVF. I'm also sure we'll goof up at some point. I really, really hope that I can always stay conscious of only sharing OUR information, not our child's or his/her birth family. I think it's super important to always keep this in mind, since I am not an anonymous blogger. Once stuff is out there you can delete the post, but what you've shared can't be unshared with those who've seen it. 

I think I can file this one under "Processing," but also maybe "Helpful," because I know I can't be the only one struggling with how to morph my blog from one sphere of family building to the other. The infertility stays the same, and the path to motherhood stays the same (just a different path than I thought I'd take). But so much else changes. 

If you've made this change yourself, do you have any advice? How do you stay true to yourself without compromising sensitive information? How do you continue telling your story without blabbing too much of someone else's? I thank you for your thoughts!  

#Microblog Mondays: Red Flag Worries

There is a staggering amount of paperwork involved in adoption -- stacks and stacks and stacks -- before you even have those home study visits and are eligible to be profiled by expectant parents.  I don't mind sending in all the required paperwork to prove that we are upstanding people with an incredible marriage and good, stable lives (although it did seem awfully morbid to have to send in a report from my doctor that stated that I was "likely to live to the majority of my child" -- a little creepy, that one, so glad the answer was YES). 

But I AM a little worried that my way of attacking all this paperwork is causing little alarm bells to ring on the part of the agency. 

We have gotten a TON of the paperwork in already -- all that's left is Bryce's medical form, our employment form, our financial form, our 2015 tax forms, and the autobiographies, once we mail in the birth certificates, marriage certificates, and divorce decrees that are now in our possession. In fact, I'm waiting to mail those documents until this weekend, because... 

When I called for clarification on filling out the background check form with the 28 addresses (Bryce lived here first, then I moved in, so -- just in case you have this similar situation -- you list it on the "shared addresses" page on the front to the date that the second person moved in, and then the first person lists it again on their individual addresses page to account for the time before the other person combined households), it was a week after we'd met to get all the forms. 

Our family advocate was like, a little hesitant, "You don't have to actually get all this in now...your classes aren't until May. [It won't speed things up to crank through this.]" *unclear if this was actually said, or inferred by me

So I was immediately red-faced on my end of the phone connection, and rushed, "Oh no no no no no no, I am in no way sending in my stuff ASAP and then expecting things to move on your end as fast as I can crank through the paperwork and get it to you. I just want it off my plate, into your hands, sooner than later--especially since I'm on school break and can run around to get some of the things done that require appointments and visits to government buildings." 

That seemed to soothe the worries, real or imagined, that I was going to be like, "I GOT MY PAPERWORK IN! GIVE ME MY BABY NOW!" Which I really am not like at all. I just like, when there is a task to be done, to figure out the best possible way to attack it and get it done. 

But now I'm a teensy bit worried I'm making a reputation for myself as being overly eager and/or high maintenance. It's not really so hard to feel a little overanalyzed as you're basically opening yourself up for deep inspection on this path to become parents, even if you are being a tad sensitive along the way.

Want to read more #Microblog Mondays? Go here and enjoy! (Sorry, this one was a little longer than it should have been.)