Baby Boy and Baby Girl's Mama

After much talking, praying, and heartache, Randy and I have decided to get rid of our dogs.  I cannot believe I just wrote that.

We moved last fall, and were so excited for ourselves, and also for Rosie and Milo.  They didn't have a yard, though, and quickly became "country dogs" by running away (sometimes all day long), hunting animals (and bringing them back as gifts for us!), getting ticks, and killing the neighbor's chickens.  But actually, that's not the reason, because I could make something that they would be trapped in.

The house we moved to is owned by our wonderful family members who had many dogs.  In fact, they had a large kennel.  Although it was not an indoor kennel, no matter how well I cleaned, Milo can smell the other dogs that have lived there, and marks on EVERYTHING.  We have had Milo since he was weaned, and besides basic housetraining, has only twice pottied in our house.  Once was when he was dewormed; poor baby pooped in the floor before he could make it outside.  The other time was when we had a visiting dog in our house, and he marked around the kitchen table.  Since we've moved, every time I clean, I find pee in my floor.  On the pellet stove.  On the floor speaker.  On our couch.  On the kitchen table legs.  On all the bedroom doors.  On RANDY'S GUITAR.  I cannot live like this anymore! 

And the hair.  My Lord, the hair.  It's on our clothes, couches, floors...I just want a clean house!

There is no excuse I can give that makes this better.  I. AM. A. TERRIBLE. PET. OWNER.  I should allowed to raise anyone.

I think I project a lot of my emotional needs onto my dogs.  It feels good to be a mama, even if it's to dogs.  They love me unconditionally.  They are affectionate.  They have enriched my life so much, and I am so thankful for them.

Back when I was selling dogs for my dad, we had a little guy born that was the runt of the litter.  He had a pigmentation on his nose that looked white, and he was so tiny!  Try as I might, I could NOT get a good picture of him.  No one wanted him!  I couldn't believe it, because he was, by far, my favorite puppy.  I named him Milo, thinking it was temporarily his until new owners named him.  While his brothers and sisters found their perfect homes, "baby boy" didn't have one.  Well, when he was fully weaned, we brought him home, just until he found his family, or so I thought.  Within a week, I took him off all our puppy ads. We were in love!

He potty trained relatively easily.  He was perfect for us.  We enjoyed watching him grow from a little runt into a beautiful boy.  :)

After having him a few years, my dad wanted to get rid of some of his grown dogs, and I always loved Rosie.  She is energetic, loves people, and had never gotten her chance at being a house dog.  I wanted her, and while Randy was working on the road, brought her home to live with us.  The transition was a very difficult one.  She has never known how to play because she was never played with, didn't understand treats, and she bonded with me right away but hated Milo.  She was also a "runaway".  She will dig through or jump over any fence.  LOL.  I cried every day for a week, because my other baby was upset with her, and instead of butting his way in, he'd just hang his head and go to the couch, dejected.  I had to find the balance of loving both of them in their own ways.  When Randy came home 2 wks later, the household was running perfectly.  She bonded with him, too, and now fits right in.  And more, they love each other!

Randy laughs at me because I talk to myself, or talk to the dogs, in 3rd person.  I always say, "Give Mama a hug, baby boy."  And to Rosie, I say, "She's the sweet girl.  That's what her Mama thinks." 

I honestly don't know if I can do this.  The home they are going to is technically perfect.  But, oh, this hurts! 

The Babies

:)

Wren:

A small, plump songbird.  Awwww.

Au Naturel, Baby

I have become OBSESSED with natural childbirth.  Totally obsessed.  This is such a deep educational thought process, a powerful tool to hopefully wield someday.  The birthing community (who knew there was such a thing!) has welcomed a TTC newcomer into their midst with gracious, open arms.  I love these women!  I don't exactly fit in with them, but I do feel welcome, and they have taught me much.

All I've ever heard all my life was about how horrible childbirth could be.  My own mother went into early labor, and delivered me over a month early.  She had gestational diabetes, so I still weighed 8 lbs, 3 oz.; a fairly large baby.  (It's all relative.)  She miscarried between me and my sister at almost 6 months into her pregnancy.  With both Jeni and me, she stopped smoking, but continued to drink alcohol.  She did not view childbirth in a natural way, forcing her body to go into early labor.

Two months before her "due date" (and I use that term loosely) with my sister, she drank TWO BOTTLES of Castor Oil.  I have since asked her why.  She responded that she felt like she needed to go into labor and couldn't stand being pregnant any longer.  Now, I should clarify.  My mother is an educated (obviously not about birth!), smart woman.  Why would she do that?!  I have read that Castor Oil cannot make you go into labor unless you are ready, and many women use it when they feel they are "overdue".  I beg to differ.  Maybe they're talking about the recommended dose of 2 Tbsp not causing you to go into early labor.  She gave birth within 24 hours, and my sister was so under-developed that her nasal passages were too small and she couldn't properly "suck".  Mom said it would take her an hour to eat from a bottle, and she would be completely exhausted from it.  Strangely enough, she still has almost no sense of smell.  I always wondered if this is why.  She was jaundice and stayed in the hospital several weeks.  

Both my sister and I are fine.  :)  We survived.  We bonded with our mother.  Basically, it can be said we adapted.  Humans are amazing that way.  But why would you want your baby to adapt if it is not necessary? 

When I was younger, I used to joke and say if I had a baby, just "give me the epidural and wake me when it's over."  How young.  How naive.  How sad!  And oh! how my thoughts have changed.

While separated from my husband for a very long time, infertility became somewhat of a non-issue.  Of course, since we've been back together the past 4+ years, it has raised it's ugly head once more.  But one amazing thing has come about through this.  I've given birth a second look.  An honest, blunt, factual, yet spiritual look, and I love what I'm seeing.  I have several friends who have given birth in a hospital setting and having their children has been the best experience of their lives.  But I'm crazy enough to believe it could be even better! 

I have never given birth.  So I certainly am not preaching, trying to persuade, or ridiculing your choices.  But I know what I want if my turn comes around.  You can't change my mind!  ;)  I value however my dear friends have birthed their babies.  They are amazing women!  :)  But I also know what I want if I am ever blessed enough to experience this for myself.  With your first child, did you have a birth plan?  Did you know what you wanted, even if it didn't happen the way you planned?  And just because you hadn't given birth yet, did that make your opinions stupid or irrelavent?  Certainly not. Nor are mine.

I can literally imagine myself giving birth.  I can see my husband, I can feel the room energy.  I can see my beautiful, natural, home birth.

"In my courtyard," as Sylvia Plath so beautifully wrote, "a fountain leaps and sinks back into itself."  That is exactly what infertility feels like.  But in my body and in my mind, I sometimes get a sense of that cool, forceful water that might one day burst forth and create life beyond it's own!  That my body that was wonderfully and fearfully made might do exactly what it was intended to do.  And when the time comes...

it's au naturel, baby...!

- Remember Ephesians 5:33 -

Is it insane to believe you can become physically ill from an argument with a loved one?  Randy and I got into a rare fight (I use this word emphatically.  Not a disagreement.  Not a spat, squabble, or fuss.  A fight.) the other night, and I honestly believe it's made me sick.  I feel sick at heart, anyway.  The odd thing might be that we had a beautiful, honest discussion preceeding the fight that was lovely. 

The next day, as luck (I don't even believe in that word!) would have it, I got sent a "badge" on FB...the "Love & Respect Badge" that quoted Ephesians 5:33.  "Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband."  I am choosing to try and forget the belligerent attitude I copped and the lack of respect I showed to my husband, and I wasn't exactly feeling Randy loved me as much as himself at that moment.  Not only am I fogiving him, I'm forgiving myself. 

The reason I bring this up is because I am shocked at the primal, base emotions that are inside me and sometimes rise to the top, and it honestly scares me.  I grew up in a home that was a contradiction between peace and rage.  I don't want to be the person I saw the other night; I don't want to be my mother.  I LOVE my mother, but I don't want to be the woman she used to be toward me and my sister.  I choose to be different.  I hope if I ever have a baby, I would be a good mama.  And just as important, a good wife.

Are you envisioning me biting Randy's arm, or throwing a china dish against the wall?  Nothing that dramatic, I promise!  We are actually quite placid, amiable individuals most of the time.  :)  Just a little forethought into how I act from now on will be in place.  So, one horrible fight will last me a lifetime without the need to repeat it.  I'm good! 

Reconciled, I can breathe a sigh of relief.  Love, once more, reigns in the Ayers' home! 

Mother's Day - Day of the Apocalypse

Mother's Day.  The day all infertile women HATE!  The day we feel our world might end.  But then again, sometimes it comes and goes, and it wasn't nearly as bad as you thought it was going to be.  Such was the case last year.  I felt silly building it up in my mind as the worst day of the year.  But no one said anything insensitive, there was no "Let's have the mothers stand for a handclap" (gotta love that one...sitting there in your chair with all the men and teenage girls), really, there was nothing to feel upset about.  I wished my mother a happy day, gave her a hug, and kept an easy smile on my face.  No problems, no break-downs, no tears.  Nadda.

So this year I was prepared to have a wonderfully non-eventful day.  It certainly wasn't the worst Mother's Day I've ever had, but I had to keep one of those fakey smiles plastered on my face until almost 3:00 pm.  Excruciating!  Here's what I love, people:

I really love scriptures about barren women being read on Mother's Day.

I really love at least one person saying "Happy Mother's Day" to me, and then realizing they shouldn't have said it.  (The guilt-stricken look on their face is priceless.)

I really, REALLY love having a plant shoved in my face by a poor child who is just on a mission from an adult to "Give Sister Jill this <insert plant, flower, pin, card, or any other gift word here>."

I love going to a restaurant and getting a Mother's Day gift, graciously turning it down (because, NEWS FLASH, I'm not a mother!), and my husband piping up beside me, "Oh, take it!  I'll use it."  (Handsoap; the statement I was trying to make meant nothing- no waitress learned a sensitivity lesson- all because my husband is too cheap to buy an extra handsoap for non-mothers!  As Teri has told me, it's not my job to teach anyone a lesson.  I find this is a hard pill to swallow.)

I love that no one, not even my husband, gets that this is a hard day for me.  Well, Jeni and Teri are sensitive to it.

Mother's Day is SOOOOO not about me.  It's the opposite of about me.  So why do I feel like it is?  Am I that big of an ego maniac?

Here's what I honestly love about Mother's Day:

I love that I'm an auntie to one sweet little girl!

I love that last year my father-in-law wished me Happy Mother's Day and said, "You take care of the biggest baby I know, so you're qualified."  So it may not have been a perfect statement, but it made me laugh, and it was acknowledged.

I love...nix that.  I can't think of anything else I love about it.

I would like to remind everyone that no childless woman wants a gift on this day.  Leave her alone.  If she has a child, those potted plants will make her smile.  If she doesn't, don't!  Refrain!  Just think, "Am I doing this to make her feel better, or to make myself feel better?"  Remember every childless woman on this day thinks everyone is staring at her to see her reaction, even if they aren't.  Remember no matter what you say, it might not be the right thing, but even then remeber...

We love you, too, and are trying to keep a good attitude.  We're trying.

CANNOT Deal Today

I hate stupid facebook.  A sonogram video on FB this afternoon has me running like mad to my blog. I cannot deal with all of this today, but I don't want to be awful.  Sniff.  I'm going to cry.