Last night after the kids were asleep, I settled in for some rare time with my husband. We sat in bed watching his laptop- specifically, the Bible videos now available on LDS.org (which are quite good, by the way). I rested my head on his shoulder and relaxed.

I felt a tickle on the back of my neck. I have very long hair that sometime has a mind of its own, so at first I thought (hoped) it was just that. But it felt different. I went into full fight-or-flight mode, couldn't decide which to do, and did both. There in the soft light of my husband's laptop I did a wild interpretive dance about the fear of creepy crawly things, chanting "Please don't be a spider! Please don't be a spider!"

My dear, strong companion, who is more arachnophobic than even I, fled the bed in record time and dove for the light switch. The bulb was out. By now I was standing at the foot of the bed pointing and whisper-yelling something I don't remember, probably incomprehensible. He ran to my nightstand and turned my lamp on.

And there she was. The biggest spider I had seen in quite a long time, and I grew up in the country. Let's call her Shelob. Shelob seemed aware of her sudden mortal danger. She stood at first on a book under the lamp, clearly sizing us up (he was standing at the foot of the bed with me now), and decided to run. She headed for my laptop, thought better of it, and instead decided to rappel from the edge of the off-white table for the camouflage of the carpet.

There was another book on the floor just underneath her (we love books in our house). When she hit the book, we heard it. A very audible little "thunk". Such was the size of Shelob.

That's about how long it took my husband to get back to the nightstand with some object he'd grabbed on the way and send Shelob to another realm. "What kind was it?", I asked. His words of comfort to me were, "I think it was a wolf spider, you know the kind that run around and catch other bugs, but I didn't know they could get that big!"

We retreated to the bathroom and shook and brushed imaginary spiders off of ourselves for a few minutes. He started talking about the movie Arachnophobia, and the possibility of many snakes on the land  we want to buy in the country, until I gave him The Look and he stopped. Eventually we braved the bed again, and settled in for a restless night of fitful sleep.

I have been on bedrest since December 8. I've had lots of contractions of sorts since around week 15, and as time has gone by, they increase both in frequency and intensity. I've had the official diagnosis of preterm labor for at least a month now, as they found that the contractions are doing the work they're supposed to (just not so soon!). I spent 5 days in the hospital at the end of January. For now I'm very happily and gratefully waiting out the rest of my pregnancy at home in bed. Home, in the company of the people I love most and in the comfort of my own space. I've almost made it to 32 weeks. The babies could come at any time. I could be sent back to the hospital at any time. It's all a lot of waiting. . . and things change from week to week. Carrying twins has become a physical challenge, and being bedridden for week after week an emotional one.

I've had my share of "why me" days, especially earlier when it would have been much more dangerous for them to be born. Why should I have a complicated pregnancy now, when the other 3 were largely uneventful? Why am I having problems, when most other twin moms I know (including my sister) carried their twins without much ado, and delivered them safely at or near term? Why am I stuck down when I have 3 other children who need me, and I want to be a mommy to them?

But as time goes by and I connect with other mothers who are or have been on bedrest, my "why me's" have changed.  Why have I been so blessed with the feeling that something wasn't right- and the mind to push the doctor until he found out what? Why have these numerous blessings been handed to me throughout this pregnancy that have prevented some possible scary outcomes? Why do I deserve this big, wonderful family and ward family who have cared for me and my family all this time, and continue to ask what they can do- and do it? Why am I blessed with 3 little daughters who are wise and strong, compassionate and understanding, and coping better than I do most days? Why do I deserve this incredible husband who carries my load and his, and still always greets me with a smile and a kiss? Why have we been graced with his new job that will allow us to stay in Boise where our family and dear friends are? Why are my babies big for their gestational age, when I don't grow big babies? Why have I and my babies been so watched over and protected, why have I made it so far with them still in the womb where they belong, when so many suffer tragedy and loss- or birth much too early, and endure the lifelong effects of that. Why me?

I don't think there is even an answer. I am no more deserving of my Heavenly Father's love and care than anyone else, that's for sure. All I can do is thank Him, and when my season comes, try to give and serve as I've been served.

There is a profound beauty in this: our little Amelia, and our little (probably) Harrison, are being brought safely into this world because of an amazing network of love and support and willing hands. They are already being protected and cared for by all of the grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, church leaders, and neighbors who will continue to love and nurture them as they grow into the people they're supposed to be. That, to me, is the greatest blessing of all.

Expectations

I've been thinking a lot about expectations lately, and how we tie them to our happiness. I can look back on times that I was excited, joyful, optimistic- and those are usually times that something or someone met or exceeded my expectations. Conversely, the times I felt hurt, disappointed, dejected, or betrayed were usually because something, or usually someONE, didn't meet my expectations. I'll focus right now on our expectations of people.

I'm kind of funny in that I want and need my space, but I also crave intimacy with people. I've also trusted people too quickly and easily a lot of times in my life. That means that, without precedent to base my expectations on, I've taken for granted that someone would do X, or be Y, because they were my ________ or knew _________ . Then when things fall through, or in other words don't go the way I expected, I'm hurt or angry. I've spent too much time feeling badly about myself or someone else because they didn't do or say what I expected in a situation. . . or even worse, upset that they weren't the person I expected them to be.

How different would things be if I hoped for certain reactions or outcome, but only expected that what actually did happen would something for me to learn from. . . and ultimately, the only expectation I have is that I'll gather wisdom as I go along and react more appropriately to people? i.e., I hope that she'll be kind to me today. . . but if not I expect myself to try not to take it personally, and to remember today's interaction in the future so that I can be better prepared, and/or conduct myself differently. I hope that my husband will be home in time for dinner tonight, but I know he's doing his best and working so hard for us, so I expect myself to greet him with a smile and a kiss and a soft place to fall when he finally makes it here. See, I can really only realistically expect things of myself, because I am the only one that I am in control of. I can hope for things, but hope looks entirely different than expectation. I spoke about hope in church recently, and I plan to post that talk here shortly. 

So many times it isn't people who disappoint us, it's our own expectations. Adjusting our expectations is hard and can be painful. Sometimes it means confronting the way that people really behave instead of expecting them to be how or who we want them to, and sometimes that means their place in our lives needs to change. It means taking responsibility for how we feel and how we react. But that means ownership of our feelings, which moves us from a place of vulnerability to a place of power over our own happiness.

On marriage

A somewhat challenging pregnancy and the probability of a lot of change in the near future, as well as our 12th anniversary this week, has me thinking a lot about how very grateful I am for my husband. For the way we work together; the way we respect each other; the way we're best friends; the way he knows my very worst and loves me anyway, right along with my very best; the way he takes care of me but at the same time pushes me to be my best, and hopefully I do the same for him; the way we can laugh through even the hardest times.

It's easy to think that we've just always been this way because we were made for each other and we found our happily ever after. Not so. I do believe we were led to each other, because over the years and years before we met there are just too many things that put us both in the right place at the right time with the right person. But our happily ever after is an ongoing project that we're making together, day by day and year by year.

The beginning was a little rough. We're both kind of hard-headed and we were even more so then. Once we figured out that we were going to be together for a long time so we'd better figure this thing out, we figured out how to soften the edges. . . we found what worked for us to meet each others' needs as well as our own. I'm definitely not claiming perfection, but I think we've set a pretty good pattern to work the kinks out as they come along.

In short, we are happy because we choose to be, and we work at it.

I wish I could take credit for choosing a partner so well, but in truth he was this wonderful, gracious gift that was given to me. I didn't have a history of great choices when it came to romance, and my only experiences with love were fairly dysfunctional. All I know that I did was journal all the things I wished for in a husband: loyalty, stability, humor, wisdom, faith, ambition, tenacity, etc etc etc. . . and I probably prayed about those things and felt like it was a pipe dream. But I recently came across that journal entry- made at a very confusing and painful time in my life when I wasn't making super choices- and every single thing on that list is a perfect makeup of my Matt. Reading that was so humbling, and I am so grateful to a Father who helped me know at that moment what I really needed- even as I was praying at that time for someone who was almost the opposite- and prompted me to write it all down and ask for it, even though it wasn't a description of the one I thought I wanted more than anything.

I am thankful that my Father knows me, and loves me, and works for what is best for me even when I don't know what that is. I'm thankful for all of the hurt that meant losing something that would have probably meant an unhappy life, and that lead to what I can only imagine as the best kind of happiness that I could have ever hoped for.

I'm thankful for the rough patches Matt and I have walked through together, whether it was something one or both of us brought into the relationship, or something life threw at us unexpectedly. . . and I'm thankful for the strength and trust in each other that we've found on the other side. I'm thankful for the fun and joy and silliness, the faith and devotion, the constant effort to be better- things that I give most of the credit to Matt for.

He's my favorite subject and I could go on forever about all of his virtues, and the awesome blessing of being his wife, (maybe I have already), but I'll leave it at this: it is worth any pain, any time, any difficulty if you end up with someone who shares your ideals, wants for your happiness but even more wants for what is best for you both, loves you, cherishes you, and is faithful to your relationship. I agree with the sentiment that nothing will make or break your life more than the person you marry.

Thank you for making mine, sweetheart. It is my privilege and joy to share life with you, and I will be grateful forever and ever to our Heavenly Father for helping us find our way to each other, and for continuing to help us find our way together.

The latest

Well. . . exhaustion and pretty icky morning sickness has kept me from doing much but sleeping, and lounging on the couch spending way too much time on Facebook and hulu.com and Netflix.

But the big news is that the extra tiredness and morning sickness is because I'm doing double duty. It's twins! I'm almost 10 weeks along. Got a second ultrasound yesterday, and they're beautiful and perfect, with strong little hearts. I've graduated from the fertility clinic and I'm on to a regular OB, who comes highly recommended by someone I trust very much (and a few others who followed her recommendation) and who I feel really good about. Even my fertility doctor expressed emphatic approval at my choice of doctor.

What I'm most excited about at the moment is that in 2 weeks I'll be done with shots. Nine shots a week have taken their toll on my poor hips, which are all bruised and sore and knotted. It's definitely worth it to keep my babies where they are and healthy. . . but I love transitioning into that period where it's a "normal" pregnancy without need of hormonal support.

So the big question is, who will they be? Two more girls? Two sons? One of each (they are definitely fraternal)?

Which brings me to an issue that I'm really glad we haven't had to explore too far before: circumcision. I'm doing lots of reading on the topic lately. All I will say at the moment is that I'd love to find some impartial, scientifically backed literature, for either the pro or con side, that doesn't involve people using words like "barbaric" and "mutilation" and "torture". Histrionics don't appeal to my sensibilities.

BFP! And morning suckness.

So. . . in continuation of the last post, we got all of our test results back, resulting in the celebrated BFP (big fat positive)! I also have a row of HPT's (the kind you take at home) on my bathroom windowsill. I think I'm up to 5 now. Gross, I know, but I like looking at them. Each positive is darker than the last.

The hormone they test for (HCG) is on the high side, and even moreso the doubling rate is on the fast side. Usually they look for it to double within 48-72 hours, and for me it's doubled about every 28 hours. That could mean that it's just a really healthy pregnancy, or it could mean there's more than one in there. T-minus nine days until the ultrasound that will tell us for sure.

Right this minute, lots of HCG seems to mean lots of morning suckness. Yes, suckness. First it was a typo, now it's just a more descriptive term for the condition that has me always feeling green around the gills. I'm also very very very tired. . . which I know is par for the course, but I seem to be more tired than I was during my other pregnancies. Or I just forgot. Or I'm just getting old.

Whatever the cause, we're here. . . expecting, excited, a little nervous, and a lot happy. :)

WTH

When I was 14, I was having some health problems (female-specific in nature) and consequently put through a lot of tests that were pretty scary at the time, and after which was rewarded with a scary-sounding diagnosis and a pronouncement that I would have difficulty having children, if I ever did at all. Pretty heavy weight to carry for a young teenager whose highest ambition of adulthood was to raise a family.

When I was dating Matt and things got serious, I put it all out on the table for him: my fertility was uncertain, might cost a lot of money, and I may never produce children. I remember sitting on the couch in his apartment, holding his hand, fully prepared for him to suddenly remember somewhere he needed to be or tell me he needed to think for awhile. . . but he just smiled and said, "So we'd adopt." And that was that. It was a very good marker for what it would be like to be married to this kind and honorable man.

We married. We tried. A few months into it, I felt like the ultimate failure in a Mormon bride. Church was sometimes unbearable. All around me were messages and evidences that my potential for joy, fulfillment, and true feminine virtue would forever be wrapped up in my ability- or inability, as it were- to conceive. This fallacy, alive and well in the hearts of "fertiles" and "infertiles" alike, Mormon and otherwise, is another topic that I could fill a book with. For now, suffice it to say that it was mostly a burden of my own making, but not entirely.

Somewhere in the second year of our marriage, at the ripe old age of 21, I dutifully went back to the doctor who diagnosed me in the first place. I learned quickly what many infertile women come to know: you don't get much help from your garden-variety OB/GYN. That's not a statement on their capabilities; they simply don't have the time to deal with the physical, emotional, and clinical demands of infertility on top of their regular work. So I looked in the phone book, found the only Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE) in Boise at the time, and made an appointment. And thus began a long descent into the world of fertility treatments.

I learned a whole new acronym-laden language for the low low price of tens of thousands of dollars over the next years. The RE did a battery of tests. Matt had already passed the SA, so it was definitely female factor (TMI? Sorry.). So he tested my E2, P4, T3 or T4, FT, and lots of other things, abbreviated and otherwise. Because of the diagnosis of PCOS, we first tried a few rounds of clomiphene accompanied by lots of u/s's. Then we graduated to IUI and I became well-acquainted with needles. We never intended to go as far as IVF, and the story of how we ended up there is one that needs its own entry. More tests, like HSG, more us's, then ET and a long recovery from a nasty case of OHHS. But in the end, IVF was the magic bullet. . . and that's how I started a love-hate relationship with PIO and weekly E2 and P4 blood tests. The dreaded 2ww. And then the long wait for the HCG tests. . . and the wonderful phone call to tell us that it was successful. Followed by 7 weeks more of daily PIO shots and biweekly estrogen shots. (With my second pregnancy, there was VTS, eventually necessitating some sadder acronyms I don't like to think about and certainly don't want to type.) Follow?

It worked twice. Then we got a sweet little red-headed surprise that was never supposed to happen. And now, 3+ years later, that familiar pull that says our family isn't complete. Actually, that pull started with a vengeance more than a year ago. It became evident that our freebie was most likely a one-time shot. I was distraught, and the level of distress surprised even me, since we have these three beautiful daughters that I was never sure I'd have. But the ache was there; no less painful than the first time around.

So we've done it again. After some weeks of meds and shots and tests and preparation, last Wednesday I had my third FET- frozen embryo transfer- and now I'm in that most awful of limbos: the 2ww (two-week wait, where you sit and stress and analyze every physical feeling you have until the doctor's blood test. And actually, at "my" clinic, it's a 10-day wait where, if you get positive results, you're pronounced "chemically pregnant", until another test 10 days later to confirm that HCG levels are doubling like they should in a healthy pregnancy, and then an OB ultrasound a few weeks later to see how the little guy(s) might be doing. Aren't you glad you asked?) This time the process has been physically harder, and emotionally not quite as hard in some ways, and hard in different ways than ever before. And we wait. My hips are bruised and sore, the shots' side effects cruelly mimic pregnancy symptoms which we over-analyze nevertheless, time crawls. . . and we wait. And OMH, I'm going C-R-A-Z-Y.