Stop telling me that I need to have a girl.

     Today, I hauled my heavily pregnant butt out of the house and walked to the store, with my two boys in tow. It's not hard to tell that I'm about to pop out another kid, and of course, people make well meaning comments. What really gets to me though, is that people seem to think that because I already have two boys, I NEED a girl. Random strangers come up to me and ask, no, TELL me that I'm having a girl! 

     Today in Big Lots, we walked down the toy aisle and a lady that was working there, stacking the shelves said "that's a girl in there, isn't it?" 

"I'm not sure, we didn't find out"

"Oh" then SHE ROLLED HER EYES! "I bet you're hoping for a girl"

"Actually we don't mind either way"

And she rolled her eyes AGAIN! It's bad enough that she couldn't control her facial expressions the first time, but to roll her eyes at me TWICE! You bet I was pissed!

     Then, when we were walking home, a middle aged man was going into the Chinese restaurant as we were passing it and held the door open to ask if we wanted to go in, I politely declined and thanked him and he responded with "I hope that baby's a girl, then you can be done!"

     The worst part is, this isn't the first time that I have had this sort of exchange with people throughout this pregnancy and I find it extremely out of line. 

I think what really gets to me, is that this didn't start with this current pregnancy. When I was pregnant with Kennen, people would ask me if I was hoping for a girl, when I would tell them that we wanted a boy, so that he could be a playmate for Lachlan, they would ask me why. I had people ask me if I was disappointed that I was having another boy. Literally from the moment Kennen was born, I had people telling me that I needed to try for a girl. The implication that my family will not be perfect without at least one of each gender is so bizarre to me. That's part of the reason we didn't want to find out this time around, because apart from the clothes that he/she will wear, it doesn't matter to us one iota what gender our baby is. 

     I have even had people ask me if this baby turns out to be a boy, will we try again for a girl? 

     Don't get me wrong, I don't mind when friends and family tell me that they are hoping that our baby is a boy or girl or even a velociraptor (thanks hubby!), they know me and I know it's all in fun, but when a complete stranger on the street or in a store tells me that my baby MUST be a girl, it drives me completely insane, ESPECIALLY when I tell them that we don't have a preference and they look at me like I have two heads.

     To set the record straight: we are not planning on this being our last baby. Yes, we would love to have a girl (or two... or three...) eventually, but we also want another boy at some point, so whether that boy comes along now or years in the future, we will be overjoyed. 

     When strangers tell me that they think I am having a girl, or that they hope my baby is a girl, I feel like what they are actually implying is that they think my child will not be perfect if he is a boy, or that they think we will not be happy unless it is a girl.

     You can rest assured that this baby will be perfect for our family, no matter what is in his/her diaper. Our Heavenly Father knows us, he knows what is best for our family and he knows that whoever it is that will be joining us in the next week or so will be the perfect addition to our family and will be loved beyond measure.

     As for whether we will be done if it is a girl, or if we will try again for a girl if it's a boy, the answer is no. No we will not be finished having kids if this baby is a girl, we want a big family regardless of how many boys or girls we have. No we will not "try for a girl" if this baby is a boy. Yes, we will try for more kids, but we will not try for a specific sex. We will never be disappointed by whether or not we have a boy or a girl. 

     We trust that the Lord knows us best and He will give us the perfect family, no matter how many boys or girls we are blessed with. Our children's sex will not ever determine whether or not our family is complete. 

Determined

I have a friend that inspired me to choose a word for the year and use that word to make the year worth everything it can be. This would be my new years resolution summed up in a single word. I chose the word Determination. Boy did I give myself a word to live up to.

Soon after the year began I was "determined" to stick to my word. I was going to work hard to live a healthier lifestyle, to be an awesome mother, love my husband more,be a positive happy person, and accept whatever life hands me with a smile. I bombed miserably. If I was to pick a word today to describe the past months it would be "mediocre."

Since January my family has moved back to our home state. It has become such a blessing to be closer to family. We are able to have a closer relationship for our kids with their grandparents and we have a lot of support when we need it.
We have been able to celebrate the first birthday of my youngest son with family and be grateful for all the things he has accomplished since birth.
We are going to welcome a third addition to our family (another boy) in December and so far he is healthy and strong.
My husband is working a great job and providing for us. He is a hard working man and it shows everyday.

So what's the problem??? Why mediocre??
My attitude has been terrible...............

Every day has been a struggle for me. Each day I get up and I know I have to argue with a three year old and stress about my youngest who won't take a spoon and will only eat formula out of a bottle. I constantly fight to get the best treatment for my son when people just want us to choose the easiest way out. I get funny looks when I tell people that my youngest baby is almost 18 months even though he still acts like a 6 month old. I feel my family judging me because my three year old isn't doing what they think he should be doing. They constantly complain about how much energy he has and how exhausting he is to be around. Since our pregnancy with number three, I have felt exhausted every day and less and less beautiful as the days go by. I feel that people feel sorry for us because we are having another baby when we should have waited for our youngest to develop more and be a little more independent. I have so many feels these days!!!!
I can't possibly be the only person out there feeling all these feels by myself right???????
SO!!! Lets suck it up!! Move on!

Let us bring back the determination!!!
Today I will move on an do what I know is best for my family. People may give up on us but I won't give up on us. I will do every possible thing to help my youngest (almost middle child) succeed in everything possible. I will learn that an argument with my three year old is his way of expressing his independence and personality. Instead of arguing back I will discuss the options because why should I be arguing with a three year old?? I'm older and smarter than this!!!
I will be proud of my family and our accomplishments. They are such a big part of my life and I honestly wouldn't change it for anything. I need to see more blessings and be grateful for what we have accomplished and not look at what must be done.
Who cares if the hair dresser cut my hair badly and made my cute pixie cut look like a male hair cut!!! I'm going to rock this look until I grow it out again! I will remind myself that sometimes adding a little mascara or even painting my fingers and toes can make me feel beautiful and feminine and that it's ok to get dolled up for no reason (even if it is to just get peed and pooed on).

I am determination, without it I wouldn't have gotten this far and without it I won't get any further. Let's work together and make the most out of the rest of this year and be the best we can be. It is exhausting and tiresome but so worth the work.

Part 3 - The Aftermath: An Adoption Story

Here is the final post in Paige's 3 part series about her putting her son up for adoption. Thank you so much Paige for sharing your story with our blog! 

Part III—The Aftermath

There were so many tender mercies that happened during my post-partum period and it really reinforced that when God asks you to do impossible things, He will support you through it.  Actually, I could see the blessings when they were happening, but I was too miserable to care.  The appreciation and reinforcement came later, only stronger and in a different way than I experienced it as I lived it.  For example, I bought a puppy while I was pregnant, and even though I was mad at him for not being R when I got home from the hospital (rational, I know), that little dog never left my side while I was recovering from the cesarean and ended up being a huge blessing.  I needed him.  

The first night without R was the hardest.  The social worker came with the “no changing your mind after this” paperwork and with it, he brought me a present from S and K.  They had printed off all of the pictures from the hospital and like 100 more from that afternoon; there was also a scrapbook and all kinds of paper, stickers, and everything I could need to make a beautiful memory book of my time with R.  If I hadn’t already been crying, that totally would have made me cry!  Also, right before he came with the paperwork, a friend showed up with TCBY; he sat with me while I signed the papers, and then watched a movie with me—by that I mean he kept me company while I cried and cried and cried.

Because of the state laws, S, K and the boys had to stay in my state for two weeks after the birth.  They came to visit a few times, and that was another huge blessing.  I mean who wants to stop seeing their baby cold-turkey?  My whole family enjoyed that extra time and it was a good transition for me from “my baby” to “their baby,” even though he was always their baby.  I remember very well the last time I got to see him that trip.  K let me have a little alone time with him, so I took him up to my room, kind of curled up in a ball around him, and sang James Taylor’s “You’ve Got a Friend” to him.  My daddy use to sing my sisters and I to sleep with that one.  Taking him downstairs after that was almost as hard as handing him over at the hospital.  No words.

Over the next few months, I got to see R four or five times.  I really needed to see him that much in the beginning.  Even though I’ve only seen him a couple of times since he was one, not a day goes by that I don’t think about him and wonder what he’s doing and if he’s happy.  I love him just as much as I love my other children.  I hope he never doubts that and that some day he will understand that I made the decision I did because I love him.  Having my other children has definitely helped me heal; my arms don’t physically ache from being empty anymore.  I’m also pretty sure I appreciate my children more than I would have, and that makes me a better mother than I would have been without this experience.  So I guess that is the silver lining.  But like the death of a loved one, adoption for a birth mother is something that you don’t get over, you just get used to it.  

So there it is, my first and maybe only attempt to tell our adoption story.  I know I didn’t do it justice, that the pictures and feelings in my head and heart can’t really be communicated.  I guess if you get anything out of my story, I would want it to be that God cares about us individually.  He guides us to make the best decisions for our lives and our children’s lives, He puts specific people in our paths for a reason, He shows us love, kindness, and mercy when we need it most, He heals us, and He loves families.

Part 2 - The Birth: An Adoption Story

Here is part 2 of Paige's story!

Part II—The Birth

S and K came to stay with us for a few days before R was born.  After seeing Monica and Chandler (Friends) being there when their babies were born, I really wanted R’s family there when he was born.  I wanted him to come straight out and have K, his mother, be the first person he saw.  I was adopted and my birth parents also came to be an extra support for me.  The moms all got our nails done, we went swimming, and had a big pizza party with everyone the night before the induction.  That extra time with them was so reassuring.  The next morning at around 6am, my mom, K, and I went to the hospital to start the induction.  We knew it would take a while, so we told everyone else to just come and go as they pleased.  Daddy was on-call the night before, so when he got off work, he came still in scrubs and slept on the little couch in my room.  S and their little boy came to visit for a while.  And then my birth parents were there for most of it.  My birth father kept taking pictures and videos during conrractions, which I did not love, but I’m glad I have them now.  My birth mom, wow.  I can’t imagine, knowing what this feels like, how hard it was for her to sit there and watch me do it.  But she did, and to me at least, the whole day felt like R’s birthday party.  

I’m not going to talk about the labor part, because I feel like I was given bad advice and my medical decisions were made for me.  Needless to say, after more than twelve hours of labor, I was wheeled back to the OR for a cesarean.  It was really hard to pick who should go with me.  I wanted my mom.  But I also still wanted K to be the first person R saw.  K was very sweet and made the decision for me so that I wouldn’t have to feel guilty choosing my mom.  I have to give my mom credit here, she was a spectacular doula, even though we didn’t even know what a doula was then!  She stroked my hair which helped keep me calm, noticed and told them I was cold so I could get the heaters on, put a washcloth on my head and asked for Zofran when I was nauseous, she brought R over to see me as soon as she could, and gave me a play-by-play until then.  She did everything she could to make a really scary birth experience as comfortable and happy as it could be.  And then she took R out to meet his parents.  I wish so bad I could have been there for that and I’m so glad there are lots of pictures.  I especially love one of S with tears in his eyes as he held R for the first time.

I got to hold R for the first time in recovery.  I don’t do well with anesthesia and was still pretty loopy, so I don’t remember much.  I remember being shocked by how gorgeous he was, and then telling mom I was going to throw-up and asking if I should lean over the edge of the bed or just puke in my lap?  She popped up, grabbed R, then ran around the room like a crazy looking for a bucket or something, and finally handed me a bedpan just in time!  That memory still makes me giggle.  The only other thing I remember from the rest of the night was showing all of the nurses a picture of R on my phone every time they came in to take my vitals.  He was the most beautiful baby ever and they NEEDED to see him!

The rest of the hospital stay was pure bliss, the calm before the storm.  I knew what I was going to have to do, but for those few days, he was mine and I was pretending he always would be.  I hardly slept because I just wanted to look at him and memorize every detail of his beautiful little face.  Friends came to visit and I was so thrilled to show R off; now though, I am so thankful for the love they showed me then and in the weeks that followed when I felt like the world was ending.  The last night, I didn’t sleep for even a minute.  I didn’t want our time to be over, I didn’t want to let him go.

All too soon, the sun came up and it was time to go.  My sweet mom packed up my stuff for me so I could hold R as long as I could.  She took a couple of pictures too, and to this day, it’s too painful to keep them but I could never let them go.  Up until that point, everything with S, K, and the adoption agency had been very casual, so it kind of felt like jumping into a cold swimming pool when the man from the agency came in with paperwork and did a little ceremony.  I can see how that might bring closure for some moms and might feel like a “Once upon a time. . .” beginning for the new family, but I hate goodbyes and making it formal like that made that one even worse.  I wanted to spend some time together like we had been, and then go our separate ways except R would be theirs.  I said my goodbyes, and just like that, he was gone.

Part 1-The Decisions: An Adoption Story

Becca here! My wonderful sister Paige, was brave enough to write about putting her son up for adoption. This is going to be a 3 part series that will be posted over the next 3 days. Thank you so much Paige for sharing this for the world to see, love you!

I have never put our story down in words.  It is something so sacred to me that I just never could.  How do you give your baby to someone else to raise?  Explaining this feels like trying to write a Ph.D. dissertation with a kindergarten vocabulary.  You can try, but it’s not going to be very good.  So here we go: 

Part I—The Decisions

I looked down at the little stick, knowing without a doubt in my mind that it would be negative.  It wasn’t.  Before any of the questions, fears, or doubts came, the first thing I remember feeling was love.  It was warm and all-encompassing, and peaceful.  I walked out of the bathroom, still holding the stick, with a stunned look on my face.  My roommate was standing right there; she took one look at me and grabbed the stick out of my hand.  Of all of the people on this planet, she was who I needed right then—the perfect blend of “Oh my gosh, you’re having a baby!!!” and “Oh my gosh, what the heck are you going to do!?!”  My boyfriend, B, was coming to pick me up for church, so we decided I would take another test and talk to him then if I needed to.  

I really don’t remember much about that day besides the initial lovey feelings, the fact that B was in a suit when I told him, and the anxiety as I procrastinated telling my parents.  I finally got up the nerve to call them around 11pm their time.  I called Daddy because I hoped he would react in a semi-supportive way, but he hung up on me and that was pretty jarring.  In retrospect, that was the right thing to do—he didn’t say anything hurtful with that initial surprise and disappointment—but at the time, it felt like a slap in the face.  

He and my mom called back the next day and we all talked about what to do.  Abortion was never an option.  Never.  B and I decided to get married, because that’s what you’re “supposed to” do.  I had already turned down two proposals from him before the pregnancy, I knew it wasn’t right, but now that there was a baby involved I was going to do it anyway because I wanted that baby.  By the time I went home for Christmas, there was no more denying it: marrying B was not what God wanted for my child and my life.  I still wanted to parent my baby though, so I announced that that’s what I was going to do.  My parents thought I should place the baby for adoption and dragged me to counseling and my church’s social services counselor over break.  I was prideful and I didn’t hear a word of it.  “Some girls have a hard time as a single 19 year-old mom, but that’s not me.”  “I can do this by myself, I don’t need a man,” were my thoughts.  I made plans to move back home until I had the baby to get a little space from B. 

This part, I have the hardest time explaining: over the next two weeks, my heart changed.  Words don’t exist for what I felt.  I can’t tell you a specific thought or experience or even day when it all changed because it wasn’t a conscious decision.  It was literally my heart did a super slow 180 and, instead of wanting what I wanted for us, I wanted what Heavenly Father wanted for us: adoption.  Never for one second from then until now have I liked that that’s what God wanted.  That was never and still isn’t what I want.  But more than I want what I want, I want what He wants, especially for the precious little person that was growing inside of me and was now my responsibility.

When I got home, I met with the counselor and got started finding my sweetheart’s family.  I wanted everything for him.  Most important, I wanted an open adoption.  That wasn’t done then, so I knew that was going to be tricky.  I trusted God though that if He was going to require this sacrifice, He would make a way for me to watch my baby grow up.  I wanted him to have siblings, I wanted them to be in the South so I could see him sometimes, and I wanted him to have a mom home with him like my mom was.  There were a hundred other things, but those were my biggies.  I found his family relatively early in my search, but they didn’t live in the South, so I put their names on my “maybe” list.  They had a little boy already, and from reading their profile I felt like they really loved each other, the kind of love I wanted modeled for my child.  I found three or four other profiles that had everything I wanted, so I took those in to the agency and asked them to e-mail them and ask about open adoption.

A week or two later, I had an ultrasound and they printed off some pictures for me.  I think I even brought them to my appointment to show the social worker, I was so excited about my little!  There was one picture of his feet, a view from the bottom, which was especially sweet to me.  At the appointment, I was devastated to hear that none of my families were agreeable to an open adoption.  Seriously devastated.  Like I cried in the appointment.  I went home and started my search all over again.  I started with my “maybe” list, looking a little more in detail at those families.  His family, S and K, had a website with pictures for their older son’s birth mother and prospective parents to look at.  I opened the page and immediately got goosebumps.  The picture at the top of the page was S and K’s hands and their son’s feet in exactly the same position as the ultrasound picture of my baby.  I think I knew then that they were his family, so I kept looking at their pictures and falling in love with them.  I prayed and felt like that was confirmed, but I didn’t want to let myself admit it until I knew their feelings about open adoption.  The agency e-mailed them and they would consider it!!!  I was flooded with relief!  I had found them and that I was going to get everything that was important to me (K is from the South, so he might not live here, but he has a Southern mother and that is more than good enough for me).  We started communicating and even met once during the pregnancy.  K was such a source of comfort during that difficult time and I loved getting to know her and felt like she was the grown-up version of who I wanted to be.  I didn’t really get to know S well at the time, but from my interactions with him since, he reminds me of my Daddy.  That is literally the highest praise I could give to any man.  Placing your baby with another family to raise is the worst, but knowing S and K are his family makes it infinitely easier.

My Life as a Chosen Baby: Margie's Story

My life as a "chosen" baby.

My name is Margie and I am a very proud mum to 5 gorgeous individuals, one being the gorgeous Meghan. 

I was born on June 13 1961 at The Royal Melbourne Hospital in Melbourne, Australia. 

I was the first born to Aileen Fraser and Brian Egan and was given the name AnnMarie Therese Fraser. 

My birth mother kept me for the ten days that she was in hospital, then had to hand me over for adoption. In those days there was a seven day cooling off period, so before the end of that time, she came and got me back.

Her parents were totally against this and the pregnancy, as they were strict Catholics. Both my birth parents tried their best to keep me, but were unable to, so at three months of age, I was handed over for adoption.

In September in 1961 I met and went to live with my forever family. I was the youngest of 4, Mum and Dad adopted all four of us. John the eldest, Anne Marie and Peter, the twins and then me. I was given a new name: Margaret Mary Richards.

We lived on a farm in country Victoria and then moved to another farm, in country New South Wales. In 1969, we moved to Geelong, Victoria, where my family still lives. 

Growing up, times were tough, but we never went without. The love and care were always on hand and of course, I was daddy's little girl.

I don't know when we were told we were adopted, but it was never hidden from us. In saying that, we weren't treated any different from anybody else. We were their kids, end of story.

I grew up in a home with love, warmth, and rules. I was taught to love and give respect, to work for what I wanted and be kind to others even if they were unkind to me. We were taught not to question mum or dad when they said No. I loved my life.

I wasn't interested in knowing my birth mother until I became a mum myself. After a lot of soul searching, I started the process. It took a while but finally, success! 

I discovered that my birth parents had married and had 5 more children, that gave me 4 more brothers and another sister......wow! 

Sadly, my relationship with my birth parents and 3 of the boys is almost non existent. I won't give the long, boring story, but it wasn't through not trying.

I have a great, no a fantastic, relationship with my sister and her hubby and daughter and a great relationship with the eldest brother, his wife and their baby son. I don't see them often, but when I do it's good. For those we don't see, my thoughts are "it's their loss".

I have a fantastic family and feel honoured to have been chosen. I believe my life couldn't be better. 

My wonderful Dad

My beautiful Mum on my daughter's wedding day. 

Me with my brothers and sister as kids. 

In Dubai with my sister, Janine.

The love of my life, Ken. 

Meet Erin's Mom

This is my Mom... Ellie!

Birthday: August 10th

Number of kids: 6 (4 girls, 2 boys)

Favorite color: Pink (pale yellow and Aqua are my next)

Favorite food: shrimp (grilled) and schnitzel

 

Favorite TV show: Currently Big Bang Theory. 

Charmed , Bewitched and Mash

Favorite flower:  Rose and forget me nots

Favorite perfume:  currently Burberry Brit (most Burberry) 

Some fun facts about me: 

 I traveled all over Europe at the age of 16/17 and turned 17 while I was traveling.  Had my passport stolen in Paris another trip and had to pass the border into Germany without it and prayer helped me not get detected. I'm afraid of moths - was even chased by one down the golf course.  Almost jumped out of a moving car to get away from a cricket at my feet- luckily Erin's dad stopped the car fast enough but the door was open and I was about to bail.  

How I felt the first time I found out I was going to be a mom: Excited, scared, overwhelmed, happy, and blessed. (Felt this each time I had a baby, but being overwhelmed and scared was bigger with the first time -after that I wasn't as overwhelmed or scared) 

    I love my mom! It is that simple, and even more so now that we live thousands of miles apart! My mom taught me how to be the mom I am today. She is the best grandma, and it is the sweetest thing to watch my son with her and now since we moved talk to her on facetime and for Elijah to know who she is to him and love her. My mom would do pretty much anything for her kids, and anyone really. She gave up so much of her time and money to take care of her sister who had cancer, she drove all the way to Vegas to take of her (from Cali) and then when my aunt  wasn't able to leave her bed, my mom went back to Vegas and brought her back to California to take care of her. In fact she gave up her living room to have my aunt stay there, until she passed away last year. That is the type of mom I have! I am blessed to have an example like that. I love my mom, she is one of my closest friends and I miss our weekly mom/daughter dates! Things just aren't the same without them... Thanks for being a great mom. Happy Mother's Day, Love you mom.