Portraits are powerful

This week marked the magnificent milestone of our little Gracie girl turning six months old.  And to help us celebrate my dear friend Elizabeth, owner and photographer at White Acre Photography has offered to take some family portraits for us.

Whenever Elizabeth offers me her services in the form of a professional portrait shoot, and not just my friend taking some happy snaps, I always question whether it's really necessary.  What's wrong with a bunch of casual piccies taken around the house or at birthday parties?  Well, nothing at all.  These are photos of every day moments captured to fill albums and help us remember days past.  But there is something very special about having your family's portrait taken by a professional (and not just because you'll finally be in front of the lens and not the one who misses out behind the camera).

As part of a branding and image makeover of her brand, Elizabeth has taken the time to explain the importance of keeping photographic memories.  And because she has been a part of and shot so many of my family's most memorable occasions I just have to share her with you too.  Check out Elizabeth's Portraits Are Powerful series.  You may even spot Gracie in a pic or two.

I'll be back later to share some of our most recent milestone portraits with you.     

 

A belly full of eggs and a head full of doubt

I have started writing this blog about five times over the last week or so.  I have deleted parts over and over again trying to put my thoughts into the right words.  I have read it and felt ashamed for being so self-centered, depressed that the words I read are as sad as my thoughts, mad because I want to not have the experience behind the story.  So I have edited it to the following.  This blog isn't written for sympathy, nor is it written for your judgement.  It is simply written in truth, and because of that, I know that we can not be alone in our thoughts, actions, or emotions.  If you don't have anything constructive to say, don't say it, if you can relate to me, please do...

This is our "last chance" IUI.  So basically, we're up to attempt three at this IUI process and if this one doesn't work the chances of it ever working are hugely diminished.  If this one doesn't work then we have one option left, IVF.  We knew this time might come.  It's something we were told we might have to expect, from the day we were told I had PCOS.  Yet, here it is, those three little letters: I.V.F. Which are burnt into our minds like giant, fluorescent lights in the night sky.  We close our eyes and there it is.  We open our mouths to talk and there it is again.  We try NOT to the think about it, but there it is still.  IVF!!  We get it IVF; your approach is imminent!  

And I think because we can feel IVF breathing down our necks, this IUI cycle is destined to fail.  It feels as awful to say as it makes me feel to write the words, but there is no part of this cycle that feels positive.  We "ummed and arrred" and debated heatedly for days prior to insemination day, even with the news that we had four big, fat follicles.  Mostly because we haven't really had time alone together in about six weeks (my shitty work roster and Hubby's other commitments), and IUI just felt like a big inconvenience to us both.  But, ultimately we decided that we wouldn't give up our chance of utilising the insemination process, in case we wouldn't get to see each other again during my fertile days.  Hubby worked the day of the insem. and so I attended the clinic on my own for the first time.  It all felt very unusual and surreal to be doing this alone, especially given the circumstances.  

At the end of the process I lay on the table, waiting for my 15minutes "warming" to be over so I could pay the receptionist and sulk home.  Fortunately my amazing doctor picked up on my low mood, leaned over and gave me a hearty arm rub and offered to wait with me, despite there being a waiting room full of pregnant women anxious for their appointments.  I gratefully declined and instead used my time alone to think.  This is not how I want my children to come into the world.  I do not want to believe it is easier to expect the worse, than to believe in miracles.  We are not those people.  We have waited 18months so far for our miracle.  It has been 18months of trials, tears, experimentation, disappointments, unexpected surprises, lots of friends and family having babies, and so much WAITING!!  And to be honest, we would go through it all again if we had to.  But right now, it's all too much.  I WANT this IUI cycle to work.  I am desperate for it to work.  I don't want to think negatively about the possibilities that this insemination may bring.  But it's all I can do at the moment.  Our brains are so committed to preparing us for IVF that we have totally disregarded this cycle as anything but a time-killer, one final stab in the dark.  And that in itself is enough to make us realise that we have had enough for a while.    

IVF is such a huge commitment in so many ways. If this is your belief too (and I would have to think that for most IVFers it would have to be in some way) that life begins at conception, than IVF is so much more than just me and my husband deciding to have a baby right now.  It's about the creation of life for any and all of our future children.  We are making a decision to create embryos which will hopefully be viable with life.  We are creating lives!  We are transferring those embryos to my uterus and praying like crazy to God that they implant, grow and be healthy.  My brain boggles at that in so many ways!!  If those cycles don't work, we have lost a life!  This is something we talk about so often now, its a more common subject than 'honey, we need to buy bread'.  We would like to have four children, but in order to give birth to four children, how many embryos do we create?  How many eggs do we harvest?  What if they all fertilise, and what if none of them do?  How could we possibly cope with more bad new at the moment?

We don't have the answer to any of those questions?  We have spoken to friends, family, doctors, and still we draw a blank.  We are not ready.  We need more time.  And so, in our jumbled world of overwhelming questions and choices we have made one very simple one.  It is time to stop.  Not permanently.  But for no indicated time frame at this point.  It is time to collect ourselves.  Clear our heads.  Reconnect as a couple and not just try-hard infertiles.  It is time to think about something other than 28 day cycles, temperature charting, needles, symptoms, timed sex, blah blah blah.  It is time to let go of the reigns we have been gripping so tightly for the last year and a half (or the majority of our marriage!).  

Trust me.  I say this answer was simple one, but it was very difficult one to choose.  The idea still makes me feel anxious, sick to my stomach.  Something deep inside me is telling me not to waste more time (probably my uterus), and something else is telling that voice to shut to hell up for a while.  I walk into work on a daily basis, where a number of the staff are now pregnant and glowing with their round bellies resting against their uniform blouses, and my anxiety kicks up a notch.  I want that to be me.  I want to be telling the world we're having a baby.  But I'm not, and won't be for some time to go.  So I deep breathe, rest my head on tables to lower my pulse and ease the red flush in my cheeks, and say prayer under my breath.  That is all the energy I have left for.  So I know, it is time to stop for a while.  I want to be with my husband.  I want us to smile together again.  I don't want life to be a timeline of scan dates and negative pregnancy tests.  I want to feel the warmth and wholeness that our love brings to life, build a fortress around it and prepare for the next unknown.

Until then, I pray that there IS a chance for our four little follies.  I pray that even if we don't know they can make it, someone else does.  I pray for calm.

  But I will sing of your strength,
  in the morning I will sing of your love;

for you are my fortress,
   my refuge in times of trouble. 

{Psalm 59:16} 

A good man

With the very sad passing of Hubby's Grandad early last week, we've spent most of our time planning our trip to and from his beloved farm in Machine Creek around work and health commitments.  It's been a very big week!  We packed up the car, organised a sitter for The Boo and headed off on our road trip; a good seven hour drive either way.

Hubby had been meaning to take me to Machine Creek since we met six years ago, but like most things, we didn't really ever manage to fit it into our plans.  Hubby and his family spent a huge amount of their holidays with Grandad on his farm learning to ride bikes, feed and milk cows, dehorn bulls and generally get up to mischief.  I've heard many great stories about the fun times he and his siblings had out there.  So when we finally had the opportunity to see the place for myself I was excited!

And let me tell you, the farm lived up to its reputation!  I was given the grand tour of the paddocks on the trusty quad bike by Hubby.  He took me over the creek, through the milking shed and through some really amazing land.  There were old sheds full of equipment, a run down original workers cottage affectionately known as "Gran's place", paddocks with awesome names like "Bonanza", and hills and grass as far as the eye could see.  It really is an amazing place.


Grandad's funeral was beautiful.  It was a true tribute to the good man he was in life, and the church was full with the people he'd shared that life with.  Amazingly there were even people lining the verandahs of the church just to be present for his final send off.  His coffin was lain with memories from the farm; pieces of bougainvillaea tree, small old farming paraphernalia and photos, lots and lots of photos.  In life, I had only the chance to meet with Grandad a handful of times, but through the stories told by the people we both call our family, I felt like I truly was getting to know him.


Being able to spent that time on the farm with Hubby is priceless to me.  It is a memory we were able to share together.  A piece of his life I know that was so dear to him.  There really is something special about country life.  The calming, fresh air, the endless clear blue skies, the smell of hay and cows and dirt.  A feeling of closeness with God. And something truly relaxing indeed.  


So, we may have had to say goodbye to Grandad, but through our time on the farm we both now have some amazing memories of the man that owned the land, spent his life and love on making it as beautiful as it was, and we are truly grateful.