My last run was September 16, 2015. A Wednesday I will never forget: we had scrubbed our apartment clean, purchased a new shower curtain (what what), and baked cookies. I even bought cheese and crackers and fresh spring-sprung water that didn't taste like mold. It was the big Home Study day. Cathy, our beloved social worker, had come around 12 pm while Loren was still meeting with a student for lunch and I was being interviewed about my childhood. When he got home it was his turn to be interviewed and I walked the short distance to our precious gray and yellow nursery and spent time praying for our precious birth mama, birth daddy, and baby growing in our hearts rocking in the wood chair.
This was CD (cycle day) 29 for me.Usually, I would have tested a day earlier, cycle day 28, checking as early as possible for those Two Lines. But one month earlier, I had finally felt this beautiful peace about not testing. (If you have no idea what the heck I am talking about, I am talking about testing for pregnancy - a pee stick - a urine sample - peeing into a cup and dipping the tests into it to see if not only one, but two, beautiful lines greet you). I also knew that I could not go into my Home Study interview with a clear head if I saw Two Lines. I also knew that if it were One Line again, I would be feeling the sting of yet another failed month of trying, marking 2 years and 4 months (28 months) which to some seems like very little time, but to us felt like for forever. I was working really hard on wrapping my heart's hope back around Jesus; not my body or adoption or humans, but Jesus and solely Jesus. Because putting my hope in my body, in our family growing, in Two Lines, in babies and humans and processes and anything but Jesus is only setting myself up for disappointment. I know this and I knew this, but sometimes it is just hard.
I was sick of seeing the One Line response. I didn't want to have it glaring up at me again. Not again.
Thursday passed (CD 30). My "lady-ness" is weird and random and sometimes is 28 days and sometimes is 33 days. Better than the old unknowns of anywhere from 14 to 44 days, hey? Friday passed (CD 31). I don't remember what I did those days except continue working on our nursery, meeting with ladies whom I adore, feeling the tired sting of Cousin Red coming and my ladies up top growing sorer and sorer. That's normal for me. You're welcome and you're welcome. Here we are, internet friends, reaching a new level of friendship and you're getting to know my body better than I should probably let you. I'm sure I will come back and backspace some of these sentences one day when I have kids that can read and access the internet. Poor kids gunna be embarrassed.
Saturday morning (CD 32) arrived and we had a 20-22 mile run scheduled for the day. We were training for our very first marathon. The longest distance either of us have ever ran. We had signed up over a year ago, complimentary of my grandparents, and had been training all year. Kind of. But really actually training for the last 4 months. While training and pushing my body further than it had gone, God and I had many conversations. They went like this: "God, if my body can't hold a baby inside of it, then let's show it what it can do: it can run. It can defy normalness. Running 26.2 miles is like running your body down and then hitting it with a train. That's almost like giving birth right? (Go ahead and laugh, or cry, I cried alot). Let's be proud of my body - God, help me be proud of this body you created for me. I want to run this marathon and complete it. Because, really I should be 7 months pregnant. And since I am not, let's run this marathon."
I woke up around 7:30 am, put on not one but two sports bras because Hello Tenderness. Tie those suckers down. A thought occurred to me while brushing my teeth: Self, if you are indeed carrying a precious thing that has an actual heartbeat, you probably shouldn't run 22 miles today; you should probably be careful with your body, tender with the Love inside. And so went my disgruntled self, opening the bathroom cabinet, finding a pregnancy test, fearful of the One Line. I knew it would be One Line. I knew it more than I knew anything. I felt stupid for pulling out two tests, but I just needed my mind to be clear on our run so I could focus and pray and love my body. But man, the voices in my head were shouting how incredibly stupid and foolish I was.
I do the deed. Not that deed, Loren was still waking up. I pee into the majestic plastic white cup and I annoyingly stick two tests into it. I open the lower cabinet door again to set them inside, in case that Loren comes in. Of course, IF it was Two Lines, I would want to surprise him in a fun loving way like last time. (Oh my gosh you guys, last time was so fun and I did so good and we danced and cried and laughed and I video taped [Loren would correct me and say I did not video tape it, but recorded it] it and it was great). Not just by showing him the test - I want these moments to be made special. No matter the outcome, I want these moments to be happy memories. The kind that you tell your kids and they feel so loved and cherished and wanted.
Well what ACTUALLY happened was this:
before I even set the tests down Two Lines appeared and I said over and over again, "Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't." My head went fuzzy and I became suddenly so light headed I thought I might faint. And then I stumbled two steps towards our bedroom where Loren was lying down asking, "What? Is there a spider?" I then did actually black out slightly and slumped against the door. He raced out of bed and I held up the test and said, "I can't do this again. I can't lose another." Don't tell anyone, but he cried because he has a heart of beautiful gold. He held me while I sobbed and he smiled. He held me tight while fear took over and I felt like an idiot for not telling him in some fancy fun beautiful way, and instead revealed how deeply afraid I was.
I of course then took the rest of our pregnancy tests and dumped them into my pee to make sure I didn't make it up and we weren't seeing things. I mean, they look pretty clear: