Blogger. One who blogs.

Remember how I started doing this? Yeah, I didn't either apparently. I suppose I haven't yet earned the title of a "blogger", especially since I still haven't really figured out design and layout, and am not bothering to approach it again, and also because I don't constantly have fun things to say. How do people think of clever or at least interesting things to say every single day?
Also, have you noticed how there's nothing listed below my cute little labels to the right? ... that's because I don't know how to make them serve their intended purpose. But for now, I'll just consider them accessories. Whatever.

Welllll well well. It occurred to me a few days ago that I actually chose a really great time to start blogging. On the day of the blog's birth, I was yet unaware that another birth was imminent. An inspired decision, I'm sure! Perhaps just convenience. Who knows? Either way, I now will have something more consistently exciting to write about. Exciting for me, anyway, I'm not sure about everyone else. And though everyone who may read this post will have, in all likelihood, already seen this, I will post it anyway. Because it's FUN! Because it's deserving of multiple posts. Because I like to stare at it.

Annndd this one...

You probably can't tell here, but the little white blob by its face is a hand. You can just barely see little fingers. :) And baby is kind of lifting up his/her chin off of his/her chest, which is a little milestone in development. So happy.

And thus begins my entrance into the ENDLESS world of information on babies and pregnancy and stretchy pants and doctors and midwives and hospitals and home births and names and vitamins and chemicals and food and exercise and cloth diapers and breasts and bottles and organic baby bedsheets and do this and don't do that... Wish me luck. :)

While I'm talking about this, I may as well tell you the story. Because, though I can imagine my mother may think I'm sharing information that is far too personal (love you mom!), it's a real miracle and a definite, undeniable gift from a loving Heavenly Father. And in order to portray this to you, I will include the details.

When Boyd and I first got married, we both figured that the chances of conceiving a child naturally would be pretty low. Chemo kills all of the fast growing cells in your body, which is why people lose their hair and their finger nails stop growing - all of that stuff that is constantly regenerating, including sperm. Just to give you a very basic idea... A general (I mean really general, because everyone's experience is totally different) plan for going through chemo might be a few hours of chemo going into your veins, a couple days a week, every 2 weeks or so. That amount is plenty enough for people to feel the full effects of it - dizziness, nausea, loss of hair, intense fatigue, loss of taste, etc. This is INTENSE stuff. Boyd had chemo administered to him for 40 hours a week, every other week, for 7 months. Because his cancer was a rare form without any research to guide treatments, the best option was to just throw as much at him as they could without killing him. Just to be sure they got it. 

Boydy Before Chemo    

                                                    

During chemo. The scar on the side of his belly is from the surgery that removed part of his kidney. You can also see where the port is on his chest, where the chemo goes directly into the heart.

After Chemo. Healthy and Happy :)

  (Disclaimer: I am not minimizing ANY person's cancer experience in any way. I just want to give a good idea of the extreme amount of chemicals that were put into his body and how that has affected him.)

It has been over three years since his last treatment, and his poor hairs on his head still won't make a comeback. It comes in baby fine patches, so he just keeps it shaved. We just assumed his sperm shared the same fate. It would only make sense. Around September, we both started really feeling the importance of planning for a family. We wanted to know where we stood so that we could make some goals for ourselves, so we decided to get Boyd's sperm tested. He did think to have some sperm put in storage before he underwent chemo, but he had not been tested since the end of treatment so we really had no idea where he stood. 

Now here's a fun little fact for you: Normal sperm levels are anywhere from 20 million to 150 million sperm per milliliter. Isn't that crazy? They're the smallest cells in a man's body. Well anyway, Boyd's results came back and - keep in mind those norms - they found 4 million sperm per milliliter. FOUR. As compared to somewhere between 20 and 150 million. They told us that they would consider Boyd to be "sub-fertile" and to come back and see them when we wanted to start talking about fertility treatment options.

At this point, I experienced a bit of a roller coaster as far as my optimism in the situation. On one hand, I would pray about it and feel incredibly at peace. I would be reminded of all of the great support around me. Since we moved to Tucson, we've met quite a few couples who have had long and painful struggles with infertility. I didn't feel at all alone in our situation. My own parents were unable to have children of their own and they adopted my sister and me. I just knew that everything would be okay and that someday, one way or another, I would be a mother. But there were also days where I would feel a little blue, and wonder in my crazy girl mind what exactly God had in mind for us. 

I spoke with a friend of mine shortly after acquiring this new information, on a day where I was not feeling particularly positive. She reminded me that no statistic mattered in the least if our Heavenly Father decided that now was the time for us to have a baby. All this meant was that it would take even more faith in God on my part. Indeed! That was just what I needed to hear right then. 

So anyway... I could keep going and tell you all of the little tiny details and every little thing that went on in my head in the weeks leading up to finding out that I was pregnant. But that would probably mean another 20 minutes of reading for you. (If you've made it this far, I'm surprised. And flattered.) And also a lot more typing. And I'm hungry (even after a whole bowl full of spaghetti eaten a mere hour ago).

My point is... that I know with all that is in me that we are so incredibly loved, so personally guided, and so perfectly watched over and taught by our Heavenly Father. The more I turn to Him and rely on Him, the more I am assured that He really is there and we will not be left alone. Can I hear an amen?!