What Day Zero Means

I think everyone who follows this blog is also friends with us on Facebook, but for those who aren't, here's a quick catch-up:

Previously, on The Foggs . . .

Scott and Kelly really wanted a family.  They tried all sorts of things:  Natural solutions, unnatural solutions, the foster care system and lots and lots of prayer.  Just when the light was fading at the end of the tunnel, they received a call from a nurse practitioner friend of theirs who had just found out one of her patients (a giggling, cooing, totes adorbs ten month-old) was about to be put up for adoption.  Their friend stepped out on a limb and gave the girl's custodian Scott and Kelly's number, we got in touch and a few short (despite how long they felt) weeks later, little baby Amelia was living with them.

All caught up?  Good.  Feel free to ask questions.  We're more than happy to go further into detail.

About a week or so after Amelia came to live with us, I started posting a countdown.  It started at 30.  And every day, I posted the next.  29.  People started asking, "what's all this about?"  28.  And I explained, as succinctly and as informatively as I could (on Facebook) that it was our countdown until Amelia was ours.  27.  That wasn't the whole truth, but it was the easiest, best way to explain it from my iPhone while I was eating lunch in my car in the parking lot at work.

Eagle-eyed observers noticed that on July 26, 2013, we reached zero.  0.  Lot of amazing congratulations and cheers came rolling in over our phones and on Facebook and in real life.  Followed with either a "so she's yours now" or "what happens next?"

So.  This is what happened on Day Zero.  Our attorney went to court on our behalf and we became Amelia's legal guardians.  I very much like the idea of creating a business card that says

SCOTT FOGG

GUARDIAN

But it's a position that I shouldn't have to hold very long due to the nature of the countdown.  The countdown started on the day that the biological parents were served papers that said their rights as parents were being terminated (TPR for short, "Termination of Parental Rights").  They had thirty days to contest this termination.  If they did not contest it during those thirty days, their rights would be terminated and we would be granted custody of Amelia.

The thirty days came and went without a peep from either parent -- well, not completely without peep.  The father contacted the attorney to sign over his rights even faster.  He was effectively out of the equation a few short days into The Thirty.  We never heard from the mom.  The reason we are guardians right now, and don't have full custody, is because the next step is the person who served mom and dad the termination of parental rights papers need to file an affidavit saying "I served them these papers on this date."  Once that is notarized and filed, we will have full custody of Amelia.

The step after that is we have to wait about four months for Tennessee to let us adopt her.  The state of Tennessee insists that a child live with a family for six months before the family can adopt her (I think that's a number that's different for every state).  That should happen in December and we cannot imagine anything preventing Tennessee from letting us adopt her.

So that is where we are!  It's exciting and delightful and wonderful and just a little bit exhausting -- but, as I was trying to explain to a friend, even when it's exhausting it's so exciting that you barely notice it.  And then you see her smile or hear her and you forget about any complaint you ever had about anything.

-=Scott

We Are Not Alone (the Perks of a Rabid Fandom)

Kelly and I are, among other things, Whovians.  You probably have a Whovian in your life.  You'll know them by their insistence that "bow ties are cool," their use of words like "timey-wimey," "allons-y," or "fantastic."  They may own a mile-long scarf.  They may have a bumper sticker alleging "my other ride is a TARDIS."  If you are looking for a fun fandom to be a part of, look no further than the fandom of Doctor Who.

Fandoms can be a tricky thing.  I was a fan of Star Wars, for example, before it was cool (and then subsequently uncool again).  Star Wars fans have a complicated, love-hate relationship with that which they obsess over.  As much as they love everything George Lucas gave them, they hate everything he continues to give them (this is a broad stroke statement that doesn't describe every fan, but the fandom as a whole).  It can be a very frustrating fandom to be a part of.

Enter The Doctor.  If you know nothing about Doctor Who, it's a show that is celebrating it's 50th anniversary in 2013.  It's a fantastic British sci-fi show about an enigmatic time-traveller called The Doctor who uses his ability to travel all of time and space to leave things better than he found them.  As you can imagine, it's a show that can be daunting to get into -- it's been on for fifty years (more or less).

Enter The Whovians.  Doctor Who fans know how intimidating getting into the show can be.  But they know how rewarding it is being a Whovian that each and every one of them has their own recommended way of getting into the show.  They're a patient lot, who are more than willing to hold your hand and answer all your questions until you're addicted and running off on your own adventures with The Doctor.  That's not to say they don't bicker.  Every fandom has its arguments.  But in the case of Doctor Who, most of the arguments come down to being a clash of preferences.  Most of the time, everyone walks away still happy, still friends, and still hoping the TARDIS shows up in the back yard.  I believe this is because of the intelligence lying beneath most episodes of Doctor Who.

Doctor Who is a show about something.  It's easy to dismiss it as a silly sci-fi with lots of unnecessary running about, silly monsters, and implausible story lines.  At first glance, that's all it really is.  But then you notice the Daleks are a thinly veiled critique of fascism, and the Cybermen are a condemnation of mindless conformity and . . . oh my goodness . . . these are all metaphors!  Well, not all of them.  Some are just men in silly suits.  But even those Freak of the Week episodes are still filled with characters grounded in a relate-able reality that will often leave you with a few questions for you to ponder about your own life.  If you find yourself on a Doctor Who message board or swapping favorite stories with a fellow Whovian, it's not at all uncommon for someone to bring up how a particular episode, or a particular character, helped them through a particularly tough time.

Take Amy and Rory -- the Eleventh Doctor's current companions -- for example.  They've had a rocky relationship since we first met them.  But they've also had an endearing and enduring relationship.  Collectively, as a fandom, we're rooting for them just as much as we're rooting for The Doctor.  This most recent episode, well . . .

Amy drops the very large bomb in Rory's lap (as well as the audience's lap) that she's incapable of having children.  I was not expecting that.  I don't expect other people, especially people who have been in the TARDIS, to have any idea of what it's like to be me.  Yet here are these two fictitious characters crying and fighting and using words that have been used by me and people I know who have also fought and cried over the exact same thing.  It hit me right in the back of the throat.  The room started to blur and I was suddenly very glad I was watching the episode by myself.  The moment passed and I loved the show all the more.

Enter The Whovians.  I was not alone with all of these feelings.  Megan Lavey-Heaton, co-author of the webcomic Namesake, shared a glimpse into her and her husband's struggle with infertility.  You can read the whole blog post here (which also serves as a review of the Doctor Who episode, "Asylum of the Daleks").  But I had to share a couple of exceprts here because the post was so refreshingly honest that my heart broke as I was being encouraged and reminded that, indeed, we are not alone.

Infertility is a horrible, horrible beast. There are days that you’re perfectly fine, that you can go “I’m OK with this. I’ve got a wonderful career and a husband who loves me and medical science that can do a lot. I’m under 35, I can do this.”

Then there are other days when you hate yourself. When you feel that your husband, who moved across an ocean for you, could do much better. You want kids, and he wants kids. But what you’re trying isn’t working. You go to the doctor. The drugs aren’t working. There’s more drugs you can take. Expensive procedures, but where do you draw the line? And even though you can and do live an fantastic life, surrounded by love, opportunities to travel and a fulfilling career, you feel like a failure — especially when you’re surrounded by a culture and social media that rubs it in your face. It is so hard to go on places like Facebook and see hundreds of photos of your peer’s newborn babies.

You’re also in mourning, dealing with this. You have to go through the grieving process, even if you never planned on having kids. 

Different people react in different ways.

Amy is so much a mirror of the Doctor emotionally. No wonder they get along so well. Amy handled the infertility issue in a way that was in-character for her and that mirroring of the Doctor. They both run away so much until forced to confront themselves by a catalyst: River for the Doctor and Rory for Amy. Then they act and grow. When you look at Amy now and the Amy we met in “The Eleventh Hour,” it’s such a brilliant story of growth. Amy then acted in such a selfish manner in running away. Now, she’s grown to where she loves Rory so damn much that she is willing to sacrifice everything for him to be happy. And that is gorgeous — and all Moffat.

The "Moffat" she refers to in that last sentence is the show's incorrigible show-runner, Steven Moffat.  He delights in our pain and torture and we love him for it.

The fact that Steven Moffat was willing to approach this topic in a show that could just be about its special effects and its quippy, banter-filled scripts meant so much to me.  It gave courage to people.  For some, it was a "if Amy and Rory can figure this out, so can I" moment.  For others, it provided catharsis.  For others yet, it provided a time and place to talk about something they might not have -- and I think that's important.

It's important to know we are not alone.

-S

Lesson Learned: Dogs Cannot Be Trusted to Make a Bargain

Quick post to give you an update. We have recovered from the drama that was the beginning of this month.

We had the opportunity this weekend to do Respite Care for two boys ages 10 and 11. Respite is the foster care word for giving foster parents a break. It’s also a word meaning “Scott and Kelly get to borrow children to do cool things with that we might look weird doing without children.”  Really, foster parents take on a lot when they take children into their home, so the agency says you get two weekends off a month and we (the agency) will find childcare for you (oh and pay the childcare givers).

So we had these boys for a couple hours last month and then all weekend this month. WE HAD A BALL.

• -          We played Lego Batman 2 on the Xbox. FYI: we do that even without children; that’s how cool we are [Scott's note:  "Cool" seems like such a strong word].
• -          We made a fire in our fire pit and roasted marshmallows and hot dogs.
• -          We tried to blow up a bar of soap in our microwave. FYI: Don’t trust a 10 year old when he says it turns into a fluffy cloud. Maybe we had the wrong kind of soap. The house smelled like burned soap for several hours.
• -          We read stories. We played with real Legos.
• -          One of the boys took a “shower” outside under the water hose. The water was really cold. They other said he would prefer a bubble bath inside with warm water please and thank you.
• -          We went swimming at my mom’s house.
• -          They tried to teach me how to throw a football. FYI: I’m not so good at that. But Gwen Dogg is really good at catching the football and hiding it in the bushes.
• -          We had French toast one morning – they didn’t know it could be homemade.
• -          We ate a whole box of Froot Loops in one sitting.
• -          We had mint chocolate chip ice cream.
• -          We taste-test Oreo Cookies vs. the Target brand – thanks Heather!

We were really touched by how loving and polite these two boys were.  They said “Yes Ma’am” and “Yes Sir.” They gave hugs and even asked about Jesus. They put their dishes in the dishwasher.  They didn’t interrupt when adults were having conversations. The boys had tons of questions and were so excited to do everything.

When we explained that our little dog Mr. Tumnus is “a bad dog” because he begs for food from the table, chases cats, and sometimes potties in the house, they replied, “He is not a bad dog; he just makes bad choices.” Later that night that same boy was scolding Tumnus for not adhering to their “bargain.” Tumnus was only supposed to eat the outside of the hotdog that got burned over the fire and leave the inside for him. I told them not to trust a dog’s bargain. I think Tumnus ate at least 3 hotdogs, chips, and a cheese stick that night.

We discussed multiple times that eating grape seeds would not cause grapes to grow in your stomach, unless maybe you ate some dirt and a Starburst.

We discussed that despite what Jim said there are NOT sharks in the swimming pool.

It was a great weekend.  Maybe next time we can borrow girls and go see Disney Princesses on Ice!

--K

In Defense of Dark Days (or "Where's God When I'm Furious?")

In the wake of our infuriating and heart-breaking false alarm, a common condolence we heard was, "God has a plan for the two of you.  Don't be discouraged.  You'll find out soon enough."  No-one said that verbatim, but if you were to take everything everyone said, it would come out sounding something like that (possibly with some foul language, due to a couple of our more foul-mouthed -- but nonetheless heart-warming -- friends).

I learned a long time ago that I can't worry about God's plan for me.  I've begged, pleaded, and prayed for a peek and God, in His infinite mystery (and probably wisdom), has refused to show me.  In those moments of desperation, I am reminded of Deuteronomy 31:8.  "The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged."  This is quickly followed by Jeremiah 29:11, "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'"  I'm reminded of these verses, yet, as pain leads to frustration and frustration to fury, their promises can seem so hollow.

The promises seem especially hollow when, from your vantage point, you can't see what you're doing wrong.  I'm not saying I (or we) have done everything right, but I can't look back and see what I (or we) have done wrong.  Kelly and I both try to live life as genuinely, as unguarded, and as fully as possible.  We have measured our talents and we have set about to use them for good.  We want to leave this world a better place than when we've found it and when people ask "why" we're more than happy to reply honestly and say, "because that's what God did for us."

It's a mistake to blame God for bad things happening to you.  Blaming God for your pain is like blaming the sun for your sunburn -- not to say all pain is avoidable or your own fault.  It's just a consequence of living in this world.  There is evil in this world, bent on your destruction.  There are people who act selfishly.  There are people who act foolishly.  There are well-meaning people who simply make mistakes.  There are lies.  There is miscommunication.  There are things, quite simply, that will lead to us getting hurt.  I do not believe any of them are part of God's plan.

God having a plan for me doesn't mean I will be immune to this world and the effects of sin.  God knowing what's best for me and me trying to allow for that to happen doesn't mean I'm going to get it right.  God's plan also, very honestly, may be something I am not at all comfortable with or interested in.  There are plenty of men and women in the Bible who wanted to follow God but did not want -- in any way -- to do what He asked them to do (see also:  Noah, Abraham, Joseph, Moses, Job, Esther, Jonah, Gideon, and at least eleven of the twelve apostles).  Perhaps that is what I take the most comfort in.

Feeling pain doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong.  Feeling pain means you're alive.  Feeling pain doesn't mean God has turned his back on you.  Feeling pain doesn't mean you're broken or that you need fixing.  Feeling pain does, for me, remind me why I need God in my life.  Without Him I would not have made it through the last couple of years.  Without Him I would not be where I am right now, looking forward to the future with a bit of hope and optimism.

So don't despair during your dark days.  You're not alone.  You're not the first to feel this.  The sun will come out and eventually this will all make sense.  That's what I've learned and that's what I'm still reminding myself of.

-S

The cynical Bible reader (which I can be) should read the books of Job and Ecclesiastes.  They are wonderfully dark books that demand questions of God while pointing out all the general screwed-up-edness of the world.  They have guided me through (and of out of) many-a dark day.

Just Say No?

It has been almost a month since we were approved to be foster parents.

There are 408,000 children are in foster care in the US and 107,000 of those are eligible for adoption, per the FosterCare Statistics 2010 Fact Sheet.

We have gotten three calls with placement offers and one call for respite care. We said no to all three placement calls. The first was a toddler who only needed a temporary placement. The other two were teenage girls.  The first was a 17 y/o girl who “just needed someone to help get her through senior year.” She turns 18 in February. The second was a 16 year old girl who had just come into custody and desperately wanted to stay at the high school near our home. I was the one to have the conversations and ultimately say no.

We watched two brothers, ages 10 and 11, Saturday night as respite care for another foster family.  They were with us for four hours and we had a lot of fun. They walked right in and made themselves at home, asking a TON of questions. They were excited to meet our dogs and give them treats.

We introduced the boys to root beer floats and Legos. They were enamored with the chalk board on the wall in Scott’s office. “You can draw ON the wall?!?” They asked all about our family, how we met, and why we didn’t have any other kids. They were shocked that they were our first foster kids. They said that they had never been anyone’s first foster kids. They were extremely polite. They said yes ma’am and yes sir. They even put their dishes in the sink. For being 10 and 11 they knew a lot about the foster system. They insisted that we do a lot of thing other adults just don’t do – I guess we do play with Legos. . . By the end of the evening they both asked to stay with us.  We told them that not every day at our house was as much fun as that night. We also do laundry, clean the litter box, and do homework. They swore that they LOVE to fold laundry.

They did really well until it was time to be picked up by their foster family. They started arguing and fighting with each other as soon as their foster-mom called and said that she was on her way. It was interesting to see how reluctant they were to make the transition. Of course it was way past a reasonable bed time for 10 and 11 year olds, but we could read them like an open book. They were tired and had a lot of hurt behind their eyes. We don’t even know what that may be.

I am struggling with the emotional impact of saying no to children I don’t know and then also to these boys that we had in our home. It’s kind of heart wrenching to say no when the child asks you directly. We have said that we want to adopt rather than pursue fertility treatments so we can put our resources toward helping kids who are already here. We prayerfully and thoughtfully created a profile that says ages 0-5 years.  But it breaks my heart to say no to children who need a home. It will be much harder for the agency to find homes for these boys than a child under 5 years old. My rational side says remember the profile; stick to the profile you created when you were not emotional. But I feel like that may just be the excuse of a scared person. What if we say no to someone just because they don’t fit the picture of what we think our family looks like? What if it is just my fear or selfishness or doubts that keeps us from being parents to someone who needs us? Sometimes I don’t think I am mature enough for this.

Lots of thoughts…I’ll just keep waiting.

--K

Wait For It . . .

Waiting. It may be the word we use the most on this blog. "Why" is the word we use most at home, but mostly that is because Scott’s little dog insists on pottying in the living room, and we don’t know why. But that is an issue for another day.

Our home study was approved last Tuesday. A week ago. We were pretty excited. I was instantly nervous (I realized we didn't have a waterproof cover for the mattress or plastic cups or plastic plates or plastic eating utensils or enough Legos).  It struck us that placement is close. Impending even.  We are in a kind of scary limbo. We have put our employers on notice that we may need some time off sometime in the next week, month or year. It is hard to plan when you don't know what to expect.

We actually got our first call on Friday, July 6. It was for a 3 year old little girl. She had more medical issues that we could probably handle and she only needed a temporary placement.  So the coordinator basically made the decision that she was not a match for us. This was a new coordinator that we had not spoken with before. She was very nice and took the time to listen to me about what type of child we are looking for.  I am excited by the conversation and feel good that we have experienced our first call. Now we wait for the next call. Maybe it will be about our children.

So again we wait. This waiting feels more exciting than all the other waiting we have done before.  But it is also more agonizing.  It feels like every time the phone rings my heart skips a beat.  Each day we wonder, "Will we meet our child today?" "By bedtime tonight will we be three instead of two?" I think after we take a placement we will look back on this waiting time that feels so long right now and say "That was just a short time. Why were we so anxious?"  At this point we have waited three and half years; what is another week or month?

We are praying for our child and the other children too. We are praying that we say yes to the child who is ours. We trust that God will work it all out. Any impatience we feel is really excitement about the upcoming arrival of our child.

-K

A Tot New Mobile

Kelly just took my Justice League tots that I collected from Sonic and turned them into the coolest mobile ever.  I had to share.

It's Not You, It's Us

It's hard to believe, but we have been trying to have a baby since March 2009 -- which means we are fast approaching the 3 year mark. It started with a very quick pregnancy after going off the pill and that pregnancy ended in an early miscarriage.

Since then we've tried two different medical fertility treatments (clomid and IUI) and continue on our own. We have changed our diet, we've changed our sleep habits, and we're taking daily vitamins. Kelly is doing weekly acupuncture for stress relief and to improve fertility. Scott has cut back on coffee and long, hot baths. We have made these life changes to try to help our efforts in a more natural way. We are also pursuing adoption. We want to grow our family and we are not particular whether that is with a biological child or with an adopted child. This is not about a pregnancy; this is about growing our family. We have love to give and a yearning in our hearts to hold our little child.

The processes of infertility and adoption both bring with them a roller coaster of feelings that change on a weekly basis. We range from the despair of another menstrual cycle to the hope of an ovulation through the tedium of the two week wait and back again to the disappointment that is a new menstrual cycle. A month is a very long time when it is punctuated by a period.

On top of this, we are finding it emotionally overwhelming to be surrounded by our acquaintances, co-workers, and even our friends who are consumed with being new parents. We don't begrudge them, this is exactly where they (as new parents) should be -- but it's not where we are.

We are trying to not think about our empty arms. We are trying to focus on our work and artistic endeavors. We are trying, as so many people have recommended, to "stop thinking about it." We try to be the supportive and caring friends that we want to be. But it's hard. It's hard to ignore what we don't have and what, it seems, everyone else around us has. It's hard to hear the complaints of no sleep and crying babies, when we pray each and every day for the joy and trials that come with a baby. It's hard to not really have a part in the conversations around us because we just don't understand what these new parents are going through.

How can we? We are not where they are.

We don't want to burden anyone with our sadness. Because, ultimately, we are not sad until we think about it. We are very blessed and praise God for that. We try to focus on all the good in our lives. We don't want to make anyone censor themselves and we don't want people to walk on egg shells around us. We try to step outside our own vulnerability and acknowledge that maybe people don't know what to say. We try to forgive people for saying or doing things that we perceive as inconsiderate because we know they don't mean it that way. They don't understand.

How could they? They are not where we are.

So we find that are we are distancing ourselves from certain social situations. We've given ourselves permission to go on as many date nights as we want (and can afford). We've given ourselves permission to skip the baby showers of all but our closest friends. We've given ourselves permission to be lazy on Sabbath and just spend time together.

It's all we can do to stay sane in these trying times. We only have so much emotional fortitude. So if you're someone who's in our personal life, sorry if we seem distant. It's not you, it's us.

-S&K

Holding Patterns

You buy your ticket. You show to the airport early. You check in your bags. You wait for your flight to be called. You board in a single-file line and stow your carry-ons above your head or below your feet. You sit. You buckle-up. You try not to grit your teeth while the plane roars to life and thrusts itself off of the planet's surface. You pass the time by reading a book, a magazine, listening to your iPod, watching a movie, playing a game and taking a nap. And then finally -- finally! -- your destination is in sight. But something's wrong.

The pilot doesn't tell you what's wrong, not in any specific terms or words, but you find yourself circling the runway instead of landing on it. Maybe there's ice. Maybe there was a storm. Maybe some lights are out. Maybe another plane was routed to this same destination, and we need to wait for it to land before we can. Whatever the reason is, it's a little maddening. You can see your destination, yet you are not allowed to land. You're stuck in a holding pattern. You're not being sent to a different destination, you're not being told that you can't land, just that, "you can't land yet."

That's where we are now. We've done everything we can do, now we're just waiting. We're waiting for the Pilot to declare that it's time for us to land. People ask how it's going and we wish there was more to say. We wish we had some news. But the truth is, we're still eager, we're trying to be patient, but all we can do is wait.

Please continue to pray for us. Because as eager and patient as we are, these seats are cramped, there's a kid behind us who won't stop screaming, our latent claustrophobia is flaring up, the guy sitting beside us has severe body odor and no sense of personal space, the "keep your seat belts buckled" sign is lit up and we ate far too many peanuts and drank far too much Sprite.

Stuck - Making Babies Book Report

It seems we have been very busy since the IUI in June. I had some rather unexpected (by me at least) side-effects following the fertility medications, but I think I am now past those completely. I sure hope so. We’ve celebrated my 27^th birthday this month and we have been very busy seeing our friends and family. I also did a 5K mud-run to celebrate my birthday so there was time spent preparing for and recovering from that. This weekend we stayed with my extended family in a cabin in Georgia. This included a lot of laughter and good food. Sabbath morning I snuck out before anyone else was up and did a short run around the lake. I listened to hymns on my iPod and was really touched by the cool, quiet beauty. It ended up being one of the most refreshing times I have had in a while. I felt a certain peace as I climbed the hill back up to the cabin. Like I was given something of a promise from God that he is on this path with us and has a plan for us even if I feel like we are stuck waiting.

Stuck. The word keeps coming up. Stuck in the mud. Feeling a bit stuck and out of control in life. It came up again in a book recommended by a friend. This month I have read Making Babies: A Proven 3-Month Program for Maximum Fertility by Sami S. David, MD and Jill Blakeway, L.Ac. Turns out, according to this book, I am stuck. More on that in a bit.

Dr. David and Blakeway (in case you don’t know, “L.Ac” mean licensed acupuncturist), a fertility specialty team from New York, outline their method to “support a woman’s ability to bear a child with just enough helped to get nature to do its thing.” They argue that in many cases there is a better way to help couples conceive than the “aggressive surgical, pharmacological, and technological intervention[s]” being offered by many fertility specialists. David and Blakeway lay out a plan that helps couples optimize their fertility. They don’t take an adversarial position towards Assisted Reproductive Technology (ART), but they take the position that the cost and risk are, many times, not necessary. They argue that Western medicine and Chinese medicine working hand in hand can improve fertility without the expense or side effects (and risks) of ART. David and Blakeway critique western medicine for catering to a desire for instant gratification with a one-size-fits-all approach. They argue that the strength of Chinese medicine is its focus on considering the person as a whole.

The Making Babies program tells patients to eat well, de-stress, and take their vitamins. They go on to identify 5 fertility types and detail the steps for each type to maximize their fertility. The 5 types are Tired, Dry, Stuck, Pale, and Waterlogged. These types are inspired by the patterns used in traditional Chinese medicine. They then detail the steps each type should take to optimize their fertility. They suggest that a couple take a 3-month “Pre-mester” to prepare their bodies to conceive and support a pregnancy by implementing these steps.

As I said before, my type is Stuck. David and Blakeway outline foods to eat and foods to avoid; they talk about exercise, lifestyle choices and supplements that will help optimize fertility. I really appreciate the practical, specific advice and achievable steps they offer. I really appreciate that this offers solutions that are not expensive, invasive medical procedures or fertility drugs. Who can really argue with eating more vegetables, exercising more, taking vitamins, and reducing stress? We decided to give it a try. So, more vegetables and vitamins for the Foggs!

I would recommend this book for the reproductively challenged, those who are starting to try and want to be as healthy as possible to conceive, and especially physicians. This book gives you the tools, knowledge and vocabulary to improve your fertility and partner with your doctor to find the plan of action that works best for you. You can find out more about the Making Babies program here or order the book here.

--K

The Weirdness

It was weird the first time we said it out loud. Before we said it out loud, it was just a nagging question in the back of our heads, "why aren't we getting pregnant?" We would talk about it, but in talking about it, we would never name it. We would talk about ovulation, we would discuss theories and what "some people say," but we never named it. When we finally did, it was supremely weird.

Infertility.

It belongs to those set of words that don't ever apply to you. They belong to someone else. Other people have their house broken into, not me. Other people get mugged, not me. Other people overdose, not me. Other people are molested, not me. Other people are raped, not me. Other people are diabetic, not me. Other people run into celebrities, not me. But . . . apparently . . . other people get pregnant, not us.

I must stop this blog right here and now to say we do not hold that against anybody. While every pregnancy announcement is tinged in just a bit of sadness and jealousy on our part, we have nothing but joy and excitement for you. Please do not feel bad for us. We can't do anything with your pity so please, don't waste yours on us. I actually had someone apologize to me recently because she was pregnant and we still weren't. Please, please, do not apologize. You have nothing to feel bad about. The point of this blog is not to throw a pity party for the Foggs. It is to chronicle our journey through particular point in our life, to let people know what's going on, and (hopefully) let others know that they're not alone.

Now where was I? Ah yes. The weirdness.

It was weird when we first said the "I" word. It was weird when we admitted it to our parents. It was weird the first time we told our friends. But the weirdness has abated. It's just life now. It's just a part of who we are. It's not something we think about on an hourly basis (I'd like to say it's not something we don't think about on a daily basis, but that's just not true). Every once in a while, though, the weirdness is brought back up and rubbed in our faces. Today was one of those days.

We went to The Fertility Center today. It wasn't weird that I used to work there. It wasn't weird that I still know people who work there. It was weird being somewhere where everyone knows what's wrong with you. If I'm at work, I'm just that friendly, bald, video game guy. If I'm with my friends, I'm the loud one in the corner who won't shut up about Doctor Who. But to the receptionist, the delivery man, and all the other patients in the waiting room, I'm something or someone just a little bit broken. I'm someone who desperately wants something he can't have. I'm someone who's most intimate, personal part of him isn't working. And while the doctors say there's nothing wrong with either of us, we're still in the waiting room, stuck in the dream where you walk into work naked.

I try to pretend it isn't weird, but it's weird. It's not as weird as these psychotic and sad people, but it's weird.

I'm looking forward to an unweird life. This experience has forever marked us, though. We'll always be that couple. But I'm okay with that. I'm okay with telling our story. I'm okay with answering questions. I'd like to hear other people's stories. But nothing will ever cure this weirdness -- nothing, I imagine, but the closing of this chapter and the start of the next one.

-=S

Hurry Up! Wait! Faster! Stop!

It was on film sets that I got used to the "hurry up and wait" work ethic. You may have experienced it yourself. I have certainly found it taking various forms in other parts of my life (doctor's offices, concerts, theatrical productions, pregnancy, the adoption process).

On a film set, you have these groups of people, and each group has a very specialized task that no-one else can do and everyone else is dependent on them doing. There are times the entire production will come to a grinding halt for the want of a light bulb. If your job Light Bulb Technician, then when that light goes out, you become the most important person on the set. And you, not wanting to waste anyone's time, rush over to said light bulb and work as fast and hard as you can so that everyone else can return to work. With your job done, you go back to your corner and wait for another light bulb to go out.

Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait.

We've done our part. And now we're waiting. We're doing our best to stay busy and productive, but there's only so much you can do and we're really darn close to that point. We're filling out paper work and gathering important documents so that if and when we get the call, we'll be ready for our home study.

When we first made the decision to adopt, we buzzed every which way, gathering everything we could. We didn't want to be caught unprepared for the fastest adoption process ever. But now we have everything we need. We could bring home a child tomorrow and would only want for a few extra changes of clothes (as we don't know the size or age of the child we'll be adding to our family, we've only bought a few outfits, a couple in various sizes).

But now we wait.

Will the call come tomorrow?

We wait.

We wait.

We wait.

-=S

Keeping Busy

Waiting. I don’t like it. I have never really been a patient person. Creative? Yes. Ingenuity? I’ve got that. Patience? Not so much. I am a do-er. The quickest way to get something done is to tell me that it can’t be done or that it will take forever. So waiting on a baby in a situation that is utterly beyond my control is nerve wracking (wrecking? either is applicable).

I find myself going back to God multiple times a day and giving this whole adoption thing back to him. “Sorry, God, I know I said I trusted you to take care of this and gave it over to you, but I forgot and took it back again. Here it is again. I know you will take care of it. I trust in your plan which is bigger and better than anything I could think of.” Repeat. My mom says I have “control issues.” I guess she may be right, don’t tell her though. At least I am praying.

It this state of __________ (insert word for: excitement, anxiety, upheaval, tension, and impatience) I find myself making lists. List of items baby needs. List of items I say baby needs but really I want. List of items we already have and no longer need/want. List of items we don’t have. List of people/organizations that I have talked with or need to talk to who might connect us to a birth mother. List of topics to research further. Look at that. I just made a list of lists.

Waiting is hard. But I do find this time very exciting and full of hope. Like something really big is about to happen. I really appreciate all of the prayers and thoughts from all of our friends and family.

-K

the waiting game

There is an old episode of The Simpsons in which Homer buys a plow. He christens himself "Mister Plow," and puts together a commercial telling all of Springfield that he'll plow their driveways and their roads when they get snowed in. The family watches the commercial on television and afterwards, Homer says, "Well, John Q Driveway has our number. Now we play the waiting game. Ah, the waiting game sucks. Let's play Hungry Hungry Hippos!"

Me and Homer are of like minds*. I do not like the waiting game. The calm before the storm makes me nervous. The night before a film shoot is a restless one. I do not like waiting; I like doing. I do not like guessing; I like making informed decisions. While I appreciate surprises and enjoy spontaneity, I generally like to have a plan laid out before me.

I dropped two copies of our "Dear Birth Mother" books off at the attorney's yesterday and now we . . . wait? Wait for good news? Wait for the attorney to find someone for us to meet? All we really can do is get the word out there that we're looking to adopt. Beyond that, it's just . . . waiting. Waiting for a friend to run into someone. Waiting to overhear a conversation. Waiting for a social worker to contact our attorney. Waiting to make the right connection with the right person who'll put us in touch with our baby.

Kelly is much better at turning restless energy into productive energy (as you can see from her previous posts). I find myself playing more video games and watching more movies (and as I already have an unhealthy obsession with sitting on my butt, I need to find a new way to distract myself). Perhaps I'll go for a walk. Or a hike. Or a swim.

But tonight, after I've walked, hiked, swam or whatevered . . . I'll still be playing the waiting game. And the waiting game sucks.

* A sentence that will send shivers down my English major wife's back.