Dear Friends

Dear Friends, 

We come to you with a proposal.  Whether you've been following along with our story from the beginning, or you're just now joining us, we are truly grateful for your interest and support. 

We are about to jump into a very significant investment - greater even than the investment we've made in fertility treatment thus far - we are adopting a child. It is the next step in our long, often bumpy journey toward parenthood. We came to the realization long ago that we are parents - in essence - we just need a child to make us so by definition. 

Let's be upfront. We are facing roughly $20,000-25,000, and possibly more, to finally bring our baby home.  All emotions and philosophizing aside, that's a huge chunk of money for a young, middle-class couple.  

Now, we've said all along we would try our damnedest to pay our way, and do so as much as possible without incurring debt.  Unfortunately, we can no longer do that. We will be financing our adoption costs through a low-interest loan. 

We pose the following points to all of you reading this not because we want to get out of paying off our debt on our own, but because we are a sound investment, and we believe in the immense goodness of the human beings around us.  We did not come lightly to the decision to ask for donations. It is surprisingly more uncomfortable than we imagined, but we have to at least see if anyone else would like to contribute. Because whatever money we do not have to pay out of pocket will be dedicated to our preparing to raise our child. 

This message is in no means meant to be a guilt trip. We will pose our case to you and be supremely grateful to those who just read our statement.  And if, by the end, you feel like donating a few dollars, you can be assured that every penny will be considered a priceless gift by two people repeatedly humbled in our attempt to put together a family.

First, the nuts and bolts. 

We will be adopting through Christian Family Adoptions.  We are enrolling in both the Loving Options Infant Program and the U.S. African American Infant Program.  We know there is a soul destined to be our baby, and we are open to the right match, regardless of the details.  

We will be financing $30,000 through the National Adoption Foundation at an interest rate of 6.38% because we have excellent credit (just ask Experian!). 

We are accepting donations through our GoFundMe page (see button in right navigation bar).  

And now, the in-between. (aka: The Pitch)

About Us

We are Jeff and Amanda Delapena.  We are both Pacific Northwest born and bred.  We live in Vancouver, Washington. 

Jeff grew up in Portland, Oregon, surrounded by siblings and nurtured by loving parents and stalwart grandparents.  He attended Marshall High School and graduated from Portland State University with a B.A. in English.  He currently works at Charter Communications as a Correspondence Coordinator for his day job.  He is really a budding novelist and is working on getting his first novel published. 

Amanda grew up in rural Pacific County, Washington, in a close-knit family of four, supplemented by an extensive and vibrant extended family.  She attended Naselle High School (5 points if you've heard of it; 10 points if you've heard of it and did NOT actually attend yourself) and graduated from Linfield College with a B.A. in German and Mass Communication.  She currently works for the City of Vancouver as the Assistant to the City Council for her day job.  She really is an aspiring radio jingle singer and color crayon namer.  

In every way we are blessed with a comfortable and fulfilling life.  We rent our home with the intent of buying it in the future.  We have two fascinating cats and one large, exuberant Nym (our 6-month-old Great Pyrenees dog). 

We love camping (in a tent - none of this "glamping" business). We are film buffs - independent films, foreign films, blockbusters, comedies, Oscar-bait - you name it, we've seen it. We play board games and have a closet full to prove it. We try to travel to a new place every year, usually within driving distance, but we also try to get back to our favorite haunts every other year.  We're both lovers of the written word, music, and theater.  And we long to share our passions with our child(ren).

We were married on a beautiful, warm day in May 2009.  Life threw us a curve ball in late 2010 when we decided to start trying to have a baby.  I (Amanda) have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), an extremely common condition that causes infertility in women.  Our journey through the hills and valleys of infertility and associated treatment is chronicled in this blog, so we won't go into the gory details again.

To summarize, we've ended up drawing a line in the sand.  We decided to stop active treatment and instead pursue our dream through adoption.  

Life is a series of in-betweens.  We've learned to stop expecting and just be accepting.  And we are better for the difficulties we've faced in the past few years. Did we expect this would be our path? No.  But we have fully embraced it and cannot wait to welcome our baby home.

If you need to know more about us, please explore this blog or look us up on Facebook (Amanda or Jeff).

Why We're a Good Investment

Because we have tasted the acrid bitterness of the tears of sorrow, we have the ability to taste the sweet fulfillment of the tears of joy.

We are committed to our child. We will do everything in our power to bring our baby home.  But beyond that, we are committed to providing a home and a life full of experiences and opportunities. We joke that we are buying a baby, but at the heart of it, we are making an up-front investment in a future.  We are saying that no price is too great for something so priceless. And we are proud to be able to be a part of something so far beyond ourselves.

We have a support network of family and friends that will not only catch us before we fall, but inevitably enrich the experiences of our child.  I happen to believe that Hillary was right - it does take a village, and our village is almost as excited as us to get started.  Almost. 

Our marriage is strong - our love and commitment to each other has survived hardship and strain.  We know we are stronger together and we know it will be our relationship from which we will draw  as we venture into parenthood. We will make mistakes, as any first-time parent does.  We will make it up as we go along, at times, and desperately depend on our friends who recently experienced it at other times. But we have a trusting and honest partnership that will lie underneath every experience, every question and frustration, and help us grow as we take charge of this new life.

We are educated, employed and financially stable. We may not have $30,000 just lying around, but we will make this work and come out OK on the other end.  We will make the personal sacrifices when we need to.  

We are willing to undergo the scrutiny we know is coming.  We welcome it if it means we have an opportunity to ensure we are completely ready and are providing the best home possible.  We are open to any questions you may have as well. 

And maybe you think it doesn't need to be said, but we love children. I knew I was in love with Jeff the moment I saw him interacting with his toddler nieces - they adored him (and still do), but quite possibly not as much as he adored (and still does) them.  As for me, my heart aches every time I see a mother and child - it is a bond I cannot wait to experience.

We can do this - monetarily, that is - alone.  We recognize it will be difficult, but we are ready to do it.  But we believe we are a worthy cause.  And we believe we will have a great story to share with our child.  We can say one day to our son or daughter: 

"Other people believed as much as we did that you were meant to be a part of our family that they helped make it a little easier for us to make it possible. We loved you so much that other people could see that and believed in us enough to help us out.  All of these people will forever have a special place in our hearts because of that, and you will always be a reminder to us of the goodness of these people.  We can never thank them enough for what they've done for our family, and we will take them with us an example of how we should spread that generosity with others when we can."

Finally, The Request

If you want to - please do not feel obligated - we would be so very grateful if you would donate any amount you would like to our adoption fund.  We will simply add you to our ever-growing list of un-repayable debts we owe our personal angels.

Thank you, above all, for hearing us out. 

Sincerely, 

Amanda and Jeff Delapena

April 16th

Today is the anniversary of the day we lost our hopes and dreams, the day I miscarried my first and, so far, only pregnancy.  It was the darkest day of my life.

Today is the day we reclaim our hopes and dreams, the day we officially begin the process of one day – soon – meeting our baby. Today I placed into the mail our application to enter the infant adoption programs at Christian Family Adoptions.

I’ve made note of ominous or superstitious days in this blog before, and so far they’ve panned out very unsuccessfully.  So what is the difference this time? One comment, almost glossed over, made by the CFA program coordinator during the info session we recently attended:

Every couple that has stuck with the program has eventually had a successful adoption. 

And there’s also this:

CFA considers 2 years to be a “very long wait” to complete the process. 

Based on these two facts alone, I can confidently assert that, while we are just opening the door on our next opportunity, we are finally beginning to see the end of the path that has taken us close enough to walk through that door.  And at that end, we will finally meet our child.

This is the only thing that matters. Not the costs, not the rigorous evaluation of our suitability as parents, not the training and not the waiting. We are resilient, we are determined, and we are seasoned veterans when it comes to this character-shaping period in our lives.  These are the qualities that will lead us to our baby. Two years is nothing to stick out when it comes to the lifetime ahead of us. 

And everything we’ve been through – and everything to come – has simply been to develop the deepest, unspeakable appreciation we will have for the soul that will one day call us mommy and daddy.

April 16th. Everything in me wanted to skip over this day, forget it is even on the calendar. That is until recently. My perspective is now altered – I’m allowed to change my mind, right? Now I want to hold this date forever in my heart.

  

Let me explain.

It was a sweet, unlooked-for gesture that prompted me to rethink April 16th. My acupuncturist – my hand-holder, my objective sounding wall, my friend – gave me a fertility stone at my last appointment.  One of four, she said.  It is small and simple, yet humbly beautiful in its crystalline and mineral appearance.  Perhaps made even more so in my eyes because to me this stone will serve as a reminder of where I’ve been and what I’ve experienced to get to this point.  I am having it made into a necklace, which I will wear over my heart.  It shall be a link between that which we lost and that which we shall soon receive. When I wear it, I will remember the lows, the darkness, the pain, and in doing so, sharpen the joy and happiness now peaking over our horizon.

And so when I woke up this April 16th, I began to think about what this day means to me in the light this recent gift. And I realize now that my personal victory will be found in turning April 16th into another fertility stone to carry with me into and throughout motherhood.  Another reminder of just how lucky we are. Another reminder to never take our child for granted. An assurance to the woman who will give birth to our baby that we truly, completely understand the selfless act she is committing and that there are no two people who could be more grateful and therefore no two people who will work harder to be worthy of her sacrifice.

It is amazing what a year can do.  I am still facing a lifetime of April 16ths, but that idea no longer wilts my spirit. My April 16ths will now be a testament to dreams lost and refound, to silver-lining revelations, to parents whose paths to their babies don’t quite fit the mold, and to selfless acts of love making the just-out-of-reach finally attainable.

Conclusion (?)

Where do you go when all you’ve been left with after nearly three years are scars and an empty bank account?

I fully intended to write this entry last week, on the day I received my negative results, when I was entirely in the moment and could accurately record the tumult pounding my head and heart. But I could not. I had to breathe through those few days and simply figure out where we have been left standing.

And here we are…

I am not pregnant. Nor do I any longer plan to be... Let me fill you in.

After the miscarriage last year, we had intended to do another round of the hormone injections with artificial insemination – it worked once, we figured we had a good shot (take or leave the pun) the second time around. But my plans never go as planned despite my careful planning.

After a couple months’ wait, I discovered – miracle of miracles – that I was ovulating naturally. So we decided to save our money and just wing it (go with Aunt Flow?) and see what we could do on our own with the minimal assistance of over-the-counter ovulation tests and the precision timing that comes from years of learning way more about human reproduction than someone without the salary of a medical professional should have. And weekly acupuncture.

And so commenced the trials of “The Old Fashioned Way” (with a little bit of Chinese medicine and First Response thrown in). For six months. There was no reason why I was not pregnant by the end of 2012. Our continued failure led us once more to Oregon Fertility Institute and another $400 consultation with my doctor. And yet another plan of attack. Because I was ovulating on my own – just like a big girl – we decided on a less aggressive and less expensive treatment. Femara – a pill much like Clomid that stimulates ovulation but without the most miserable side effects – and artificial insemination. A few weeks and a thousand dollars later we were back in No-Man’s Land, that excruciatingly slow two-week waiting period between getting knocked up by a turkey baster and peeing on a stick. (OK, it’s much more elegant and clinical than a turkey baster, but you know you laughed.)

And we felt incredibly hopeful. And the signs and symptoms slowly revealed themselves. And life was pleasantly and distractingly hectic. And despite all of my self-preserving talk of not reading anything into anything, I was almost certain the test would be positive. And I thought for sure I would finally capture that elusive double pink line once and for all. And then I didn’t. And I was crushed. And I was in denial.

The definitive NO came with a blood test the next day, leaving us at another crossroad. Or maybe it is more of a stalemate. My body is functioning correctly, but I still need some sort of assistance, it would seem. Whether that is more of the same or perhaps some super hormone shots or something completely different, I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. We don’t have any more money to test any more theories. And even if we did, we have no guarantee it would move us any closer to our goal or simply continue pushing us along laterally for another month, six months, year – endless.

And in all honestly, I have no more energy – no more fight – to give. Money is only one currency of myriad resources necessary to keep doing this. Some couples go on for year and years, and I’m not sure if I envy or pity them. Maybe a little of both. But I don’t do well with such uncertainty and a situation so far out of my control. And I have found that such stagnancy of life simply erodes my spirit. I will have no more of it.

And so back to the crossroads we go. A decision point. Arrived at a place I think we’ve both suspected for a long time we would get to. Do we keep draining ourselves, our funds, our tears? Or do we work toward positive progression in our lives and in the little, fragile, deserving life of a child in need of the kind of family we could be? 

Our decision is probably obvious. We are beginning our next adventure. Adoption. We’ve contacted DSHS and we’ll be starting the necessary steps next week. (Note: At the time of writing this, we were without Internet service – damn you CenturyLink! – so by the time you read this, we have probably already attended our orientation - actually, it's tonight!)

Despite feeling like a complete failure yet again, I am OK. I am actually relieved. I can now utilize one of my great abilities – multitasking. Bring on the Type A. It’s now time for me to focus on not only family building – in the truest, brick-by-brick, from-the-ground-up sense – it’s time for me to focus on me. Be a little selfish, as a friend put it. Focus on me. Not my infertility. All of me. Focus on those little, non-fertility health issues I’ve been putting off. Focus on my new home, complete with extra-large puppy. Focus on my incredible marriage. Rebuild my spirit and vitality, which have been sucked into hypothetical treatments, waiting periods, cyclical disappointment, and physical abuse for almost three years. To think that so much of that is over…I can’t really even comprehend it yet. But I am grateful I can alight my soul elsewhere now.

We have concluded a painful period in our lives – painful but not without its teachable moments, I recognize. Only because of the loss and disappointment and frustration can we fully appreciate whatever opportunity now lies in front of us. Don’t get me wrong – I have no delusions that the road to adoption will be any less marked by potholes, downed trees, detours and road rage. But at least we will not have to rely on my broken body as the vehicle to get us there. We will be able to build on our strengths rather than forced to overcome my weakness. My physical abnormality will not be the barrier here. Instead, our child is depending on our combined intelligence, love, strength of character, passions and drive. Our child will come into our lives not because my body follows – or is manipulated to fit into – the laws of Nature, but because we have created the best, most stable and full-of-love home we can. And I am confident there are no two people in the world right now more prepared to provide that.

I thank you all for your love and support, your shared tears and commiseration through Phase I. Now I ask you to hold out just a little longer with us as we jump into this new journey. We will undoubtedly need you every step of the way.

Happy Valentines Day

**Written February 14, 2013 - we've been without Internet service since Feb. 16.**

 

Today is Valentine’s Day. Today Jeff and I are honoring our love in a way most befitting our struggles over the past 30 months. We’re going to get knocked up.

I am writing this with the intention of not actually posting it for a few weeks. If you’ve been following our story at all, you will understand and likely excuse us for our unwillingness to make any announcements – one way or the other – for some time. At least until we have a degree of certainty as to what will become of our 2013.

But if you have any superstition in you, consider the following:

1) First of all, it’s Valentine’s Day. What better omen could we wish for when taking the final step toward procreation based in the love of our marriage?

2) It’s been exactly one year minus 10 days since our first insemination. And we all know what happened there.

3) This has so far been the year of life changes for us. We adopted a puppy (or moose) a few weeks ago. And we’re moving to a new house in two days. A baby will make it a perfect three-for-three.

4) I recently had a test done to ensure my tubes (as in Fallopian) are functioning correctly. And yes, they are. But beyond that assurance, I’ve been told by three separate medical professionals on three separate occasions that this test is as therapeutic as it is diagnostic. It increases conception odds up to a few percentage points for about three cycles following the test. Every little bit helps, right?

5) We know what we’re getting into this time around. We are different people than we were a year ago. We’ve been through the rolling hills and valleys of frustration and elation, of deep sorrow and hard-won recovery. It’s a long road we see in our rear-view mirror, and it has sobered us. But it has also matured and emboldened us.

So here we are, hours away from starting all over, and completely in the dark about how, or even if, this time will be any different. I would be lying if I said my hope is not a little dampened this time around. But the point is, there is still hope in my heart. Six months ago – let’s be honest, two days ago – I was not sure hope would be kindled at all this time. But it’s there, meekly and passively waiting in the shadows for the time to come when it can relax, release some of its self-preserving caution, and fully realize the joy it would like to become.

Am I nervous? My sister asked me this yesterday. I really am not. I know what we’re in for, and I will walk into my doctor’s office this afternoon free from – excuse the delicious pun – preconceived expectations. I may be a little more jittery twelve days from now when I get the results of THE blood test. But today I am calm. Maybe that has been the whole point of all of this. Serenity. Peace.

I will write another post to follow this entry once we know if this insemination is as successful as the first one. But if it is, you will not be reading this one, that one, or the big one – the announcement – until we have seen that precious heartbeat safely flickering on that god-forsaken ultrasound screen. Until we are ready to tell the world, without reservations or the frightening notion that we may have to take it all back, that our child is finally on its way. It is my sincere hope that I will be writing that third blog post in a few months.

For now, I’ll just say Happy Valentine’s Day, my friends. Even if you won’t be reading this until the chocolates are long gone and the flowers have depressingly wilted. Thank you for your love and the strength it has given me. A strength that will support my steps as they take me through the doors of Oregon Fertility Instituted today, steps not of fear or anxiety, but of love.

(Love.)

There are moments in our lives, moments that come along and knock the wind out of our breathing lungs, stop our beating hearts, confound our curious minds, leave us grasping for purpose, for answers. 

As I sit watching the news coverage of the unspeakable, crushing horror at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, my whole being recognizes this moment. Before we can even comprehend this tragedy, the speculation and analysis begins. Who, what, where, when, how? What if? What now? (WHY!?)

Even if we find, or come across, or are fed the answers to these questions, where does that leave us? Twenty babies will not return to their parents' arms today. Another community has been upended and will never be the same.  

And we, the helpless observers, will go 'round and 'round with each other (most likely on Facebook). 

Well, my plea - my contribution to the conversation - is simple, and it's not new.  It's an idea that we know, and we occasionally see in action. But it's something that all too often gets lost in the rat race, in the stresses of the mundane, in the pressure of the bad that feels like it's continually closing in. (LOVE.)

It's a word we toss around.  It's an emotion we can't always pinpoint. It's a force that, despite its innate vagueness, means something specific to every human being. And it's something I do not express rightfully and wholeheartedly as often as I should. But the truth is, I am so unspeakably grateful for so much and so many - my comfort, my security, my health, my talents. My amazing husband, my unmatchable parents, my beautiful sister, my wise and stalwart grandparents, my vibrant aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, my peerless friends, my talented coworkers, the very dear and endlessly inspiring children in my life.  (I LOVE YOU.)

So my request, in the aftershock of such stabbing brutality and senseless loss, is for each of us - we, the helpless observers - to pause, take a breath, close our eyes, and determine what love means to us, specifically.  Once we see it clearly, I then would humbly request we each act on that determination in whatever way seems most appropriate.  (YOUR LIFE IS TREASURED.)

My soul is tired of the darkness. It shrivels a little bit more with each utterance of bitterness and each degree of desensitization. It's time to spread joy. It's time to let the ones we love know, every day, how they fortify our spirits, how they perpetuate our joy, how they make this life worthwhile.  (YOU ARE MY HAPPINESS.)

To steal a sentiment from one of my dear friends (Alexis, you have a beautiful heart), it's time to honor those precious lives lost, those families ripped asunder, the flowing tears of that weeping New England town, and the frustrations of this tormented nation.

Ready? Let's start.  

 

Gratitude 2.0

'Tis the season...to be thankful (I know what you were thinking). A few months ago, I wrote about my deep appreciation for my Lifelines along this perilous journey. On this day - a day for which I am desperately trying to do my part in preserving the gratitude that seems to be slipping into the abyss of door busters and early-bird savings - I will seek to expand on the thankfulness that seven months later has instilled in me. And hopefully perpetuate the grand defense of the turkey. 

So, to begin the belaboring of food-related puns...let's dig in!

I am thankful for this blog and for all of you out there reading it. I have vented, whined, lamented, hoped, and observed. I have found a peace of mind and a soothing of heart here in Internet-land. Admittedly, this whole thing started for purely selfish reasons, but I know it's grown beyond my own healing.  I am so thankful for and humbled by the mutual support and camaraderie flowering from each post.

I am thankful for "alternative" medicine, this whole new world that has opened up avenues of health for body and mind.

I am thankful that my body is responding to treatment - whether it be Western, Eastern, or au naturale, by body is responding and normalizing.  At this point, it is only a matter of time and routine to get us to our goal.

I am thankful I know my body. If I have learned anything along the way these past 2 1/2 years, it is how to read my body.  It is how to pay attention.  And it is knowing the effect outside elements have on my body - good or bad.  I've said it many times, but it is SO important that I will continue to preach this: Learn how your body works.  Know what is normal for you.  Pay attention when normal interferes with basic functions.  Speak up when what you know - through your own research and intuition - is not being properly addressed by medicine. Be your own health advocate. Do not be afraid to try, fail, try again, fail again, and continue to explore new things until something adjusts normal into the basic function that has eluded you.

I am thankful for financial security.  Without it we would never have been able to pursue any kind of treatment.  We would be in the dark about our obstacles. It is a travesty that couples in our position need to spend so much emotional currency on the stress of money, but it is where the healthcare system of our society sits at this point.  Parity is rare to non-existent when it comes to fertility treatment.  Jeff and I are fortunate to be in a position where we have managed to scrape by paying out-of-pocket for my fertility specialist and for weekly acupuncture and periodic naturopath appointments.  I am tempted to ask why we have to in the first place, but just being able to is enough to make me grateful.

And in that vein, I am thankful to have a job that offers me the flexibility to be able to go to the appointments I've needed to go to. To be an emotional and hormonal wreck (at times). To take a break every now and then to focus on my personal crises.  This has been a support system in and of itself.

I am thankful for humor and perspective.  Coming (nearly - the saga continues) full circle, looking back, and anticipating the future, my heart has only been able to heal - scarred though it may be - because of the love and support of those around me.  But also because of those lighter moments of laughing at the completely absurd nature of human fertility, conception, and pro-creation. To my dear friends who keep me smiling (you know who you are), you have saved me time and again.

I am thankful for me.  All narcissistic undertones aside - and fully recognizing the role others have played in my survival - I have been through hell.  I may not have climbed completely out yet (call it the shallowest circle) but I'm still going strong.  Human beings are incredible creatures, and I find it perfectly acceptable to acknowledge when we've been particularly resilient. I was reminded of this by watching a Good Morning America update on the condition of Robin Roberts - a woman whose seemingly immeasurable strength beautifully exudes through her spirit.  Here is what she said: "We're all a little stronger - just a little bit stronger - than we think we are.  And that is all we need." We tend to overlook our abilities to thrive, but I will take this moment to admit I am both proud of and surprised at my own fortitude. 

And finally, I am thankful for traditions - for good food and beautiful family, for the Macy's parade providing the day's soundtrack, for wishbone breaking and watching "Christmas Vacation" after Thanksgiving dinner, for "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving," for mom's carrots and pumpkin pie drowned in Cool Whip, for holding out and not turning on the Christmas music until Friday -  for all of those things that remind me why I keep fighting.   Viva la Turkey-day!

Are We There Yet and Fa-La-La-ing

So many times along this journey, I’ve had to stop and simply ask “why?”  But probably not the why most people would think.  It’s not “why hasn’t this worked out the way we planned,” but rather “why am I putting myself through this physical hell?” and “why is this emotional and psychological turmoil worth it?” and “why should I keep playing the waiting game month after eternally long month?”

I’m a great believer in experiential living, in the idea that what we expose ourselves to greatly shapes who we are, who we will become, and what we ultimately value as essential parts making up the whole of what we call life. (Excuse me while I wax philosophical.)

So when I ask myself why I want to be a mother, why I am trying so hard to create a family, I turn to the experiences of my life.  And when I experience something that adds another layer to living, I remind myself that this is why I want to have a child.

Let’s back up a bit.  My husband and I recently embarked on an epic journey – a 10-day road trip to and through the American Southwest.  We drove anywhere from six to ten hours a day and slept in hotels running the gamut of dated and cheesy to plush and upscale. We saw friends, family, and the awe-inspiring Grand Canyon.  We took interstates and back roads and listened to every CD in my collection. And we created a jewel in the expanding treasure chest of our lives together.

Now, I am no stranger to such trekking.  My parents enriched my and my sister’s lives exponentially with every summer they packed us up in the truck (small though it was, and smaller though it seemed to get) and herded our little family in a general direction. These two-week trips took us all over the western United States.  We hit the big ones – Yellowstone, Mount Rushmore, Disneyland, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the Grand Canyon. And we stumbled upon the more obscure – Dinosaur National Monument (VERY cool for the budding post-Jurassic Park paleontologist), the Rocky Mountain Oyster Festival (quite fascinating and extremely gross to the 6- and 10-year-olds), and serene Flathead Lake (soul food for an introspective and moody adolescent who decided to pick up a camera one day). 

But we also experienced the countless in-between moments – driving across Utah's Bonneville Salt Flats at sunset, our feet hanging out the open truck window; or trying to guess the mileage between points A and B along the incredibly sparse and surprisingly long straight-stretches between Reno and Vegas; or escaping the flash flood at that KOA in South Dakota, taking shelter in the Twilight Zone rec room above the campground office; or the record Arizona heat toasting our bread before we had time to make the sandwiches; and especially the countless inside jokes we still laugh at from time to time (“Slow down!” and “Let me out!” come to mind).

All this is to say our little road trip a few weeks ago was the beginning of a new generation of Americana on the road, or two-week treasures that continue to add immeasurable joy to my life.  Everyone deserves to feel the nurturing effect of a family road trip.  And I so want to pass on this small legacy to a family of my own.  I want to pack up my kids every summer and show them not only this great country, but also the passing moments that build and sustain memories and photo albums. I suspect that my parents look back on those trips as fondly as I do, and I know something will be absent from the experience of my life if I am not able to someday do the same. I want to know that a new generation will someday look back and remember the inside jokes and even the nostalgic frustration of sharing that small backseat with your little sister for hours and miles on end.  That is why I want to be a mother.

Let’s back up even further. There is a minor phenomenon circulating Facebook world these days – it is the “30 Days of What I’m Thankful for in November” phenomenon. And as I’ve seen friends post their thoughts each morning, I have noticed, without exception so far, that every beatitude comes down, at its core, to family. When you’ve gotten lucky in family, what else is there, really? And here is yet again, another bittersweetness for me.  My childhood was filled with family, and the older I get the more thankful I am for that – and for them. I want to create a life that will one day look back and be so grateful for its family and for the life its parents have crafted and nurtured and pined for. What greater way to honor your family than to reflect that love – that pumpkin-spice, cinnamon-stick, hot-chocolate comfort – onto your own children. Pay it forward (can I use that cliché) and create a new generation of happy, grateful human beings who will want to emanate life and love around them. That is why I want to be a mother.

And let’s go forward a bit. As the Christmas-themed commercials begin to permeate the airwaves, hop-scotching right over Thanksgiving and stealing the turkey’s thunder, what about that Holy Grail of holidays? I would be in denial if I didn’t admit that my heart breaks at the thought of yet another childless Christmas. As my friends, cousins and in-laws make plans for their families – scheduling that first photo session with an ornament-strewn backdrop, or buying tickets for The Nutcracker, or standing in line for Santa at the mall, or bundling up their little ones for that icy hike through the tree farm – as those simple, perfect moments begin to play out, I’m still counting the days of my cycle and budgeting for ovulation kits and weekly acupuncture appointments. I’m remembering that nine short (yet oh so long) months ago, we expected we’d be celebrating Baby’s First Christmas too. I’m imagining and planning out what we might do “when we have a kid.” (Our agenda is so full of plans for that hypothetical – we’ve had two and a half years of it – that our children won’t have a free moment for the first five years of their lives.)

So it comes back to these experiences – to living life interestingly. To knowing that my children will have full lives and all the opportunities I’ve been blessed with – if only we can achieve that final blessing. All in all, I’ve led a very rich 29 years and 2 months. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that life is not meant to be spent in solitude. And life also should not end. Now, I’m not advocating immortality. But we should live on through the imprint we make on those we leave behind. It is my strong desire to leave my imprint on my child, as my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, have left theirs on me. I want to create a life of happiness, fulfillment, opportunity, and pristine experience for someone new to this world. That is why I want to – need to – be a mother.