“Look at my new tattoo!”
This was the text message I sent to my sisters and niece. I had just gotten a heart tattoo with my two precious little boys’ names and was excited to show it off. My niece responded with the one question, “Auntie, what if you get another baby?”
To which quickly responded “I AM DONE” – because that WAS the plan.
I was finally a mom, and for once, things were going according to our plan.
You see, in 2001 (months before our wedding), I had my first surgery with many more to follow. My pain started as early as the age of fourteen. Menstrual cycles that were so painful I would literally pass out. By the age of 35, the list of surgeries included two laparoscopies, and ovarian cyst removal, two dilation and curettage (D&C), and the worst of all, a hysterosalpingography (HSG) to see if my tubes were still open.
Not only was the HSG painful, but I laid there wide awake watching the dye never reach my ovaries. I remember trying to hold it together as I walked to meet my husband in the waiting room. I can still see his joyful look of hope and how that look immediately faded away. He knew the results just by looking at me. He could see hurt and pain in my face before I could even speak a word.
So the next step….a fertility specialist.
Here we are, with another hopeful moment that suddenly fades. Because of my severe issues, our chances of getting pregnant were slim, even with a specialist. I didn’t even give it a chance. My mouth was saying one thing as an excuse not to give it a try, but my heart couldn’t take any more disappointment. Nothing was going as planned. Endometriosis had stolen my fertility and my chances of ever carrying a baby.
Where does the tattoo come in? Hold on, I’m getting to it.
Determined, we began to look at private adoption. Then a Facebook message changed everything. A friend told us about adopting children from foster care, and we jumped at it. First were the foster and adoptive parent classes. Second, the mounds of paperwork, home visits, background checks, and so much more. Lastly, the call…. “We have a 6-month-old boy for you”. Eleven years later and things were finally going as planned. Not only were we becoming parents, but we asked specifically for a BOY, and that’s what we were getting, a beautiful baby BOY.
Why only boys? Well, after taking care of nieces and god-daughters, we just knew my husband could not handle a daughter. Every time one of the girls became more “girly,” he would be hilariously heartbroken. He wanted them to stay little girls forever. He spoiled them rotten, and he just could not tell them no (my niece is 30, and we still pay her cell phone bill). Plus, he was rough and tough, so a BOY it was. Then, another beautiful 8-day old baby BOY became ours.
THIS WAS OUR PLAN! So I went and got the tattoo with our little BOYS’ names.
Then one day while at work, happy our plan had finally worked out, I got a call.
“Can you please take a baby GIRL?”
A GIRL! NO WAY. Not because the baby was a GIRL but because our son was not even a year old yet, my husband worked away from home, and I worked full time. Two babies in diapers and on bottles…nope, NOT OUR PLAN. Still, how did I get a call for a GIRL because THIS WAS NOT OUR PLAN, and neither was having three kids? Remember, I told my niece no more babies after getting that tattoo because having three kids was NOT OUR PLAN.
Well, that gorgeous baby GIRL came home with us “temporarily.” Now here it is almost seven years later, and although IT WAS NOT OUR PLAN, IT’S GRAND! She’s ours now, she is spoiled, and daddy still can’t say no.
I am also in need of a new tattoo.