Guest post: Unexpected inspiration

I am lounging on a beach attending a meeting in Florida as I queue up some posts. So as to not disturb my Vitamin D collecting efforts distract me during said meeting with thoughts of my blog, I bring you a guest post* by an adoptive dad.

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Hal Kaufman is an adoptive father, frequent speaker on the topics of open adoption and adoption outreach, and the Founder of My Adoption Advisor. Through their training and support services, My Adoption Advisor will help hundreds of prospective adoptive families this year adopt more quickly.

Open adoption has brought many gifts to my life, not the least of which are my two wonderful children, but it is the gift of inspiration that I want to share with you today.

I remember first considering adoption and deciding that adopting internationally was the way to go. I was scared, frankly, of birth families and of the risks associated with domestic infant adoption. There are risks for all members of the triad, but my fear is what forced me to hold domestic adoption at arms length. At least that was the case until I heard for the first time some birth mothers speak on a panel at an adoption information series.

Awe. Respect. Love. I remember the moment like it was yesterday. These three words are the ones that came to my mind after listening to women speak about their unplanned pregnancies, the options they were considering, and the choices they finally made.

Now I am not so naïve as to think that all birth families — including the mothers, fathers, grandparents, and others — have experiences that are similar to the ones shared on that panel or even the ones shared by my children’s birth families. There are many stories out there, both more positive and certainly more negative. Nonetheless, birth families who freely make the choice with all of the information they can gather to permanently place in someone else’s care the child they love most in this world are incredibly inspirational to me.

My children’s birth families have inspired me in many ways – to be a better parent, less selfish, more sensitive to others, and to even change careers. In fact, the creation of my company, My Adoption Advisor, is the direct result of not only my experience with adoption in general, but also quite specifically my relationship with my children’s birth families.

I had spent five years in the consulting industry before accepting multiple roles in information technology and product development in a large medical technology company over the course of more than a decade. I was a big company guy leading performance improvements throughout a multi-billion dollar division. I had a comfortable, stable job that provided a nice salary. Things were good, but something was missing.

What I saw in the career choices made by my son’s birth father seemed like the opposite of my own choices. He lacked the job security and income that I enjoyed, but he had what I did not – a passion for his work. His eyes would light up whenever he talked about his work. It was as if “work” was not even the right word to use. His hobby and his career interests were one in the same. This harmony seemed to create feelings of happiness and satisfaction for him that I lacked.

So that is my unexpected inspiration. He inspired me to trade security for passion and I have never loved my “work” more. I built my family through adoption, but I also developed new relationships with people who would have otherwise not been in my life. I learned how to let my passion, instead of my resume, steer my career choices.

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* The views and opinions of a guest writer are solely those of the guest writer.

Now, where's that cabana boy with my mojito report on Q4 performance?





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Guest post: Sheri Shares the Perils of the Penii

It's a busy summer, and I'm not at the 'pooter as often as usual. To keep my seat warm in my absence, I bring you some of my favorite guest bloggers on Fridays in July. Maybe you already know them, and maybe you will find someone new to follow, but either way you are in for a treat.

Stepping in today is my longest-lasting friend in my whole life, my sister, Sheri. Sheri coaches people from all walks of life, sometimes with her intuitive skills and sometimes with her business skills. What her clients may not realize is that most of the time she's using both. She lives on the Western Slope of Colorado with a bunch of pen!ses her husband and three sons.

I have three sons. Having been raised the middle of three girls, I have discovered a lot and have a lot to learn!

James is 17 months older than Bryce, who is 14 minutes older than his twin brother, Ryan. With their births, I had suddenly been immersed in testosterone and all of the “boy” things that go with that. This story accentuates just some of what I have learned along the way. And with James now almost 14 and the twins at 12 ½, I’m sure there will be many more surprises ahead.

Foreshadow #1: Right after the boys were born, we were friends with a couple of other families who had only girls. The joke the boys’ father would say to the other dads was, “With boys you only have one penis to worry about; with girls you have to worry about ALL of them.” We’d all laugh, not knowing what might come.

Foreshadow #2: When the boys were 7 and 8 (hopefully before they had any thoughts of being sexual beings), another father warned us about “the sock.” Apparently he had raised boys and had frequently found “sticky” socks in the boys’ bedrooms. I’ll allow you to fill in the blanks here.

The story: It was a normal day around our house – our three sons playing outside, running inside, making lots of noise, etc. James was then in 6th grade, almost 13. His twin brothers, Bryce and Ryan, were just finishing 5th grade. James’ best friend was Corey, the neighbor boy who is in his class.

That week, a local pediatrician had visited Bryce and Ryan’s 5th grade class to talk about sexuality. They each came home with a “kit” complete with a sample of deodorant and a pamphlet containing FAQs. In the letters that came home from the school about the presentation, we had to sign a permission slip and it was suggested that we, as parents, use this opportunity to discuss sexuality with our kids, answer any questions, etc.

Each evening, as I put the boys to bed, I’d ask each of them about what happened at school that day, what did you learn, etc. I also used this as a time to open the conversation about the presentation at school about sexuality. Neither of the twins wanted to talk about it and would get giggly and tired. That was the extent of our sex talk at least for that evening.

James had had the same presentation just a year prior, which prompted him and his friend, Corey, to ask questions and tease his brothers about the topics of puberty, male and female gen.italia, ejacu.lations, mens.truation, etc. No wonder they didn’t want to talk about it!

The next day, Bryce reported that James and Corey were telling the other neighborhood kids about what they found in James’ parents’ (me and my husband’s) bedroom…a cond.om! First I was embarrassed and upset that James and Corey were snooping in our room. Is there no privacy? (The answer when you have kids – especially this age – is no!).

Then I knew that we would be talking about sex with the boys – beyond the giggles, being embarrassed or tired. We talked to James and Corey (and also told Corey’s parents) about the boys being in our room, snooping through our stuff, and also about the concept of trust. Later that evening we lined up all three boys. We talked about what happened, what they found (which included the cond.om) and opened up the floor for questions. We got all kinds of questions and had a great discussion about sex.

I was glad that a lot of the “boy” questions were directed to my husband, who did a great job handling this delicately – like an expert. Looking back, I know that this was a great way to start the ongoing conversation about sexuality with our kids. Perhaps it was part of a divine plan…

I walked away feeling like we had done a great job handling this situation…a parental pat on the back. The next day I found an open condom in our front yard (with a torn open wrapper nearby – our brand) and realized that God probably had provided this opportunity and that God also has a great sense of humor!

What did I learn? I keep a much more detailed inventory of our “supply” and the “accouterments” we have in our room. I’ve considered buying a locked cabinet, but I think it might cut down on our spontaneity (what little there is when you have kids). I try to keep the lines of communication open with each of the boys and realize that we have just begun to walk this path. They are still embarrassed when I ask about a special girl or overhear one of them talking about “going out” with someone (they are heading into 7th and 8th grades), but I keep my maternal patience, curiosity and love for them as they are growing into fine young men.

The good news is that so far, I have not found any sticky socks and I think that is a bonus!
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Guest post: Kristin's Quiet Principle

It's a busy summer, and I'm not at the 'pooter as often as usual. To keep my seat warm in my absence, I bring you some of my favorite guest bloggers on Fridays in July. Maybe you already know them, and maybe you will find someone new to follow, but either way you are in for a treat.

Kristin of Dragon Dreamer's Lair is a SAHM to 3 hellions – Marty, 12; Joey, 8; and Gabe, 3. She started blogging almost 5 years ago when she and her husband were struggling with secondary infertility. When Kristin isn’t feeding her computer addiction, you can find her reading, crocheting, cross stitching, or tending her ever growing herd of dust bunnies.

If you haven't said it, I know you've heard someone say it..."All of a sudden I realized it had been too quiet for too long and I discovered him in the X." You would think after 12+ years and 3 kids, I would realize that too much calm and quiet does not equal a good thing. It equals a kid up to
no good. But, even the most experienced parent has moments when they savor the quiet...and, pay the price later. I had one of those days not too long ago.

It was a horrible rainy day and Gabe and I were stuck inside. I was trying to get so work done for my design company* but kept getting interrupted for mommy duty...getting a drink or putting together a puzzle or reading a book. Right before lunch, Gabe came up and said he wanted to wash his hands. When I got up to help him, he told me he wanted to do it on his own.

Normally, I try not to let him go into the bathroom unsupervised because he ends up making a mess but I was so thankful to not have to get up (I was on a roll designing) that I let him go. I was really in a groove with my design work and, without even realizing it, 15 minutes had passed.

Aaaah, the glorious quiet. But wait, I don't hear Gabe. I don't hear water running either. What could he be doing? I went to find Gabe and this is what I found...

I can understand how the toothpaste got all over the counter but how did it get in and on his ear? Never mind, I don't think I want to know. I guess this was karmic payback for when I finger painted my bedroom walls with Crest** toothpaste when I was 2.

Gabe was thrilled to get to have a bath in the middle of the day. Water + toys always equals a good time in his mind. And, I got a nice shiny, clean counter out of the whole incident.


So, remember the Quiet Principle...Never succumb to the bliss of uninterrupted quiet time. You will pay for it later.


* My bff and sister by choice and I have a cross stitch design company, Cuppa Joe Designs, that we launched just a few months ago.

** Did you know the Crest toothpaste of my childhood would remove paint?
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Guest post: Kym's Parenting Advice to a Googler

"Real" work calls (the kind that pays, as opposed to blogging) and I'm running a couple of conferences this summer. But to keep my seat warm in my absence, I bring you some of my favorite guest bloggers on Fridays in July. Maybe you already know them, and maybe you will find someone new to follow, but either way you are in for a treat.

In her every day life, Kymberli is a post-infertility mother to el Cinco: her four kids (all Clomid babies) plus her nephew whom she is raising. Kymberli teaches 8th grade English and her husband, Frank is a cookie-baking, dinner-cooking, house-cleaning, stay-at-home-dad extraordinaire. Kymberli's alter-ego is a bad ass superhero who has tipped back into the waters of infertility, this time as a gestational surrogate. She's helped one couple build a family with the birth of her surro-son Sam in 2007. In her blog I'm a Smart One, Kymberli discusses the continuation of her efforts to be a surrogate and parenting after infertility.

And I think Kym really IS a superhero.

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When THE Lori asked if I would write a guest post for her blog, my jaw dropped and I heard cheesy sit-com style "heaven" music. You know, the type that has harp glissandos set in the background of a chorus of angels harmonizing "Aaaaaaahhh." Yes, I know - I'm an idiot. But I seriously felt like the little dweeb in the corner who'd been asked to go to Prom with the Most Popular Kid in Class, so I gleefully accepted. Then I had an "OH SH!T" moment once it sunk in that tons of people, including many who've never seen me at Smart One, would be reading my contribution. Oh, the pressure...first impressions, and all that.

I thought of commonalities between Weebles Wobblog's primary content of adoption and Smart One's primary content of surrogacy. I considered writing something serious, perhaps a discussion of the similarities I've noticed between adoption and surrogacy journeys. While informative, that topic wouldn't be exactly entertaining. My next thought was that parenting after infertility is another bridge between our blogs. Lori said that I had the option of writing new material or submitting an older entry, and I immediately thought of a letter that I wrote in response to someone who landed on my blog by Googling a rather...interesting set of search terms. So, I'm going to cheat and opt to post what I think is one of my funniest entries.

I hope you enjoy it:

To the person who found my blog by Googling...

Why on Earth would you have as.sholes for kids? I'm sure you could find plenty of other things that are more appropriate to have for kids. You could have toys and games and books for kids. A nutritolicious lunch, perhaps, with high fiber and no trans fats and a double dose of calcium would definitely be good for kids. But as.sholes for kids - nuh uh - those won't work. They won't play with them, and I can guarantee you that they won't eat them.

Now if, in fact, what you really meant by your inquiry was "What to do when my kids are as.sholes," that's an entirely different thing. And oh so not special. Whose kids aren't as.sholes? That's what the whole business of being a kid is about! Even the brainy, mild-tempered, cheek-pinchable darlings have random, mad streaks of as.sholishness here and there.

One day you might be having a lovely chat with your mother-in-law over a cuppa tea. You look up just in time to see your two-year old whiz through the kitchen at warp speed with the string of cond.oms she found nestled between the mattresses, and she's whipping them overhead like a latex, ribbed-for-pleasure lasso. Only an as.shole would do something like that.

Maybe you've taken your children to an all-day high school marching band competition. Your oldest son is just over three and he's thrilled with having reigned his bowels under his control. At his request, you've trekked down the bleachers four times in the past thirty minutes to take him to go potty. Twenty minutes go by without another pee break, so you settle back to observe the current show, assured that your son is now content to play a few rows below you with his twin sister. As the next performance begins - a fiery Latin show - you glance down for a kidcheck and realize that your son is now halfway down the bleachers. The company front of trumpets and other high brass instruments are wailing fortissimo con fuego, so you yell to be heard above them - "Son! Get your butt back up here!" He stops in his tracks and as if on cue, the band hits a sforzando, bringing their blast to a sudden shushed pianissimo. In that quiet moment, your son answers your yell with one of his own - "BUT MOM, I GOTTA GO POOP!" The dance team and parent chaperons sitting in the surrounding bleachers erupt in hand-covered giggles as they turn and look up, and you can only sink your head into your knees. As.s. Hole.

Or, you're in the local mega-mart-with-a-capital-W, accompanied by your 5-year old daughter. You're in the hair care section selecting new barrettes for her when further down the aisle, she pipes up and says, "You should by a box of this perm because your hair is kinda nappy." Everyone within earshot casts glances in your direction, obviously assessing that yes, your hair is quite overdue for a straightening relaxer. Need I say it? As.sssshole.

It could be that your other son - the one they call angelic - has suddenly refused to remove his own clothing even though he is nearly four and is more than capable of doing it himself. He moans in agony, wails, and sobs until snot runs in slippery streams down his lips and chin. He scream-choke-cries himself into hyperventilation. He follows you around the house at a tortured snail's pace until you relent and remove his clothing for him. He's playing you. This continues for three weeks and only comes to an end after you devised and enacted a plan to break him of these ridiculous tantrums. Should it have come to this in the first place? No - but he's a kid, and that makes him an as.shole. A stubborn one, at that.

So you think your kids are as.sholes. So what? It's inherent in children's nature to have as.shole tendencies. They don't know any better. Don't act like you don't remember being an as.shole yourself. Parenting is all about how to extract said as.sholishness and shape your children into...well...non-as.sholes.

Look - I don't really believe that children are as.sholes (most of them, anyway). The reality is that parenting is tough. Gird your loins tough. No matter how much you prepare yourself for it, you end up still flying by the seat of your pants with not much more to go on than a wing and a prayer. It's a challenge and they the are challengers. So when things get so tough that you start wondering if you're raising your children to be as.sholes, just remember that no one said it would be easy. You are not alone.

One last thing - you've seen Nanny 911 or Supernanny, yes? If your kids act like those kids, I regret to inform you that the kids are not as.sholes. You are. Grow a set and get control, or else one day you might find your children Googling "what to do if you have as.sholes for parents."

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To the readers of Weebles Wobblog, if you're still trying to make it through to the other side, whether through adoption, surrogacy, donor egg, sperm donor, IVF, IUI, or any other options in the myriad of ways to overcome infertility, I hope and pray that you will make it, and soon. If you've already made it over, give your little as.sholes (the kids, people, not the ones you're sitting on) an extra squeeze today.

Guest post: JJ on Sibling Revelry

"Real" work calls (the kind that pays, as opposed to blogging) and I'm running a couple of conferences this summer. But to keep my seat warm in my absence, I bring you some of my favorite guest bloggers on Fridays through July. Maybe you already know these amazing writers, and maybe you will find someone new to follow, but either way you are in for a treat.

A dash of IUI, peppered with IVF, add a side of ICSI, covered in FET.

This recipe of medical treatments has been a major part of JJ's life since 2007. When JJ and her husband, Mook, decided they wanted to pass on the family jeans they found out that no matter what your 7^th grade sex-ed teacher told you, it does take more than one swimmer to reach the egg. They were diagnosed with a quieter side of infertility: male factor.

JJ and Mook were so fortunate that a delicious little boy was the end result of that recipe of treatments. You can find JJ blogging about parenting after infertility at Reproductive Jeans.

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Sibling Rivalry

Growing up as the eldest of three children, I heard that term quite a bit.

Mookwent a long time without knowing what that was all about, as he was an only child.

I had to learn to share my favorite toy, and my parents affection. Mook had to learn to share with his friends, and had his parents undivided attention.

Ask us each who had the better situation, and we'll give you pros and cons to both.

We are currently the very fortunate parents of a sweet 4 month old boy, born after our 2nd round of IVF with ICSI. He is a dream come true; the icing on the cake of life.

To say we cherish every moment with this little person is an understatement. We have enjoyed sharing our joy with friends and family--all who can see how happy we are. They love to make baby noises and faces with him, tell us how cute he is, and shower him with hugs and kisses.

And then as sure as a rain storm comes in on a hot southern afternoon, we hear:

"So when are you going to give him a sibling?"

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I must tell you that after writing the first two sections of this post, I had to let it sit in my draft folder for a few days.

It's been one of those questions that I knew we would hear eventually, but I wasn't prepared to hear it for the first time 2 weeks after I had given birth. Now, those who know what a tough road it was for me to give birth in the first place (going through fertility treatments, and then dealing with pregnancy complications) knew better than to ask me that question. But the distant relative or friend on the giant-diary-into-our-lives ( a/k/a Facebook) have been throwing that question at me in as casual a tone as they would ask me what I want to eat for dinner tonight.

Maybe it's because of my infertility background that I am dealing with this "Sibling Rivalry" in my head: will we or won't we give the O-man a brother/sister?

In a perfect world, I would immediately say: YES! But the reality of it all is, I just don't know...and it makes the sting of infertility burn all over again. We can't just say: "Heck, let's toss caution to the wind and hope for a surprise/oops baby!" I realize this DOES happen...but, when dealing with male factor infertility, it's dreaming big. Real big.

As of this moment, I do not want to go through fertility treatments again. (I have the right to change my mind at a later date, of course....) We do not have any frozen embryos from the cycle that gave us O-man, so we would be starting fresh. It would be IVF # 3, and with NO guarantee that we would be as lucky again, I get exhausted just thinking about it.

And while we are not even close to resolving the sibling issue anytime soon, I can tell you this: I gave Mook 2 apple seeds from an apple we shared the day we got our male factor diagnosis. One of those seeds represents our blossoming handsome little boy. I still carry the other seed--and it may take some time to fully bloom, but I will nurture and care for that seed until we are ready to plant it. There is a certain garden that is catching my eye more and more each time I pass by. The seeds that have rooted here, are ones that come from all over, and are cared for by those "adopting" them into their family...

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Another day, another chance to vote for Weebles Wobblog. Please click on the blue button, scroll down to the Most Inspiring category, and vote for this blog, currently in 3rd place. (You can also vote for Luna in the same category, and for Eden in the Most Provocative Blog category.) Rock the ALI vote!

Here's a button if you'd like to help me make a good showing against some fabulous blogs. Not that I'm competitive or anything. OK, maybe inspiringly competitive.

(To those of you with the button: I really won't hurt the cute puppy.)

Guest post: Maybe Next Year

While I'm on a business trip (cue violins -- I'm on the gulf coast of Florida), I'm leaving this space in the hands of some bloggers who may be new to you.

Keeping my chair warm today is Terra from The Emerson Family. You may remember her as a finalist in the Limerick Chick Contest.

Terra blogs as a way to chronicle her days of motherhood and she hopes it will be something her two young daughters will refer to for guidance and remembrance. She also reviews books with lots of giveaways at Tales from the Nightstand.

Alert: this post is about motherhood.
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I used to take for granted...My love for music -- until I had to listen to my kids' CDs all day and into the night.

Now one of my favorite times of the week is the car trip from my daughter's school to my house when I am ALONE in my car with MY music as loud as it will go.

I used to take for granted...The time after dinner in my home, often spent with friends in the neighborhood, watching CSI with my husband.

Now I relish the moments after the girls are both in bed and I head to my own bed to curl up with my Kindle and read. Friends what friends? Maybe next year.

I used to take for granted...waking up whenever my internal clock woke me, jumping in the shower and starting my day at my own pace.

Now I wake at the first sign of internal wakefulness be it 4 am or 6 am -- rush to get my diet soda, potty without flushing (so as to not wake anyone) and jump on my computer to grab a few minutes of peace and quiet before the girls wake...if I am not in the shower by 6am, no shower for me but I won't get in before 6 because I risk waking said girls. So I relish my time in Beaver Creek with family - where the days are slower and the nights are longer and more often than not I get quiet time with ME in the mornings and I long for the days when the girls consistently sleep past 6am each and every day and I dread the days when I have to literally DRAG them out of bed by 9 because sleeping to late is never a good habit.

I used to take for granted… the fact that I could eat anything I wanted anytime I wanted and my clothes would always fit.

Now, after kid number 2, I still eat whatever I want – whenever I want and my clothes still fit, just not the same. Can you say EXERCISE anyone? Maybe next year.

I used to take for granted…my own parents and the hard work and devotion they put into raising my brother and me.

Now I know that when you’re a kid you really have NO IDEA. And I am not sure it even sets in until your kids are school age and your commitment level changes to from being the doting loving at home mom to the mom that has to shower, present her children to the public each and every day, face challenges with schools, sports, friends and so much more right alongside your own children. It is the sleepless nights, the wondering if you are “doing it right” those are all things you just can’t get until you do it yourself. And the worst part about that is watching your own children “not get it” and knowing it will be 20 years before they do.

I have a feeling I could take this list and run it into the ground…the bottom line is I love being a wife, a mother and whatever else I may be, I would not trade it for the world – I try hard to appreciate all that I have now and have to look forward to all that lies ahead (I think).

Now if only I could muster up the energy to invite friends over more often, get my girls to love the music that love, sleep until I want them to wake up, exercise in my sleep and find the magic key that would make all kids truly appreciate everything that is done for them.

Maybe next year.

Guest post: Cutting my Q Time

While I'm on a business trip (cue violins -- I'm on the gulf coast of Florida), I'm leaving this space in the hands of some bloggers who may be new to you.

Keeping my chair warm today is Sheri from Wild Women of the Universe. Sheri and I went to Gynee College together when we were teenagers, and we taught our parents everything they know about raising children (with some help from our other sister, Tami, as well).

Sheri and her husband are raising 3 teenage boys in Colorado. Sheri also has a thriving life coaching business, where she uses her keenly developed intuitive skills. I should know -- she's done some amazing readings for me. Sheri's blog is morphing into a meeting place for people with spiritual yearnings -- women who are awakening. Check out her April Fool's Day Tarot spread, designed especially for people starting on a new journey.

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Although some people easily move towards or even thrive on change, the rest of us tend to wade through multiple options, potential consequences and can wear ourselves out with the mental gymnastics that accompany contemplating change. Trying to make a decision can be like running through quicksand. The more you contemplate and struggle, the deeper you sink.

When I get stuck like this, I call it Q-Time, where the “Q” stands for quicksand and represents the time I know to move on, but don’t.

My quicksand quagmire follies date back many years in my professional career. A couple of years ago I quit working at a job where I was making the most income I had ever made in my life. Yes, it was legal. I was selling memberships for our local Chamber of Commerce.

For the first two years, I was in love with my job. As I worked harder, I helped more people and my commissions soared. I was at the top of my game. And then, I began to get intuitive cues that it was time to move on. I was being called to something more in line with my BIG purpose – you know, the reason I’m on this earth type of thing.

I got the hit to leave about a year before I actually cleaned out my desk. What took so long? I wasn’t sure what I would do. I had no logical plan. How would I replace my income? What did this mean to my family?

I then realized that I was knee-deep in the quicksand; I was struggling…and I was sinking. At one point, after a very frustrating couple of weeks, I told my husband, “I just need some kind of sign.”

He rattled off all of the things that had been going wrong over the past two weeks and said, “What other signs do you need?” Oh yeah! The signs were there; I was just up to my eyeballs in quicksand and couldn’t see them.

I finally left and it was the very best thing I ever did. What gave me the courage? You might ask.

I did some pondering about what I was here to do and being the best salesperson at the Chamber was not my bigger vision. The reason I loved my job was because I love to help people. After a lot of research, inner searching, pulling my tarot cards and asking for guidance, I decided I was meant to be a life coach.

I quit working at the Chamber two months after my first life coaching training and I’ve never looked back.

Back to cutting down my Q-time…The key to this story is to know that ten years ago, it took me three years to leave a job I knew intuitively was not right for me. Quitting the Chamber a few years later took a year, and just a month ago, I quit a part time job just two weeks after I began to hear my intuitive voice say, “IT’S TIME TO QUIT.”

So I’ve cut my Q-time down from three years to one year to two weeks. My lesson is that when I get the intuitive nudge to move on, I should quit thinking of reasons why NOT to move on and start intuitively feeling how to move on…and then do it.

What’s your Q-time? Do you trust your intuitive voice? Is it time to make a change in your career, your relationships or any other situation where you find yourself sinking or stuck?

My guess is that just like in the quicksand analogy, the more still you get, the less you sink. And in your stillness, you can tune in to your intuitive voice and get the answers you need. You DO know what to do. Maybe the problem isn’t in knowing, but in trusting and doing. Now THAT is a whole other story!

Guest post: Scars & Watermarks

While I'm on a business trip (cue violins -- I'm on the gulf coast of Florida), I'm leaving this space in the hands of some bloggers who may be new to you.

Keeping my chair warm today is Erica from Parenthood for Me. You may remember her as the winner in the Limerick Chick Contest.

Erica Schlaefer is an adoptive mom and co-founder of Parenthood for Me.org. Her non profit is dedicated to helping those building families through adoption or medical intervention by providing emotional and financial support along with educational tools. Visit her blog, ParenthoodForMe.

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Last night a couple of images came into my mind as I tried to fall asleep. They pertained to the effects of infertility on my life, how it has changed me, and how it doesn't define me but is a big part of my life, my persona.

Scar tissue. Infertility is like scar tissue. The wound may eventually heal, but the skin surrounding the wound looks different, it feels different. The scar could be big or large- its size doesn't matter. The fact that it exists is what matters. It becomes a part of your body just like the freckle above your eye or the dimples on your cheeks. As with many Infertiles my wound kept opening and closing, opening and closing. It never really healed in between failed pregnancy attempts, but it would become well enough that I could take the band-aid off and have the strength to continue on with another procedure, another round of needles.

Each failed attempt at conceiving changed me. In many ways for the better. Admittedly I cannot be sorry for any of the changes that happened to me because of where I have ended up and who I have become. I am a wife and mother. I am living the dream. I have a new dream to live.

Watermark. I also imagined a watermark. When we were going through the really rough times, I wore my heart on my sleeve. I was covered in an opaque watermark. Depending on which light you saw me in, my pain was evident-- almost too evident. I was hard to be around because there was a big gaping hole in my heart and no one knew how to fill it. That watermark covered my entire being, and it didn't make me feel pretty. It made me feel a million shades of different. I was sad, angry, and hopelessly lost. I was at the bottom; I could no longer continue in the same direction.

Lately I have noticed that my scar tissue is fading more and more; the watermark is nearly gone. I smile more and feel like I have come into my own. Open ends have closed; they're packaged up, taped up, sealed away somewhere for me to revisit from time to time. There are new open ends like, what will my son be like next week, next month, next year?
When can we adopt again and bring Finn home a sister? When will be able to start really helping people with our nonprofit venture?

All these open ends came to me because of infertility. I know that struggle is a part of life and no one can escape it. Well, hopefully you can escape it eventually by finding a new way to be happy and finding a new way to fulfill your dreams. Infertility and loss are just one part of the road for me; I can move on.

I have moved on.