Okay. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when I hit that publish button, but I should have known how wonderful all of you amazing people would be. I cried as each and every one of your comments came in. I truly can’t thank you enough. But today, I need to ask for even more grace from you guys. Unfortunately, there are a few more “parts” to our infertility story. And things get worse before they get better.
I ended part 1 of our story of struggling with infertility by sharing about the loss of our “little bug” to an early miscarriage. Remembering and reliving that experience has been incredibly hard. Harder than I expected. Losing Little Bug was unbelievably painful. I didn’t know how life could continue on. But just like after losing my dad, somehow each and every day I woke up and life kept happening. I spent hours each and every day pleading, begging, mourning, crying before my big, all powerful, very real God. And eventually, and slowly, that mourning turned into back into living life. I can truly look back and say that the only way I made it through that horrible time was with the grace of God and the strength of my amazing husband.
You would think I was too traumatized to keep trying to conceive. But my desire for a child was only intensified. Six weeks after losing Little Bug we started actively trying to conceive again. But this time without the basal body temperatures, ovulation kits, and centering our lives around trying to conceive. God had shown me that those were my ways of trying to control the situation. Being the control freak that I am, I had to let go of this and give it to God. His timing is perfect. I will trust in His great plans for us. Even today.
I’ve been wanting to write this post for a long time but I was always afraid to do just that. I didn’t know what feelings I would be unearthing (btw, its lots of tears) or how all of you would react. But a big part of my change of heart was wanting to share more of myself and wanting to be less afraid of what I share. So here I go. Be gentle with my heart, friends.
My desire to write this post started out with me wanting to share with all of you my journey to become gluten free. But as I began thinking about my decision to become gluten free, I realized that my story wasn’t simply about food. It was more about my journey of infertility. And as terrifying as it is to write this post, I know I am not alone. Though often, I feel very, very alone. Infertility is not something that people talk about. I guarantee that at least one couple you know is struggling with infertility. But you might not know it. The culture of shame and pain behind infertility is what keeps most of us quiet. But we have no reason to be ashamed. One of the things that has helped me the most is wonderful, dear friends who have opened up to me to let me know that they have or are going through the beast of infertility right beside me. In case you don’t have those friends, I’ll be that friend for you. That is what made me truly decide to write this post. For all of us who feel alone. And more importantly, that is why I will hit that terrifying “publish” button.
Our new DIY Tufted Wingback Headboard may be my all-time favorite project. I think I say that once a month, but seriously, it may take the cake for at least the next couple of months. And that is really saying something because I am still hardcore in love with Penelope, my stenciled dining room wall. And, if Penelope got a name, I think Heady should get a name. Partly because Heady is a really sucky name for something I love so much. Ooo! Oooo! Regina. Oh wait… now I’m thinking of Mean Girls. And now I’m thinking of people getting hit by buses. And failed trust falls. HA! (Back on track, Talitha!) …………… GOT IT! Arthur. Nailed it. Everyone… meet Arthur, the current inanimate love of my life. Arthur is tall, dignified, and oh so classy. He’s got a thing for buttons and gold. He has just the right bit of padding so snuggling up to him is great for both of us. He’s perfect.
The thrifty girl in me loves that all the ones I found online were around $800+ and we made ours for around $115. The DIY-er in me loves that we built it ourselves. The decorator in me loves that our room isn’t just a blank slate anymore. We are finally making progress on our master! I mean, come on, I showed you my inspiration board 6 months ago. Sheesh. The dirty girl in me likes that I can make “married people” type headboard jokes. If you get what I mean… nudge nudge, wink wink.
Anywho, let’s get on the the lotsa pictures/tutorial part of this post. Hold on, because it’s a doozy.
Okay. Before I get started I have to say a huge thank you to all of you wonderful, fat-hearted people who really encouraged me after I shared about my change of heart. It really is because of all of you awesomesauce peeps that I want to share more of myself. And by myself I mean my heart. Not my body. Do NOT picture me running naked through the streets screaming “I JUST WANT TO SHARE ALL OF THIS!!” That would just be gross. (I apologize for that visual. Also, I mentioned sharing more of my dirty mind. Apparently that has started as well.)
Today’s post on curb appeal is about house numbers. But before I get into the how-to of my new house numbers, I have to ask that you pretty pretty please don’t stalk me. I’ve always blurred out my house number on pictures of our home, but I can’t really do that when my whole post is about said house numbers. Go figure. So if you are the friendly kind of stalker who will send me presents (of the chocolate, flowers, and power tool kind) by all means, stalk away! But if you are the other variety (the locks of hair, poisoned chocolate, and pictures of myself sleeping kind of “presents”) please know that those aren’t my real house numbers! he… he… *boldfacelie*… he.
Holy moley guys. The last time I posted was almost a whole month ago. Yikes!! My unintentional break was because of… well… life. And my 2 left feet. Can’t forget those. They are what made my short 1 week break into a month long break.
The past 3 weeks have been the busiest of the entire year. And that is saying something because we are normally pretty busy. It started with my aunt and uncle coming in for a short visit. Fifteen minutes before we were supposed to leave for the airport to pick them up, I tripped and fell. And it wasn’t your average trip and fall. After all, I am my father’s daughter. That’s a reference to where I gained my 2 left feet. My father had a history of bad accidents (Nail through the hand. Claw of hammer to forehead. Catching a softball with mouth… twice… once resulting in temporary amnesia. Me cutting off his finger… oops. THEY REATTACHED IT!)
I couldn’t quite get my hand under me fast enough to catch myself. This resulted in my fingers bending all the way back to touch my arm. After yelling for the hubs and trying to breath through the insane amount of pain, we rushed off to urgent care. David had to leave me there while he continued on to the airport. A few x-rays later, they said they were unsure if I broke it but I definitely tore a bunch of tendons. Yippee. And yes, I’m a righty. I was left unable to use any of my fingers to cut my food, write, type, or do just about anything with my right hand. Imagine what a joy I was to be around! Please ignore the toilet paper stuck to my shoe. You are lucky I was able to even get some off the roll. Let alone pull up my pants.