Over the last decade, I have done a lot of hard work.

Some of it was in a small dorm room where I came up with the idea of Starlite, a ministry that would go on to be a huge part of my life.

Some of it is was in college classrooms, where I earned degrees while working part-time jobs to pay my way through school.

Some of it was in counseling centers, where I tried to understand events that happened in my past.

Some of it was in my bathroom, when I would almost fall asleep while giving the Fabulous Five their nightly baths.

Some of it was in courtrooms, where I fought to represent foster children who lived in my home.

Some of it was in forms — over 200 pages of forms, to be exact — where I petitioned the US government to allow the man I loved to move to America to marry me.

I can do hard work.  I know I can.

But there’s one piece of hard work that I’ve been avoiding for the better part of a decade that I don’t want to ignore any longer.

This is me a little over 10 years ago, right before I left for college.

This is me today, some 11 years later.

I gained weight.  A lot of weight.  Enough weight to put me in a category that is dangerous to my health.

I gained the first part of it very quickly, which signaled something was wrong.  I went to a doctor, found out what it was and started trying to address it.

I didn’t see results.  I got embarrassed.  I got frustrated.  I got lazy.  And I gained more weight.

Today, I still have that same health issue and am treating it with the help of a wonderful fertility specialist who is both honest and kind.  We have talked about the fact that I need to be healthier and that a very visible sign of becoming healthy will be losing weight.

Regardless of whether I ever have a biological child, I know I want to be a mother.  And in a way, I will be one soon — we expect to have a foster child sleeping under our roof before the month is up.  Even if I never get to see an ultrasound in a doctor’s office, I am going to, in a way, get to be a mother.

But I want to be a great mom and wife.  I want to be able to play on the playground without panting.  I want to be able to get up before the sun rises and have a healthy, filling breakfast on the table for my family.  I want to play in the ocean with my children.  I want to take care of my grandparents and parents as they get older in life and need my assistance.  I want to live to see Paul’s hair turn gray.

And if I don’t make changes now, I’m afraid I will never get to do those things.

I have put it off because it is going to be hard.  I am addicted to food, specifically food that is not healthy.  I am also lazy when it comes to exercise, partly because exercise is difficult at my weight and partly because I’ve just never been into exercise even when I was at a healthy weight.  It is also related to emotions that go with past situations and present situations in my life.

I also lack self-control in this area of my life.  For the last few years, I have basically eaten whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.  This would be great if I was eating apples and grilled chicken but I err more on the McDonald’s side of life.

I’m ready to change.  And, even if I’m not ready to change, I have to be ready to change.  I turn 30 years old in six months and I do not want to enter the next decade of my life at this weight nor with any area of my life that is out of control (and this area is out of control).

I know what to do to lose the weight.  I have a plan, one that isn’t filled with pills and fad diets and starvation.

Now it is just time to do hard work.

We are officially over halfway done with foster care training.  We’ve hit the part where I’m checking batteries in smoke detectors, double locking medicines and posting fire escape plans in preparation of our upcoming home visit studies.  Paul is excited.

I am sometimes excited, sometimes scared.

Before the fabulous five came into my life, I knew I would never adopt a child.  I never said it out loud, because it seemed politically incorrect, but I just didn’t think I was capable of loving a non-biological child in the same way I would love a biological child that shared my bloodline.  I just didn’t think I could do it.

But then MacKenzie came.  And Aviean.  And Angelina, Juliana and Olivia.  And suddenly, I learned a truth about myself: I could (and did) love each of those children as if I had given birth to them myself.  It was the most amazing, shocking lesson of my life.  Here was this thing I thought I was incapable of — and now it seemed like the easiest thing in the world.  I fell in love with them without trying; it was truly that easy.

When I started fostering, I thought it wouldn’t happen again.  This will be different, I told myself.  It will be harder this time, I thought.  And it was harder, but the result was the same: I did love those children as if they were mine.  I remember the day I got the call that Miss Seventeen’s biological parents’ rights had been terminated.  One of the very first thoughts that went through my head was “I need to open a bank account and start saving for her wedding one day.”

So why am I so scared that this time will be different?  Why am I afraid that this child, number nine to sleep under my roof, will be the one that I find myself unable to bond with?

I think it is because, in a way, I feel like fostering is saying that I’m giving up on having a biological child.  And I am not ready to give up.

I’m just not.  Even though I know that I can love a non-biological child in the same way I can love a biological child, I still want to have a biological child.  I want to be pregnant.  I want to have morning sickness.  I want to see a heartbeat on an ultrasound.  I want to go into labor.  I want my family to hurry to the hospital.  I want my mother to show me how to give a baby a bath.  I want my father to triple check that the car seat is installed correctly.  I want to see if the baby has Paul’s hair color.  I want a child that I get to name.

When I was younger, I would worry about never getting married.  But I have never worried about never being a mother because I have just always known that, somehow, I would be a mother one day.  My doctor says there is no reason to give up hope yet.  We think we know the problems and maybe how to fix them.

And so I keep saving money for another round of injections and procedures.

And try not to be envious of people who can try for a child each month without needing thousands of dollars for one solitary shot at a child.

And attempt to keep from berating myself for being overweight (that isn’t the only problem in our infertility roster, but it is the only problem that is my personal fault, which makes me feel guilty).

And, above all, I keep reminding myself that it is okay to love a child again.  It is okay if this child returns to their biological parents.  It is okay if I cry when it happens.  It is okay if I still mourn for the children who used to stay with me.  It is okay to still dream of having a biological child while taking care of someone else’s child while they are unable or unwilling to do it themselves.  It is okay to pour out my love on a child, even if it ends up looking like that love went to waste.

Because love can never be wasted on a child.  Never.

“It’s easy to love cautiously.

It’s easy to show expressions of love that are safe and kept within restrained boundaries.

But loving wastefully always involves risk — there’s the risk that the loving deed might, in fact, be wasted.

Yet is it not in loving wastefully that we display the inexhaustible love of God?”

- Spotting the Sacred

 

We went to work yesterday morning hearing that there was a 30% chance of snow…

… and came home at lunch unable to pull up our driveway!

Well, as Sally Field would say, you love me — you really love me!  Thank you for your sweet comments and for being able to read through the lines when it comes to what I can and can’t say about foster care specifics.

Here’s a list of what we’ve been up to ever since we made the official decision to foster again:

1. I began nesting.  This meant that, one cold day in January, I made Paul help me pull everything out of our kitchen cabinets (and I do mean everything) so we could clean the insides and outsides of the cabinets before putting food and dishes back in perfectly organized.  We scoured everything from the oven to the freezer to the dishwasher.  I have washed windows, cleaned out closets and scrubbed baseboards.  I think this intense nesting comes from memories of fostering before.  When I was fostering three children and working (all while single), I always felt better about life if I could at least keep my house fairly clean and organized.  I would come home each day at lunch, while the foster kids were either in school or at day care, and clean like a maniac for 50 minutes before heading back to my office to finish out the day.  I tried so hard to clean while they weren’t home so that, when they were home, I could focus my attention on them.

I want to go back into foster care with my house deep cleaned and organized again so that I won’t feel overwhelmed when I try to juggle everything.  I’ve got almost the whole house organized and I’m continuing to deep clean various things.  I think Paul was on board with my nesting until the day I started organizing my plastic silverware into quart sized labeled bags.

2. I began dreaming of decorating.  When the fabulous five came into my life back in the day, one of the very first things I set out to do was to create a bedroom just for them.  I love decorating so it is natural that I like to show my love for a child by creating a space that is appealing to them.  Since we don’t know what age we will be foster yet (more on that in a minute), I have just been day dreaming so far.  And, okay, maybe a few Google searches to see how much a crib would cost.

3. We began making decisions.  One of the very first things we talked about was what age of children we wanted to foster and how many we were willing to take at a time.  The last time around, I had said I would only take one child under the age of four — and somehow ended up with three children ranging in ages three to seventeen!  This time around we know we just want one child at a time and we would like a younger child.  I actually really loved having teenage girls last time but, for this time around, I think we are best suited for a younger child.  I don’t think we have a preference on the sex; if it is a girl, she can play with Aviean’s toys and if it is a boy, Paul can finally have a legitimate reason to shop the Spiderman section at Target.

4. I began doing paperwork.  At our first class, we were given a folder full of forms to fill out to begin the foster care process.  In addition to all of these forms, we had a list of documents we needed to produce ranging from our marriage certificate to our birth certificates to proof of car insurance.  I took that folder on like it was my job and began filling out forms and collecting documents like a champ.  Last night, I handed over 40+ pages of completed paperwork and felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment that I haven’t felt since the days of 20 page papers due in grad school.

5. We began going to classes.  Paul and I are doing a form of foster care that is called therapeutic foster care.  This is a step up from basic foster care where we will receive children who come from more complex home situations (this is the same type of foster care I did before).  We go two nights a week, for three hours each night, for six weeks.  In the classes, you cover everything from dealing with birth parents to the judicial system to CPR.  I’ve been through the classes before but am going again to renew my certification and the instructor has been so kind and inclusive to me by asking me to share some of my experiences with the other couples who are going through training for the first time.  As the classes wind down, we’ll have several home study visits and will then wait on the state to certify our home.  Once that happens, we will begin receiving calls about children.

6. I got a mom hair cut.  But really — I went and got six inches cut off my hair.  It just seemed like the right thing to do.

Last night, on the coldest day Tennessee has seen in awhile, Paul and I bundled up and headed across town for our first foster care training as a couple.  At a stoplight, I grabbed my phone and we took a selfie to remember what we looked like on the night we said “Yes, we want to try this.”

Foster care.  It is unbelievable that two short words can conjure up so many different feelings.  Those of you who have been reading my blog for awhile will remember that this is not my first foray into the world of foster care.  The back story is that, for a period of time, I took care of five little girls who had different life situations that put them in my home for days or weeks at a time, depending on their personal situation.  I still look back on that period of my life as one of the best gifts God has ever given to me.  I still cannot believe I got to have those little girls in my home and heart as a single woman; they were, without a doubt, one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

After they left (kind of — Aviean is still in my life very regularly but I, unfortunately, do not see the other four), I reluctantly went into foster care.  When I felt God calling me into foster care, I was not happy.  I had just been through multiple experiences of learning that, no matter how many baths you give, meals you cook and homework you oversee, other people’s children were not my own children.  To be asked to open my heart again to children who could leave my home just as I was starting to love them seemed like the worst idea God had ever shared with me.  I was also certain — certain — that the reason God was calling me to foster care was because He was also calling me to a life of being single.

I took in three foster children for six months.  It didn’t get hard until the end but, when it got hard, it got impossible.  After weeks of very serious issues with one of the foster children, I gave my notice to the agency.  I felt like the biggest failure.  It was one of the first times in my life that I was having to say “I do not want to do this anymore.”  I felt like I had failed everyone, including God and myself.

Four days after I gave my notice, my oldest foster child was arrested.  Since then, there have been multiple jail sentences (which has grieved me in a way I can’t publicly discuss — I still, to this day, deeply love this foster child).  Now that time has passed, I can see that I probably did the right thing by getting out when I did.  When I said “I do not want to do this anymore” it wasn’t because I didn’t care anymore.  It was because the situation had gotten so out of hand that I was not able to help any further without putting myself at very serious risk (and I’m talking about DCS documented physical risk).

Deciding to go back into foster care was a hard decision.  Paul and I are ready to be parents but have not been successful at having biological children yet.  I have known for years that it would be difficult to have biological children and that I would need help from reproductive doctors.  We are working with them as we can afford it (our insurance literally covers nothing).  I am in no way ready to give up on the dream of giving birth to a biological child.  I honestly cannot imagine never being pregnant and being able to give birth to a biological child.  I have wanted to be a mother since I was a child and this is a hard road to walk.

But what about the meantime?  What about all of this time where we’re saving to afford the next round of injections and ultrasounds?  What about the spare bedroom that is empty?  What about the spare area of our hearts that want to love a child?  And that’s how we came to foster care.  At the end of the day, we have so much love to give a child and have no child to give that love to right now — yet there are hundreds of children who need our love and spare bedroom.  How could we not pour out our love on a child who needs it while we pray desperately for a child of our own?

I have dreaded saying publicly that we were going back into foster care all because of my pride.  Because I haven’t been able to give all the details surrounding why I left foster care, I have been afraid that people would hear I was going back into foster care and think “Wait, didn’t she fail at that the first time?”  The truth is that the people who were close to the situation all know what really happened.  But because you don’t know — and because I can’t tell you without giving away too much of the foster children’s privacy — I have to just lay my pride down and tell myself that it is okay if people thought I was a failure.  It’s okay if they come to that conclusion based on just the small details I have been able to share.  I’m just going to have to live with that and trust the opinions of the people who saw me foster up close and hope that everyone else can read between the lines enough to say “Hey, there must have been something really serious going on to cause Amy Beth to be willing to leave foster care.”

So, there it is, the thing I have been dreading telling you.  I’m going to try fostering again.  I’m going to keep praying for ultrasounds and heartbeats on a monitor but, in the meantime, I’m going to take care of children that are already here, already needing love.  I am going to swallow my pride and be okay with knowing that people will judge me or that loved ones will not understand why I want to do this again, why I would open my home yet again to a child who will most likely not stay long term.  At the end of the day, I just need to be able to answer to God and I think that, if He was here, He would open His spare bedroom too.

… living with a broken ankle.  We were taking Aviean to Disney on Ice for her birthday when I missed a stair and fell.  Tiny break, bruised bone (I didn’t know this was possible either), three torn ligaments, one stretched ligament and some impressive swelling.

… happy that I got to take Aviean to Dollywood, even if I went in a wheelchair.  The best part was when she went into a museum that features Dolly’s clothes and exclaimed that it was like going into “Aunt Kelly’s closet ” (my mom).

… frustrated with infertility.  I am finding it to be a very lonely road that Paul and I are on when it comes to fertility.  I wish it wasn’t such a taboo topic and people felt okay to talk about it.

… needing a weight loss cheerleader.  Do you use MyFitnessPal?  Do you want to be my cheerleader?  I’ll be yours.

… thankful for a husband who takes care of me when I can’t walk around the house very well.

… appreciating Snuggles y Cuddles, even when they are occasionally naughty puppies (by puppies, I of course mean middle aged dogs).

… volunteering with a group called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.  When a family loses an infant at or before birth, I go to the hospital and provide a free photography session so that they have pictures of their child.

… looking forward to decorating my house for Christmas!  Snuggles y Cuddles are getting stockings this year whether Paul likes it or not.

I’m turning 29 years old today, so I thought it would be fun to take a look back at some of my favorite memories of my 28th year.

Exploring with Aviean…

Aviean’s not impressed by being fitted for her flower girl dress…

So many of my closest friends taking the time to have one last girls trip together…

Christan coming in town days before my wedding to help me… I honestly don’t know what I would have done without her, Kelly and the other girls who cared so much.

This little day in my life… wearing my grandmother’s wedding veil.

Hearing the pastor at my wedding talk about the eight children (fabulous five + foster kids) that lived in my home while I was still single.

Getting the chance to walk into a brand new life with a man who makes my dreams come true…

Laying on a private beach in the Bahamas with my new husband…

Changing my name on anything and everything…

Taking Aviean to Boo at the Zoo and seeing Paul fall head over heels for Aviean, just like anyone else who meets her.

And taking Aviean’s cousin Trick or Treating!  (Does anyone else notice how good Paul looks with kids?)

Continually reminding Snuggles and Cuddles that while having a daddy may be nice, mommy was here first.

Buying tickets to take Aviean to see her first Nutcracker ballet…

A married Christmas morning, just the two of us.

Taking Aviean to the Cabbage Patch Baby Land General Hospital… traumatic yet oddly entertaining at the same time.

After ignoring Aviean’s requests for breakfast (at 6 a.m. on a Saturday, thank you) being awoken by the feeling of something cold being slipped under my blankets…

My mother’s look when Paul presented her with this delicate gift on Mother’s Day…

For year 29, just a few things I wish for as I blow out my birthday candles today*:

a baby

more Netflix dates with Paul

the desire / ability to cook dinner more often

a baby

to be a better teacher to my two classes of college students

to become healthier

a baby

to go to the mountains more with my dad

to see the fab five be okay (they are not all okay)

a baby

to see the foster kids be okay (they are not all okay)

more snuggles and cuddles from Snuggles and Cuddles

and, oh I don’t know, maybe a baby?

* Just kidding about getting to blow out candles on a cake.  My mom ended that tradition years ago “because it puts too many germs on the top of the cake, Amy Beth.”

Past birthdays:

Turning 24.

Turning 25.

Turning 26.

Turning 27.

Turning 28.

Internet, we have a problem.

Actually, Aviean has a problem which makes it my problem which, hopefully, will make it your problem too.

When Aviean was born, approximately eight years ago (no, I do not want to talk about the fact that she is growing up), she was given the Gund pink puppy pictured below.

It was named Jay, for reasons I still cannot understand.  Those of you who have been avid blog readers since the very beginning may remember that Jay went through a year long spell of being named Rose before returning to his roots as Jay.  Bonus points if you remember the fact that Jay / Rose was occasionally female and occasionally male, all dependent upon Aviean’s mood at the time.

When Aviean went shopping with a family member recently, Jay / Rose mysteriously disappeared in the parking lot of a local Wal-Mart.  Aviean’s mother has repeatedly tried to find Jay / Rose, I have tried to find Jay / Rose, etc. but alas, he / she has not been turned in by a good citizen.  This has resulted in some tears and gnashing of teeth, as you can imagine.  Aviean’s very upset as well.

After being disappointed by EBay, Amazon and all of my other typically reliable sources, I have determined that Jay / Rose has been replaced with a newer model called “My First Puppy.”  Aviean’s mother got her one and, while Aviean does call it Jayette (I am not joking), she is still quite upset about the lack of an original Jay / Rose.

And so, internet, I am turning to you in my time of need.  This has happened to us once before and, back then, you sleuths were able to help me find a back-up Jay and I’m hoping we can make it happen again. Do any of you happen to have an original Gund pink puppy in your toy chest that you might be willing to part with for an exchange of some cold hard cash?  Here are some photos I’ve been able to find from my archives of the puppy in question:

Jay, Rose, Jay / Rose, Jayette, Aviean and I are deeply indebted to you for your time and attention to this matter.

In no particular order…

1. Awhile back, I jokingly told Aviean to ask my mother (her great-aunt) if she would take her to the “bacon festival.”  Aviean has no idea why this would be funny but, after she saw the reaction she got from my mom, she routinely asks her (without prompting from me) if she will take her “to the bacon festibul.”  It is one of the highlights of my life.

2. There is a possibility that Snuggles and Cuddles are beginning to love Paul more than me.  Naturally, the only solution is to send Paul back to England.

3. I have had the same iPhone for years even though it is embarrassingly outdated.  I’ve been able to update to a new one for awhile now but why fix something that isn’t broken, you know?  It has been to England, in a cup of ice tea and even survived three foster children, one of whom seemed hell bent on destroying it.  Last week, it met its unfortunate demise on a concrete floor.  When it happened, my first thought was “WHAT IF I HAVE TO START OVER ON LEVEL ONE OF CANDY CRUSH?”

4. My mother-in-law continues to update me on the new baby prince, including mailing me British newspapers about his arrival.  I hit the mother-in-law jackpot, especially when you consider that she calls me “love” on the phone.

5. The next person on my Facebook newsfeed that says they are putting their children up for sale to the lowest bidder gets to accompany me to my weekly visits to the fertility doctor.  As a bonus, they also get to join me in wearing long sleeves in the summer to hide the bruises from various shots and blood draws (a record 24 in the month of June alone).

6. This fall, I have six weddings to shoot in the span of eight weeks.

7. One of my best friends is pregnant with her third child so I’m planning a baby “sprinkle” instead of a baby shower.  I was born for this.

This past Sunday, when I called to check in on my (very sweet, very British) mother-in-law, we spent most of our time talking about serious world issues such as whether the royal baby would be a boy or a girl.  I jokingly told my mother-in-law that, since she was so close to the royal baby action, I expected to be the first person in America to know when Princess Kate* went into labor.  We had a good laugh about it and ended the call.

You can imagine my surprise when my mother-in-law called me at 2:39 a.m. to tell me that Princess Kate was in labor.  That’s 2:39 a.m.  In the morning.  As one of my Facebook friends put it, my mother-in-law is the Usain Bolt of royal pregnancy news.

* Paul hates it when I call her “Princess Kate” and immediately begins into a very serious lecture of how she is Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Cambridge, blah, blah, blah.

P.S. — Paul’s reaction to the royal birth was walking around the house saying “God Save the Queen.”

P.P.S. — My reaction to the royal birth was morphing childhood pictures of myself and Paul together to find out what our future children might look like.