Our church meets Sunday evenings, so yesterday morning found several Tredways working away in the kitchen. Sanding sanding sanding. Unscrewing. Scraping off flicks and plops of who-knows-what. More sanding. And finally something appropriately named Clear Coat.

Yes, we’re working hard to put our house on the market. The Prairie Box has served us well for almost ten years, but a new chapter is dawning for our family. So where are we moving? Somewhere in town. When are we moving? God only knows. Why are we moving? That’s a post for another day!

This shot was taken two years ago in a library on the campus of UNL Chapel Hill with my dear friends Charity and Andy. If I could, I’d spend time with them every March as spring hits Chapel Hill earlier than Lincoln, Nebraska.

Inspired by Renae’s Photos from the Archives post.

She has three children under the age of four, so what does she do? Gets a puppy. A Havanese/Coton mix, to be exact. I’m crushed by the cuteness of baby Barkley, who looks an awful lot like Shiloh as a puppy. Somehow, adding a dog to the household makes absolutely perfect sense. Bring on the fun! I love those Bradleys.

To be honest, I felt like the air was knocked out of my lungs after I blogged about fertility. It was kind of scary, and I wondered why I had just posted things about my uterus to the entire world. Uh, hello! Sure, we all know that dudes have boy parts and girls have lady parts, but did you need to know that much about me?

Yeah. You probably did.

You see, we live in a fertile world. Hallelujah, this is a good and right thing! God created us so we can procreate. If you know the details about how a human life is made, then you know how amazing this process is. Thank God most folks easily make offspring. But… when you can’t make babies, this fertile world becomes overwhelming.

As it turns out, there are pregnant bellies and babies everywhere.

You know how, when you’re shopping for a new car, you start noticing that same vehicle everywhere you look? Dealing with infertility is kind of like that. Except way worse. There are, in no particular order:

• Negative pregnancy tests for you.
• Positive ones for your friends and family.
• Facebook announcements (giant groan).
• Baby showers.
• Baby showers you are asked to host.
• Commercials for diaper ointments.
• T-shirts that boldly state, “I’m so crafty I make people!”
• Cute tops in Target that you didn’t realize were maternity (whoops!).
• Aisles upon aisles of baby items that you carefully avoid.
• Conversations about pregnancy.
• Conversations about pregnancy food cravings.
• Conversations about labor and delivery.
• Conversations about diapering choices.
• Conversations about breastfeeding.
• Etc.
• Etc.
• Etc.

Here’s the thing, fertile friends. I don’t want you to stop enjoying your pregnancy because of me. You should never feel guilty about getting pregnant, about being pregnant, or about having a baby. Never ever ever. Even on my darkest days, I believe that pregnancy and childbirth and beautiful squishy babies are gifts from God.

But here’s the other thing: I don’t have to join the conversations about stretch marks and midwife visits and nursery decorating. Sometimes it’s a matter of self-preservation and I will quietly remove myself from a potentially painful situation. Ask any gal dealing with infertility about how she feels about Facebook announcements and you will learn that she will write her congratulations directly on someone’s wall rather than on a thread. Because even if she’s thrilled for the new mother, she knows better than to join a thread where she’ll be reading, “Congrats on the baby girl!!!” for the next five days straight. It’s just too painful.

So what can you do to love and care for your friends struggling with fertility issues?

You can, in private, get to know them. With a gentle and understanding spirit, ask them how they are feeling, how they are doing, and what is and isn’t difficult for them. (For example, a friend of mine doesn’t want to know anything about a birth story whereas I would join you in the delivery room in a heartbeat if you’d ask me.) Listen carefully and don’t push for answers. If your friend is uncomfortable talking with you, switch subjects and honor her desire for privacy.

You can respect their choices. Invite them to the baby shower, but be respectful if they need to opt out. If you have mercy meals at your church, allow them to sign up to deliver one to a new mom rather than asking them to do so.

You can practice empathy. Try to put yourself in their shoes and imagine how it might feel to not be able to conceive month after month. Consider that type of suffering and amp up your prayers for this friend. Send a compassionate note or an encouraging email. A little cheer, a little hope, a little good word goes a long way.

You can share in their sadness. If you are close friends, let them know you have a shoulder to cry on at any hour of the day. While you can’t have this depth of relationship with many people, you need to offer yourself to the friends you already have. Make sure the shared suffering part is a two-way street though. No one ever wants to be the only crier, the only soul-exposing one in a friendship!

**To those who have dealt with infertility, what did I leave out?
**To those caring for friends dealing with infertility, what did I leave out? Was this post specific enough? Would you like more questions answered?

More to come.

Amanda and Baby Eli.

A few years ago I came to terms with the fact that I am not an adventure seeker. If someone was to give me the opportunity to parachute out of a plane, I would probably not take it.

More recently I’ve realized that Jeremy and I are not the fixer-upper types. This may seem obvious to some, but as is often the case, I am a bit slower to understand this truth about my husband and me. We are not handy-people, home renovators, etc etc.

What are you NOT? And when did you get comfortable admitting it?

In the middle of the night I “heard” Livia’s voice calling for me, so I jumped out of bed, ran into her room and began asking her questions and patting her face before I realized she was sound asleep. Dead asleep, even with her mama’s hands groping her noggin in the pitch black at 3:00am. Niiiice.

The weird thing is that sometimes I think I’m hearing her when she’s not even in the house! She’ll be asleep in my parents’ extra room and I’ll sit up straight in bed after hearing her call for Mommy.

The most unfortunate consequence of getting up for a real call or imaginary one is that I can’t fall back asleep easily. I usually spend 20-30 minutes trying to relax again, my mind spinning with unsleepy thoughts. Curse you, adulthood, with your multitude of responsibilities!

My last thought regarding sleep and children and responsible parental behaviors is this: Friday mornings are only accomplished successfully because Saturday is just one day away. Friday comes around and it’s almost physically painful to rouse myself and Livia from bed. Get dressed. Get shoes on. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Brush hair. Get out the door and get into school on time.

But oh, sweet sweet Saturday. How I adore thee. I didn’t fully appreciate your beauty until school started—I was blind to your precious ways. But now? I can see clearly your benefits. Pajamas until 3:00pm. Lucky Charms for breakfast. Lounging on the couch until lunchtime.

TGIF.