Hello, friends. Well, I'm not any closer to being a mom today.
In literal days, I suppose I am. Am I the only one who has trouble falling asleep at night for thinking, I can't sleep, I don't have my baby yet? Amazing how this illogical thought can propel me to the heights of pain on any given night.
Our adoption agency in Texas has had a few 'issues' with our paperwork, the latest of which is they cannot log onto a website to confirm my employment, as that website requires a subscription, and the subscription costs - money. Well, I am sorry folks, but some of that 'agency fee' we gave you can be used for that. If my W-2s aren't enough - KWIM?? Sorry guys, my patience is running a little thin. I know you didn't intend to spend some of the $10,000 plus we gave you on my employment verification, but guess what? You have the money now!
Ok, I'll try to be nicer the rest of this post.
We went to the botanical garden last Saturday, and it was the most beautiful day. Blue sky - the most lovely shade of pure blue. Not a cloud. Warm, but stopping just shy of being too hot. I should've known - people bring their children to the garden when it's like this! I was literally physically aching by the time we left, there were so many strollers (that I dare not look inside), wagons, Little Tik_es cars, pregnant bellies.
I am delighted to see it - the life, the progress, the potential lived up to - for each person. I really am. I would like to see that for myself, in OUR lives.
What finally got me was when DH stopped to hold a door for all the children. A dad was walking past holding his little daughter (I can't tell how old a child is just by looking - a reality of infertility - but she looked less than 2). 'Don't look, don't look' I told myself. But so many little ones had passed me by that day, and I glanced at her. Daddy was cooing at her, saying something sweet, and she had the happiest open-mouthed grin as she was carried by.
On the way out to the parking lot, I lost it.
Sobbing. Boo-hooing. All my brave front, ruined. A messy, loud cry.
Back in our hot SUV - the irony is we have had this SUV for over 7 years now, with no children to ride in it - I sobbed and tried to talk. All DH could say was we would never come to the garden on such a beautiful day ever again.
I cried louder.
The loneliness of infertility is exhausting. All of your energy is often spent insulating yourself from the pain. It finds you anyway. When you dare to be human. Which is a very brave thing for the grieving.