So recently there was this really honest post that Duck put out in the blogiverse. It had to do about wanting to want to adopt. It’s one that apparently remained stuck in my mind, despite it being posted over two weeks ago.
I’m at the point in my life where I’ve really got to start figuring out what to do about adoption. I know it’s my next step, but yet every day there seems to be something that pops in my mind that puts me back another step or two. Especially these last four months.
And in between all these events, my good friend, Endometriosis decides to come back and nestle into my nice warm body. Oh, and shortly afterwards, Aunt Flo comes for the visit from H*LL. Nothing like emphasizing that I can’t get pregnant. It’s like an exclamation point (in this case, a “period”) at the end of me shouting “I am infertile.”
So yeah, like a said, a few steps back.
Not that I’m blaming any of these particular events for my recent train of thoughts. It’s more what I’ve somehow managed to have each separate event represent. (I over-analyze things, if you haven’t caught on by now.) SIL’s pregnancy? That’s easy … and obvious. Dad’s hospitalization? How precious and fragile life can be; and how things can change in the blink of an eye. Hubby’s grandma? How one’s life affects so many others … especially their kids and their grandkids, and so on and so on.
And all of this relates back to adoption and back to Duck‘s original post, how? Well, I honestly think that those going through IF need to fully resolve their issues of not being able to biologically produce their own child before they look to adoption.
At first, I thought I was there. I thought I could simply give up the notion of not being able to produce a biological child of mine. And when I talk about biological child … I’m strictly talking about a child that looks like a mixture of Hubby & me. One that might have certain features or personality traits or even habits similar to us. One who would know his or her family tree and complete health history.
But then there’s the other aspect of not being able to produce my own child. It’s the feeling of being pregnant. Of watching my belly grow. Of craving strange things or claiming that I need more ice cream or chocolate for “the baby.” Of experiencing the joy of a positive pregnancy test and sharing that moment with Hubby. Of seeing my baby’s heartbeat on an ultrasound. Of being the guest of honor at my very own baby shower. Of people rubbing my belly. Of strangers coming up to me and asking when I was due. Of touring the hospital’s birthing center. Of going through lamaze. Of hearing the cries of my baby after he or she was just delivered. Of holding him or her in my arms for the first time. Of breastfeeding. Of coming home from the hospital with my precious cargo and my Hubby standing right next to me.
All that and much much MUCH more. Probably more than anyone who has never experienced infertility could ever understand. Empathize, yes. Completely understand, no. But then if we’re also talking about walking in someone else’s shoe, I also wouldn’t understand what it was like to lose a child. Or worse, the love of my life.
In any case, I find myself suddenly back to where I was before January; knowing that adoption is our next step … but once again scared to move forward.
After all, to want to want to adopt is a big thing. And to do that means I could possibly have utterly and completely given up on that dream to become pregnant. And that’s a pretty damn scary thing.