It’s another day with not much to say. But today, it’s because I’m having one of those days where there’s a lot on my mind — but it’s all disjointed thoughts, swirling around. I’m not making much sense of them, or at least nothing coherent to write down. It’s one of those days when you have a case of (as one of my ESL students used to call it) “blender head”.
(“Blender head”. Heh heh. Still makes me laugh. But so apt!)
Today’s blender head revolves around baby things and adoption things and family things. So here are some of the things swirling around my blender head this morning:
- I was searching for my Cow Bag (It’s a small bag made of cow-pattern fabric. Duh.) this morning, which I use when I walk to hold my keys and my inhaler and kleenex and whatnot. And I found the journal I started for our baby on the day I found out I was pregnant. I read a couple of entries, and it made me so sad for that woman. She was so full of hope and expectation and she wrote something to her baby every day. She told the baby how she was feeling and how big the baby was and all her hopes and dreams. Of course, the journal ends abruptly around the 10 week mark when I miscarried. It made me cry, and just goes to show that although adoption is going to be a great way to grow our family, the mourning for infertility and things never to be and babies lost never really goes away. Adoption is not a replacement, a sudden erasing of the pain of infertility. It’s just another wonderful path on the road to family. And it drives me a little crazy when people think (with the best of intentions, mind you) that now that we are adopting, that everything is magically all better and we’re never going to be sad about infertility again. It doesn’t work that way.
- On a side note, I think that experience plus infertility treatment made me a bit better equipped to deal with the waiting involved with adoption, because all the disappointment taught me never to get my hopes up for anything.
- On the flip side, BDH made me belly laugh the other day when he said he’s quite excited about adopting. And one of the reasons is because when he looks at our collective medical histories — including, but not limited to, asthma, allergies, diabetes, bad knees, bad backs, high blood pressure, heart disease, MS, strokes, and various sorts of cancer — he doesn’t want to pass that much bad genetics on to ANYONE, thanks very much. DUDE. Maybe it’s a good thing we’re not reproducing!
- I used to resent the way that once many women had babies, they were part of the Special Mommies Club. And as a childless woman, I was suddenly left out of the loop. I wasn’t fit to socialize with anymore. And I was one they decided would be a good choice to work late or on taxing projects at work because I didn’t have a family to go home to. Stuff like that drove me crazy. It’s especially bad on my street. But today, as I came out onto my porch to work, and saw two of the Queens of the Special Mommies Club shouting greetings at each other and baby talk at each other’s kids, I was actually kind of GLAD I’m not part of the club. (It doesn’t stop the club from letting their kids play all over my front lawn or congregate on the sidewalk outside my house, though. What, do these mommies have infertility radar or something?)
- I read articles in the news, like a recent piece in the Globe and Mail about adoption where they glibly say things like Africa is becoming the new China. And they post quotes about how people are shopping for kids, and how money is the big motivator, and they always trot out the celebrities and act like it’s all a fashion thing. Sure, there’s positives in it. Of course there are. But it’s also got its fair share of sensationalist information, too, and this is what most people seem to cotton on to. And it strikes me how much bullshit these articles spread about along with the interesting factoids. And it makes me so angry that these sorts of things, inadvertently or not, colour the public at large’s opinions of international adoption and fuel their biases.
- I can hear my lovely neighbour’s 8-month-old twins crying their eyes out next door, and I admire how she keeps an even keel. I used to have such silly girl thoughts about how much fun it would be to have twins (“Instant family!” “Matching outfits!” “Blah blah blah!”) and now I just think how hard it must be. I wish I could offer to help sometimes, but she’s a pretty private person and I don’t want to intrude. And I don’t want to be pushy, and come off like the crazy infertile neighbour desperate to care for a baby. And part of it is, I think sometimes she’s got everything under control, and the crying and screaming are just part of their everyday routine, and she’s coping just fine. So I don’t.
- I feel like a failure at the mommy game sometimes, because seriously? I just Do. Not. Want. to face cleaning and decorating that room. Am I a bad mommy-to-be? I suppose I am. But it’s the last thing I want to do right now. It just seems so… forced. There’s no baby to prepare it for yet. I am not excited. So why pretend? But then, we’ll get a call from the agency that’s going to smack me upside the head like a sock full of bricks.
- There are so many things we want to do to get ready for impending familyhood, but this year the tax man has ensured that this will NOT be happening, as he’s asking us for a gobsmacking amount of money when we file our taxes. The tax man is a BASTARD (and not in a good way, either). It’s a good thing our child will be too small to notice that we do not have gates up on our backyard or a finished patio or whatever until at least next year. And by that time, we’ll be able to claim our adoption stuff and THEN? I am making the tax man my bitch.