Today I spoke the words I’ve been feeling for some time out loud to my therapist, and in front of my husband:

I’m tired of walking around under this cloud. 

I’m tired of being the sad, grieving woman. 

I’m exhausted by the energy it takes to be sad. 

I am fearful of finally seeing my dream come true, only to mourn the loss of all this time. 

This is a sad way to live.

I am angry.  I have little patience.  I am bitter. 

Like most of my therapy sessions, these things all come out at the end of the appointment.  I spend most of the hour trying to be that calm, insightful, enlightened woman who is coping well enough, thank you, but needs to know what the next step towards becoming a parent will be, or otherwise will lose her mind. 

But today was the first visit since NOT being selected as adoptive parents.   I shared how I’ve been feeling lately - how irritated I am all the time. 

I was actually embarrassed a bit when the therapist calmly reminded me that I am grieving; that I have every right to be angry; that I will need to process a mix of feelings before I can accept what has happened. 

And like a bolt of lightning it hit me:  this has been yet another loss.

If you are thinking “DUH!”, I don’t blame you.  I kinda feel that way myself.  It’s so obvious.  And yet I didn’t ever stop to think about how NOT being selected to adopt a baby is similar to being pregnant and losing that child.  It was like a miscarriage of hope.

This baby was right in front of us - the closest we’ve ever been - and then she was gone.

I’m in a writing rut. Sigh.  I just don’t have much to say, which is rare in my case, so I guess I should just accept it. 

It’s summer.  Work is slow. Life is generally slower. People are on vacation.  We Canadians condense most of our vacation into this two-month time period and with a few exceptions, life as we know it pretty much comes to a halt.  We delay business meetings.  Goals are put off until September.  All projects are suspended because there isn’t anyone around to collaborate with anyway.

The same therefore applies to all things adoption related.  Our social worker is away.  We don’t expect to hear from anyone or see any activity until the fall.  Which makes me wonder what happens if, by some unforseen miracle, a birthmom does come forward wishing to choose an adoption plan?  Do they tell her to hold off until September?  I think not.

Once again this summer, I am under-motivated and underwhelmed by most things.  Social gatherings are aplenty…and yet I, the party lover, feel hardly a twinge of excitement by the thought of cold beer or a fresh, unopened bottle of Pinot Grigio and the sound of searing meat on the bbq.  Neighbourhood gardens are brimming with fresh veggies, annuals and exotic, twisting vines.  I have yet to plant a single thing or buy a pot with flowers in it.

My dog has been hanging out with Mr. Speedbump (or Mr. Semi-Retired, as I call him lately) at the cottage while I work, which means at least the dog is enjoying her days…but when the two of them come home for an evening, I can’t even seem to muster the energy to take her for a walk in the park.

People are camping, boating, visiting and beaching.  Families are travelling.  Couples are golfing, playing tennis and no doubt, having sex (note to self: get a bikini wax in case you accept an invite to the neighbour’s pool in a moment of weakness).

And yet the highlight of my week, aside from Friday afternoon at 4:30pm, is lying on my bed, fan pointed at crotch, watching the latest episode of So You Think You Can Dance.

In short, I think I may be in yet another funk.  F*ck.

Yes I’m still kickin’ it old school…but since the weather turned into summer (here in Canada we go directly from winter to summer, in case you hadn’t heard) I don’t spend as much time indoors or in front of a computer.  Life is also crazy busy.  In a good way.  We are spending lots of time at the cottage, visiting with my family and just trying to make the most out of this short, short season.  Oh and then there is work.  Yuck.  It is incredible how little I care about my job as soon as summer hits.  I regress right back to the days of grade school…where once the end of June swings by my brain checks out until September.  I joke about it here, but it really is a problem.  I should have been a teacher - and I say that with respect for the profession, but also because at the end of a tough slog you are rewarded by a nice stretch of vacation. 

I don’t think about it too much, but I can’t help but wonder where little baby went.  Some lucky couple must be on cloud nine right now.  What a summer they will have.  I hope they are enjoying every minute with their new family member.

I just found VMB and want to join, fo shizzle.  I just know I can be totally gangsta!  I am capable of popping a cap in the ass of so many ferts it is sick.   I hope the bitter biatches accept me.

First I gotta take care of some bidness…initiation.

1. Figure out a gang name for yourself.  Easy. You can call me Speedy G 
2. Take a pic of yourself (or just your hands) flashing the gang sign - middle fingers up, hands crossed at the wrists into a V and post it on your blog.  Feast yo eyes on this, homies:
3. Put the Vet button on somewhere on their blog (either in a single post or in the sidebar).  Aw snap, can’t find it!

 4. Tell a story about the crappiest thing a Fertile ever said to you or something else vent-worthy.  I just f*ing hate ferts right now…anything that leaves their mouths makes me want to vom…does that count?  I also am pissed at the b-mom who didn’t pick us to parent her baby.

5. Add your name and the permalink to your Initiation Post to the comments of this post.  Done

6. Visit at least 5 other VMB’s and give ‘em a shout out by commenting on their blog and linking to them on yours.   Okay I will!

 

I am feeling better today.  I got out of the house and had a vigorous walk in the park.  It’s a gorgeous summer day. 

My walk started out a little rocky though - for a moment I thought I might have to turn around and come home. 

I’d just started down a trail, and already I could hear the screams of a small child.   I figured it was a temper tantrum or the child had just taken a tumble.  I expected to see a doting parent trying desperately to dry the little tears - maybe scraping off a bruised knee.

But as I rounded the corner, there was a woman walking alone, briskly, with her arms tightly crossed (think stubborn, bratty child) into her chest.  She had a stern, unfriendly face and I quickly realized…she was trying to teach her child some kind of “lesson”.  

Behind her quite a ways was a 3 or 4 year old little girl, running and half tripping, screaming bloody murder the whole time, “Mama….mama (choke, gasp)…mama…stop mama!”  Her cheeks were bright red and her little curls were stuck to her wet face.  

The little soul was scared!

I stopped and turned to see what the mother would do, given I was approaching her child.   She didn’t even stop to turn around!  

I wanted to yell out to her, “Any idea how lucky you are???  Want to know what I just went through, you f*ing idiot???” 

My own tears started - those hot, piercing ones that shoot out of your tear ducts due to rage and deep, deep pain.  But I kept walking.  I knew, deep down, the mother was probably completely exasperated and dealing with an out-of-control toddler.   I saw on her face how she was both embarrassed and firm in her decision to show this child there were consequences…to something.

I tried to be honest with myself - sure, there would be lots of moments like this for me, too.  I would be frustrated enough to feel like just walking away.   And maybe I would, in certain settings.

But the fact that the woman didn’t stop and turn around to see what I would do when I met her daughter!!  I even had my dog with me!!   It just made me really sad.   And it has illustrated once again how people feel that having children is a right, not a priviledge…and to people like me, they are the winners of the greatest lottery of all, and don’t even know it.

Random thought of the day:  Why don’t people put deodorant in their groin area?  I hate how I sometimes get hot and sweaty down in the barren region right after I get out of the shower and am running around to get ready.   Sometimes I get so hot I feel like hopping back in the shower!  Why doesn’t somebody invent Vag Stick?

Wednesday afternoon the social worker called me at work.  A situation had come up and she needed to see us right away.   She came to our house that evening and explained a baby had been born and was in need of a home urgently.  There were a few details about the birthmom, however, we needed to consider before deciding if we wanted to be presented.

Without going into detail, the birthmom did not take very good care of herself for most of her pregnancy.

We had a day and a half to give our answer.  Did we want to have our “dear birthparents” letter presented and possibly bring home a 3 week baby?

To make a 48 hour story very short, our letter did get presented to the birthparents. 

They chose another couple.

I am going to take a few days to absorb what has happened before I write too much about it.  I am feeling a whole ball of emotions - some of which I don’t think there are words for.

I’ve been tagged by Baby Step and I am going to try to play along.  The idea is to sum up your life in six words (see Baby Step’s blog for further explanation).

I’ve given this one some thought.  I am tempted to write about the void I feel in not being a mother.  But even before this chapter of my life, there was something else. 

I have been plagued by the feeling of wanting to do something great but never quite understanding what that something is supposed to be.   Usually conjured up by watching Oprah or Extreme Home Makeover, I can become so overwhelmed by the desire to do something to change a life/the planet combined with an intense feeling of paralysis that it makes me sob or feel sick to my stomach.   I become very passionate and fired up for a brief time, but it doesn’t last long enough for me to take action.  Then it makes me feel like a failure.  It has been a weight I’ve carried since I was very young.

I am also an eternal optimist.  Even despite spending the majority of my 30s struggling to start a family.  I am still a happy, joyful, appreciative soul.  But I just can’t quite shake the feeling that there is a destiny out there I haven’t discovered - is it simply being a mom?  Or something more?

That said, my six-word summary would have to be:  I smile yet exist for more.

 

Today we returned to the adoption agency to read over our homestudy report. It is a document based on the 6 visits we had with the social workers, both at the agency and at our home.  It will remain in our file but not be viewed by a birth family.   I think because we could be waiting a long time, it’s just a way for the social workers to remember who we are and what we’re all about.

It was an emotional experience to read about our lives on paper.  Even though much of what is contained in the report is information we provided, it is something all together different to suddenly see it in written form. 

The one section I hadn’t read until today was the section about me, as seen through Mr. Speedbump’s eyes.  I cried as  I imagined him telling the social workers everything I was reading - that I was an incredible person, that I was fun-loving and full of life, that he wouln’t change a thing about me…it went on and on.  Then of course I felt guilty for being such a bitchy wife sometimes. 

I read about my parents and how they are my heroes in so many ways; how I can only wish to parent in the same way someday.   I read about how close I am to my sister and how she is pretty much my best friend.

Then I read the social workers’ thoughts about my relationship with Mr. Speedbump.  They think we are an exceptional couple; we work hard at communication and know we need to honour and nurture each other.  They see that we respect and adore each other.  They called us a team.

They think we have a comfortable, inviting home that is neat and nicely decorated; it is a great home and neighbourhood for raising a child.   Even our pets got an honourable mention for being well-kept and happy.

It is all so bizarre.  To think that we have been grilled, examined, scrutinized and analysed this way on the hope that some young (or older) woman might select us to parent her child.  We have never had so many interviews for anything in our lives.  And yet we still have absolutely no guarantee this process will result in a child.

The chances, we’ve learned are just so slim.  Birthmothers are not willing to place their children - they believe they can do it on their own.   In fact, the agency placed one child last year.  One.

There is not a single glowing homestudy report in the world that can change the way things are.

 

  

I am realizing just how jaded I’ve become.   Even during my failed attempts at IVF, I used to have the grace and integrity to celebrate other’s victories and milestones.   I used to laugh and smile a lot and be pretty light-hearted.  I usually preferred to joke around in meetings at work and for the most part, didn’t take much of anything very seriously at all.

Today, I have little to no patience for silly things, silly moments and least of all…silly people.

So it won’t come as a surprise to learn I have NO patience for pregnant women who make stupid comments and expect everyone around them to giggle and follow up with goofy questions.

Unfortunately, I have one such coworker right now.  She’s younger, she shaves, she’s pregnant. And she LOVES talking about it.  In the most annoying ways EVER.

I really do believe this comes from youth and ignorance.  Older women, or women who understand loss, grieving and infertility, are really cool about being pregnant.  They don’t make ridiculous, sweeping statements about their cravings or mood swings because they have come to learn, from friends, sisters and personal experience…you just never know what the person next to you has lived through.  What he or she has loved and lost.

The first time I knew I disliked her wasn’t a direct experience.  Her dumbness, while not witnessed by me, was relayed to me by another coworker.  Apparently Little Miss Piggy - I mean Preggy - commented to others she thought she’d get a T-shirt that reads, “I’m not Buddha”, because of the uninvited belly rubs received by strangers.

I didn’t even look up from my monitor when I mumbled, “Cry me a river.”  I later got an apology from the coworker who relayed the story for being so insensitive.  I actually truly appreciated the apology, because she was absolutley correct.

Then Missy Moo-cow - I mean Mom-to-be - today in a staff meeting, took great glee in saying, “In case any of you didn’t know, in October I will be taking an (air quotes) “EXTENDED VACATION” and blah blah blah.”

First of all, she’s huge (did I mention she shaves?).  There isn’t a single person on the planet that wouldn’t wonder if she was pregnant.

Second, she talks about it constantly, there are only 20 people on staff, and YEAH, we all know!

Third, and this is my fave part…any numbskull who actually thinks having a newborn is a vacation - or uses air quotes to pretend it is a joke - is a giant jackass moron and I want nothing to do with her.

In this instance, it wasn’t just me yelling “Gimme a break!” and shaking my head.  No, the “extended vacation” comment prompted spontaneous laughter and chiding around the room, although it made me realize that her naive and childlike ways come from a completely different place.   She has never walked in my shoes.  She knows nothing else. 

I remember I was that naive twit once too.

 

 

Good news! I’m not losing my mind!  At least, not according to my guru therapist, to whom I have professed my love and gratitude many times on this blog.   She just has a way of putting everything into perspective, and for that I would pay double. 

For example, she asked me about my new job and when I described what’s going on there right now (THE big annual event happens in 4 days), she reminded me of how stressful the current environment would be to anyone else.  Good point.  I have worked in media/PR for so long I guess it just comes with the territory. 

We talked a little bit about the smoking pregnant women I see on a daily basis and the rage I feel inside when I have to walk through their cloud of smoke…and she reminded me that while my sensitivity is certainly hightened, anyone else might feel the same way - it is just not socially acceptable to be smoking…while pregnant…on the grounds of a HOSPITAL.

She asked me about where we are in our journey towards becoming parents.   I told her how I’ve been a mess ever since our home study ended, because now there is no “plan”.   She reminded me that psychologically I am one of those people who needs to be moving forward in some capacity, AND that as far as anyone is concerned, I still have options with fertility treatment.  Ergo, it makes perfect sense that I want to continue to explore options.

One step at a time.  One foot in front of the other.

I don’t mean to over simplify things.  I have definitely just come through a really rough patch.  But, just like the many other speedbumps I’ve encountered, I’m getting over this one too.