Wow, this is apparently my 200th post... at this blog anyway. There was that LiveJournal I kept for, oh, about seven years... and that other blog I started... and FaceBook can be a little bloggish...
But, yeah, wow, 200? Wow. When the heck do I find the time?
I've been reading up a bit on desperation when it comes to wanting a child. Some blogs mentioned it and it got me thinking...
For the first time since we started trying to build our family, I'm NOT desperate for a child.
Oh, I WANT another child. We're waiting and ready for another child. I'm pumping for this next child, picking up clothes for him or her, discussing names, scouring adoption situations online, praying and hoping, etc. In short, I crave this child.
But I'm not desperate.
If this never happens, if it was all a big failure, then guess what? We'll still be a happy little family with two wonderful little boys living a cozy life. Not bad. American dream kinda stuff.
I'm happy not to be desperate, happy that my every waking thought isn't about our next child (just, you know, many of my waking thoughts).
Because I've been there. OH, have I been there...
So young and hopeful and ready for the double lines, ready for the bulging belly, ready for heartbeats and ultrasounds and prenatal pills....
And then suddenly desperate, clinging to any hope, any twinge. Could this be it? This twinge? This wave of nausea? Could it finally be happening?
After that didn't pan out, we entered the crazy world of AdoptionLand.
Turned down here, rejected there, scoffed at, belittled, lied to...
Desperate. Desperate and waiting and hoping and praying that maybe someday, maybe someday, it would work and we could bring our child home. And the world around us moves and grows and through it all we stand still, just waiting to finally begin the story of the rest of our lives.
Desperate. Sad. Angry. Depressed. Pleading.
And it finally happens and, wow, it was rough. Very rough. Not really what we expected at all.
Then the next adoption comes and the wait goes on and on, and I'm pumping and storing and donating all for a baby who might never be, a tiny body I met never hold. This time we're being judged, our pictures and story are out there and we ourselves are being rejected. Over and over again, we fall in love with a story of a baby needing a home and over and over again someone else is chosen.
And we become desperate again. Why won't they just choose us? We'd be so great! Really we would! Why can't it be us? Why? Why?
And then it happens, one gorgeous fall morning, I get a phone call I'll remember for the rest of my life. I get chills even thinking about it.
Less than a month later and he is placed in my eager arms.
It felt like the world was at peace that day.
Our healing as a family really started with our second child. He brought peace, calmness, trust, love, and he bonded us all together in a way we worried would never happen.
Now we wait, for a third blessing.
But now... we're coming from a place of healing. A place of peace.
Our sons, sons!, laugh and play together, wrestling and drawing and doing silly little things. They sing songs to make us laugh and tell each other nonsensical jokes. Our home is no longer quiet, and it's no longer chaotic. It's fun. It's wild and crazy fun. It's restful nights and fun filled days.
And while a part of me would LOVE to be desperate, would love to "give" that desperation to a child, most of me isn't worried. Because no matter what, if and when it should happen I will desperately love this child in the same way. And I will parent with confidence knowing full well that I am, in fact, a pretty good mother who really can offer a child all she promises.
And besides... it's very, very hard to become THAT desperate when you're living with two precious dreams made reality :)
Lily in a loafing barn
2 days ago