Once upon a time....

...there lived a woman who was scared to write about what she was thinking about, even on her blog with a readership of FOUR  people, one of which was her husband (Hi Honey, Thanks!!).

Why is it that I am drawn to blogs regarding infertility and adoption, two of the most serious issues on my plate, and yet, I can't write about them?

Maybe it's too painful, or maybe I feel like other writers verbalize my feelings so much better than I do myself?

I remember our initial meeting with our adoption social worker. I, for some reason, absolutely loved this woman the first time I met her, which is funny, because I usually dislike/distrust  people immediately. She instantly took a liking to my shy, gruff husband. She personified kindness and laid-back, and I felt completely comfortable with her. So I let my freak flag fly. I was so comfortable, that I was completely upfront and open right away, which then led to me turning into a weeping, snotty mess in her office, when she asked what led us to adoption.

I started talking about the miscarriages, the D & C's, the fertility drugs, the IVF's, the ectopic, the blocked fallopian tubes, my (barely) three year old daughter seeing her little sister on the ultrasound screen, and having to explain to her that after making it past the first three months, this little one in Mommy's tummy had gone to Heaven...

I looked at my husband at that point in the story, sitting in the SW's office, thinking "I'm gonna lose it..." and then I did. All I could say through the gasping sobs was that I love being a mother, and we were a good family, and we wanted to grow our family, any way we could, and that if I couldn't conceive, then our ultimate goal was to have another child, not a pregnancy...

Anyway, the SW was wonderful, understanding, compassionate and thorough in her job and evaluation of us and our life, and in the end, gave us a glowing home study, and has been thoughtful, diligent and helpful for our entire journey.

But... but, this journey to a second child is far from over, I have learned the hard way that like Charlie Brown, I have a little grey cloud over my head that wreaks havoc on my best laid plans, and I know I cannot depend on any percentage of likelihood for a positive outcome. My best defense is to stick my head in the sand, to not talk about things, and to expect them never to happen, and then IF...if they do happen, to be completely, pleasantly suprised.

So I don't write about the sad stuff usually, because I am not strong enough to think about it, and I can't bear the thought that I may not get the happily ever after that I want.

Pity party over.  The End