So I'm having infertility issues. If you don't want to read a lot of hormonal whine and TMI, just move on right now.
For two years, give or take a few months, I have been waiting for my wonderful husband to get on the train about adding another child to our family. I have not been nagging. I've been patient. Not perfect, but patient. My husband might not say the same, but he is not the one with the persistent dreams about two children, who were obviously not my current ones.
This year he is finally on board. January was the time we agreed on to start making decisions. Because, after all, if you are going to adopt, you have to first decide exactly how you are going to do it. LDS Family Services? Private? International? Foster?
Well, I thought, no sweat. I choose a Fast Sunday, I pray, I get an answer. Or, I head for the temple. No, nu-uh, not this time. I get nothing. I am not used to this. I am used to at least getting some response, some feeling, some validation that I believe really comes from God.
In the past I have been so lucky. My answers have come as words whispered in my heart, as warm feelings, even as symbolic visions. When we first considered adoption, I saw two tunnels, one of which had a light at the end. When we considered moving to California, I saw wide horizons, lots of opportunity. When I was thinking -- no, agonizing, really -- about taking my current job, God whispered to me that I needed to do it for my future children, the ones I didn't have yet. We had to stabilize financially so we could bring them home; it made perfect sense.
Now I get nothing. I am sad, frustrated, and most of all scared that the real answer is that there are no more babies for me. That's the question I don't really dare ask.
So, no new tale to tell. I've lived in this place for twelve years now, on and off and in varying degrees. It sucks.
I'm thrilled to be an adoptive parent and to plan to adopt more, as long as that road is open to me. It's just when it's closed that I seem to revert to getting pissed about being infertile. It's not healthy or charitable or really even very faithful, but it's me.
So today as I was listening to an excellent Gospel Doctrine lesson involving the Abram/Sarai/Hagar triangle, I should have not have been surprised that I was increasingly miserable sitting by a young, single, expectant mother who has recently returned home from her prodigal adventures, sense slapped into her by her positive home pregnancy test. I overheard her mother on Friday talking about buying baby girl clothes, so I think she's planning to parent. (Baby girl ... rip my heart out, why don't you!?) Today in SS I actually rested my face in my left hand with my fingers up beside my eyes, so that I would not see her in my peripheral view. I'm so not proud that I did that. What a jerk.
I'm not proud, either, of railing and crying earlier this afternoon about the absurdity of God giving children to those who don't want or deserve them while those who do are left out in the cold. I know better than that. I learned so much while we were trying and waiting for Sam and Abe. I know that God give stones to his hungry children only as a distraction, a toy to divert their attention while He prepares their feast.
But I can be really bitchy when I'm hungry.