Monday, August 25, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
I have been a little quiet about our upcoming adoption here on this blog because it brings so much of a human heart to the uncomfortable surface that it’s impossible to put words on it. I am undeniably excited about being a mother to another child. I cannot wait to meet my child and to raise her in our little family in our little city in Iowa. I cannot wait to share my family with her; to teach her about poetry and music and food and friendship; to love her as much as I love my boys. I cannot wait for these things. But, it’s difficult to proclaim such joy and excitement without the cruel reality that my joy will spring from great loss.
I keep doing the math in my head – when will we meet our child? How old is she at this very moment? Has she been born into this world? For me, this is a calculation of reality. Right now, our child is likely in the second trimester within her mother’s womb. This child is not yet born, which inspires a feeling of love and protection for her, but more poignantly, a feeling of concern and appreciation for her mother. I think about this woman and the one thing we will forever share and it is incredibly humbling. And as she walks through this world, carrying this child, I have so many questions. I wonder what her circumstances are. I wonder if she is already haunted by the knowledge that she will not raise this child. Or perhaps she doesn’t even realize this yet. When will this idea begin to break her heart? She’s no doubt worried about this child. Does she delight in it as well? I wonder what her voice sounds like. I wonder what her hands look like. I wonder whether or not we would be friends if this world were a bit different.
Here’s something strange: Part of me never wants to have to meet her child. Can this be? I want to send her money and food and end it all right now. I think every adoptive mother must struggle with this issue. The reality is harsh.
I insert the tangible into my daydreams. In the least, I want to give her the things I found to be of comfort while I was pregnant with my boys: a new dress, a foot rub, a meatball sandwich. This, of course, is absurd.
It’s hard to get anxious and excited about something that comes with such loss. It’s hard to want to hurry my joy, when I know it will probably come at the unfathomable pain of another woman, someone who I already love at a level of love I had no idea existed. Our first home study is a week away. Time is undeniably marching on. Someday I will be unabashedly joyful and excited about the idea of international adoption. But, in the meantime, it’s a lot to process.
I keep doing the math in my head – when will we meet our child? How old is she at this very moment? Has she been born into this world? For me, this is a calculation of reality. Right now, our child is likely in the second trimester within her mother’s womb. This child is not yet born, which inspires a feeling of love and protection for her, but more poignantly, a feeling of concern and appreciation for her mother. I think about this woman and the one thing we will forever share and it is incredibly humbling. And as she walks through this world, carrying this child, I have so many questions. I wonder what her circumstances are. I wonder if she is already haunted by the knowledge that she will not raise this child. Or perhaps she doesn’t even realize this yet. When will this idea begin to break her heart? She’s no doubt worried about this child. Does she delight in it as well? I wonder what her voice sounds like. I wonder what her hands look like. I wonder whether or not we would be friends if this world were a bit different.
Here’s something strange: Part of me never wants to have to meet her child. Can this be? I want to send her money and food and end it all right now. I think every adoptive mother must struggle with this issue. The reality is harsh.
I insert the tangible into my daydreams. In the least, I want to give her the things I found to be of comfort while I was pregnant with my boys: a new dress, a foot rub, a meatball sandwich. This, of course, is absurd.
It’s hard to get anxious and excited about something that comes with such loss. It’s hard to want to hurry my joy, when I know it will probably come at the unfathomable pain of another woman, someone who I already love at a level of love I had no idea existed. Our first home study is a week away. Time is undeniably marching on. Someday I will be unabashedly joyful and excited about the idea of international adoption. But, in the meantime, it’s a lot to process.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
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