There is nothing I want more in this world that a baby in my arms. Our baby in my arms (lest anyone try and tell me they shall just hand me a baby to hold for a few minutes to make my dreams come true). The problem with this is I am simply lacking the motivation to try.
I case you haven’t noticed, the adoption classes came and went, and we didn’t go. I spent the days before hand crying and vomiting. I’m not ready for adoption yet. I’m not grown up enough to be able to handle it. I don’t really know how else to explain it.
Way back when I first started searching for blogs with lesbians who had been through miscarriage I came across two which became my favorites (no, I’m not going to name them). I followed these two couples through more miscarriages, through a million tried and failed cycles. They made me feel so much less alone in the world. I am all alone. One posted a beautiful picture of their son this morning on Facebook. The other had a beautiful blog post filled with pictures of their daughter.
For once, I am jealous. I’m jealous that they finally found their happy ending. That their road didn’t end by staring down a path that you cannot see the end of. I don’t see the pot of gold, the x that marks my spot. I see nothing.
I know there are newer (to my world) couples who are in the same boat as me (Hi Tbean, Mrs. Spit, Tui, Lizzie, and J… oh and Sara-I miss you and think about you often) so I shouldn’t be throwing a pity party table for one but…
What if the fates decided that I would be the lucky one forever holding that trophy of the girls who tried by never lived out their dream? Thinking that I might be taking the proverbial bullet for us all has really killed my motivation to try and get pregnant/adopt. I was the one sprinkled with “shall live childless” dust.
In my head, if I never try again, and never say we are going to stop trying, then the dream didn’t just not come true, it will forever just have not come true YET. But if we try…try…try again, and it never happens, the dream dies.