Crazy little thing called life

What a wee little part of a person's life are his acts and his words! His real life is led in his head, and is known to none but himself
~Mark Twain

I am struggling with words right now.
This week we found out for sure that we are not able to have kids of our own. We were told that the risk of syndrome x, multiple miscarriages, or other complications were so severe, that we should approach having kids with our "eyes wide open". IVF is our only current option for having our own biological kids. When they told me that they would create multiple babies in a lab, and then test them when they were a week old, and decide which one is healthy, and dispose of the other ones; my heart sank. If I truly believe that life is sacred, and that a baby is a life from conception, how could I be selfish enough to play God and force myself to have the baby I want?

I have felt for a long time that I would be a mommy of a child that is not my own. Cameron however, has not had that same calling. Well, after we found this out we sat down and talked through everything, and we decided to proceed with being foster parents. We are in the process of getting that rolling. We are both really scared, as most people are with the thought of adding a child to their home. I know that with my heart that bonds with others so quickly, I will have huge emotional roller coaster rides. HOWEVER, I would rather have my heart broken and have the experience of loving a child, and being a mom, even if for a few moths at a time, than to never know what that feels like.

Right now, we are in the limbo period between making the decision to be foster parents, and actually getting all the information, and starting the training. I am as nervous as (...input your favorite "as nervous as" saying here) The planner and control freak in me is needing information, and a "road map" to get us started. I have read so much information that I am sure I could pass almost any test they put in front of me. Part of me says "Lets DO This Thing!!" and the other part wants to run and hide in the closet and forget that this past week even happened. I keep going from excited and nervous, to sad and depressed, and back again. I am trying really hard to keep some of this from Cameron. Not because I don't think that we should share in our hurts, etc. but because I know that he is struggling pretty hard with his own emotions. Even though we are a couple, there comes a point when we have to work things out as individuals before we are able be of any use to others... even our spouses.

A few months ago, I was struggling because I found out that I was not pregnant... yet again. It was a very dark time for me. I was feeling lonely, and did not feel that I could share my struggle, or at least the depth of my struggle, with anyone. I decided that I would stop trying so desperately to become a mom, and just put that part of me to rest. I thought that I could bury it in a box, and that would be the end of it. I even went as far as to write a letter to my child I would never have. I also used a whole package of note cards, listing all the characteristics I wanted that child to have. I put on those cards my hopes and dreams for that child. I wept over those cards, and then I put them in a pretty yellow box, and buried them in the top of a closet, behind my box of college keepsakes. In my mind, this was enough. This would keep me sane until one day, God willing, we would be a part of a miracle, and we would find out we were able to have a baby. It worked... until this week. Until this week, I was holding out. I was researching, trying to find a way we could make a baby of our own. Even though I thought I had buried my feelings in a box, I was not giving up. I still had enough hope, I thought I could make it happen simply by wanting it bad enough. This week, I lost that hope. I experienced the death of a dream. This death is a real to me as any physical loss I have ever experienced.

Trying to explain this to someone who has never been in this situation is almost impossible. Even as much as I am hurting, my own brain and heart are in constant conflict. While, yes, I am very happy that we have made the decision to become foster parents, and to give love to babies who need it, I almost resent them at the same time. They are NOT my baby. They never will be. I will never have the experience of pregnancy. I will never get to feel the flutters of life within me. I will never feel my baby dancing inside me, and talk to it, knowing that when it is born, it will already know my voice. I will never have the experience of breast feeding, and the bonding that comes from that act. I will never get to see what Cam and I could create with our DNA. That dream of a little girl that has my skin, Cameron's metabolism, lips, hair, and eyebrows, my artsy talents, and Cameron's generosity... that little girl will never be. I will not be able to pass on my voice, or my mom's eyes. I am mourning the loss of a dream; a friendly little ghost that has haunted me since I was a child. I am afraid that as much love as I will give to another baby, that it will never be enough. I fear that the little spirit of my lost dream will always be there, taunting me, just out of reach.

I have two cousins that have had babies in the past two weeks, one that had one earlier this year and my own sister is due in December with her 2nd child. While, I am very happy for them, I can't help but resent them. Here is where my head and heart are at battle once again. You would think that I would want to get my hands on those little blessings, and hold them and smell them until all the "new baby smell" was sniffed away. Part of me does, but another part of me does not even want to see them. Part of me resents them so much that I almost cringe when I see their pictures come up on facebook. I am so very happy for all of them. I wish them health, and all those other things that you wish for people you love, but I am afraid that my happiness is surface deep. This year we get to go to my family's Thanksgiving... where all these babies will be, and my sister will be with my wonderful nephew, and her belly full of love. I wish with everything in me that I could come down with a convenient case of flu or something that would give me an excuse to not go. *sniff sniff, cough*... I think I feel it coming on already.

I have been told that once I hold my foster, or adoptive baby in my arms, that those feelings go away, or at least diminish. I am told I will be overcome with such love for this little being who needs me desperately. None of my struggles are it's fault, and as far as it knows, am it's parent in every way. It will not care that I can not breast feed it. It does not matter that my mom's eyes were not passed on to it. I am told that much of who we become is based on who we are raised with. I can teach a child that is not mine to sing, and to paint. Cameron will still teach it jokes that are only funny to the two of them, and he will live generosity in front of this child, and it will learn by example. I am told these things, and I can not wait to experience them.