Falling

I am about to share a painful reality of my life.  I have put off talking about it to anyone for so many reasons, and just recently felt perhaps it was time to face it.  I spoke a bit to my best friend T about it when she was here, but still was in the "It's okay" mode.  But then I went to this amazing conference and it just hit me.  God met me there this weekend and hit me with it hard.  But the beauty is that in the end I felt relief as I collapsed in His arms.  

The reason that G and I do not have children is not that we do not want them.  We do.  Desperately.  No matter how many times I tell you that we are wanting to put them off, don't believe it.  The reality is that we are unsure if we will be able to have them without adoption.  The reality is that what I was wanting to put off was having to truly find out if I am incapable of it.  I thank God every day that since I was very little I have always known I would adopt.  It was a desire given to me from a young age, and it is the one light in the dark tunnel that I face any time I even think about starting a family. 

We have tried.  We didn't do anything to prevent it for a year.  There were normal months when it was clear it hadn't happened, and in the midst of an international move we were able to make excuses.  But then there were the couple times when I was exhausted.  When certain foods just looked wrong to me.  And then I'd be late.  And within a week or so I'd end up with excruciating cramps and (sorry, TMI) bleeding far worse than was normal, enough that once G actually got scared.  I was afraid to call it a miscarriage.  I felt unworthy of getting to use such a big word for something that at the time seemed such a small thing.  We never got the positive, the announcing it with excitement.  We got hope, and then got to watch as the hope slowly slid right through our fingers.  I had always joked that this baby thing would be a piece of cake, that I had "baby making hips." And yet suddenly I felt like a failure of a woman.  

In these dark hours I was unable to really talk to my husband.  And I got angry that he didn't bring it up.  I got angry that I felt I couldn't talk about it.  And I got angry, because I didn't even know what on earth I would say.  "I'm sorry"?  So instead we made excuses.  We were busy.  I'd been stressed.  And then as we began to socialize more we tried to convince ourselves that now simply wasn't a good time, and that we'd put it off longer.  That we were enjoying our freedom, and with big smiles would go out, socialize, snap photos of what a wonderful life we were leading.  Never mind that I often find my eyes trailing after a toddler as they walk or laughing at something a nearby child did. 

We often speak about adoption.  We even went to the introductory class for the foster to adopt program this summer.  Turns out we don't really know enough people in this area well enough that I would have them be a referral for me.  It hit me hard, I was so prepared to welcome a child into our home, and instead I got to welcome in sadness.  We've contacted a couple international adoption agencies.  With G deploying it's all basically inquiries for now, but next year we plan to begin stashing away cash in our Love and Grace account (the name we use for God's money....tithing, and also for the cost of an adoption, something we feel called to).  But we still did not speak about that big pink elephant in the room.

Well Friday I broke down.  I spoke about it briefly to a few people, something that normally would have been incredibly hard suddenly came like a river.  I attended a MOB (Mothers of Boys) meeting with my roomie just to listen to stories.  I explained to one of the leaders that I didn't have any yet, but that our hope is that within the next 2 years we want to adopt a little boy from Africa.  She told me, "Then you're already a mother of a boy".... I cried.  And when I won a coffee cozy, yes, my eyes got wide like a deer in the headlights, I felt guilty for winning, and eventually had to leave.  

I went back to my room, called my husband and let it flow out of me.  I cried hard enough that night that my eyes were swollen the next day (something I can't remember having happened for a decade).  I told him that it wasn't okay.  That I wasn't okay.  That I wanted a little boy who looked just like him, who told long exaggerated stories just like him.  And that not having that was not okay.  I told him I was tired of making excuses and saying that it was okay.  And he agreed.  We spoke like we hadn't been able to for over a year.  I had been trying to be strong, to never cry about it.  God was in that hotel room with me, allowing me to fall apart because it was what I needed. 

So what now?  Now we talk.  Now we make an appointment with a doctor to check me out.  Now we pray.  I didn't want to talk about it, because I know worse stories and I felt unworthy of my own heartache.  I felt it was so small compared to the troubles I know others have and  I didn't want pity.  But I will take prayers.  Not just that it will be possible, but for strength if it is not.