Final Phase

Motherhood, for me, has been a process of coming to terms with different phases while trying to attain the goal of becoming a mother. The first phase was simple – embrace the change from no kids to a brand new baby, gear up for pregnancy and learn to be a mother. It was exciting and scary and wonderful. It was also too short-lived. As that first year dragged on and pregnancy remained elusive, fear crept in. And the worst fears were confirmed year two when testing proved I was not ovulating regularly. Thus began phase two – the battle of infertility. This was an ugly phase, directed by a tyrannical roller coast ride of emotions and a barrage of humanity-stripping testing that all resulted in a too-expensive treatment option. This led to phase three, which was coming to terms with not having a biological child and embracing adoption. Little buds of hope sprang from the desolation of infertility and it seemed that the journey was nearly complete when a little boy was placed in our lives. I will never forget the surreal feeling of driving home with this child and all his stuff in the back of our car. It just couldn’t be real, could it? No, it wasn’t. Then the unthinkable happened and I began a new phase all alone – no child, no husband, no hope. I didn’t stay in this phase long, I mourned what was lost and pulled myself from the depths of despair back to a livable life. And here I am, in phase five trying to adopt alone and my tires are spinning but I have gained no traction. In fact, these days I feel like I have slid backwards. And I think it is finally time for me to reach the final phase – admit defeat and realize that motherhood is just not meant to be for me. I have queried many times as to when enough would be enough and it would be time to throw in the towel. I had decided to put a date on it, stating this is the last year I will be trying to become a mother. I know that it is only March, but this year already feels like a failure to me. I don’t know what will happen during the planning meeting on Thursday – if the county will ask me to keep this kid and give him permanency or if they will announce they have found him a new foster home. I do know I can’t kick him out. I’m a lot of things but heartless bitch is not one of them. I still plan to move forward on the basement project, once I get my income tax return, but unlike the Field of Dreams, just because I build it does not mean “they” will come. The emotional fall-out from the Christmas miracle baby really just took the wind from my sails, it stripped me bare and left me feeling so broken. I thought I could come back from that, but I cannot think about it without crying my eyes out and no other potential placement since has compared to the joy I felt with that one. Maybe I’m close, so close I could almost touch it – like this photo. The problem is I have no way of knowing. I could still be a million miles away. And I’m tired. I’m so tired. I’m tired of being hopeful only to be disappointed again and again. I’m tired of feeling like I’ve done something wrong to deserve this misery. I’m tired of watching everyone else get what I want, while I try to grasp at broken dreams. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not living my life because I’m too busy waiting for some impossible thing to happen. It’s time to face the music and accept reality, no matter how harsh and disappointing it may be. I want to believe that God has a good plan for my life, but I can’t seem to get out of this hole. I cannot understand why I had to endure the whole Christmas miracle baby debacle – what was the point of that? It’s not like that was the first time I felt the sting of losing a placement or the searing loss of something I so badly wanted. I know the pain of loss intimately. I am stripped bare emotionally and I have nothing more to lose. Know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away – and I think it’s about that time.