One-two Punch

Sometimes I get haughty and I think “I am so over getting upset about infertility.” I get used to the incredible strength I have gained during this grueling journey and, as the saying goes, pride cometh before the fall. I fell twice in the past few days. Last week, after bringing the kiddos back from a visit, the CHOR caseworker sat and talked to me about the kids and how things are going – her usual home visit. Towards the end she asked me if one of the supervisors from CHOR had called me about a potential placement – two boys. My heart sank. These are the same two boys that a different caseworker had contacted me about in December. I was supposed to meet them at the CHOR Christmas party but the boys never came. And I took in these two kids I have now and kinda figured it was over. I found it very upsetting that I might be asked about the boys again mostly because they are older in age than what I am hoping and I found it discouraging, like I should take these kids because there’s no way an agency would give me, a single woman, an infant. Yes, just my stupid mind making things up to freak me out and make me feel bad. But, it worked this time. I felt awful the whole next day. Awful because I would not be willing to consider two boys who need a mother. Awful because the hurt these boys must be facing, being abandoned by their mother. Awful because I felt like I must settle and not get what I want. Awful because I worried that God might be putting these boys in front of me again for a reason and I would be too selfish to consider it. Awful because I thought of two precious little boys as settling. Awful because I felt selfish and also like I would have a hard time saying “no.” It was all for naught at this point because no one has contacted me about them again. But, still it jolted me emotionally and set me up for the next event to be even more catastrophic.

I found out last week that a couple composed of a Peace Corps friend and her Nicaraguan husband, are expecting their second child. I felt quite proud of myself that learning of this didn’t send me into a complete and total melt-down. “I’m finally getting the hang of this,” I congratulated myself nearly twisting me arm out of the socket to pat myself heartily on the back. My congratulatory celebration was short lived. I went to a church meeting Saturday morning (child free no less!) and it was a meeting of women to discuss mostly the pastor’s surprise birthday party for this coming Saturday but also other things like testimonies, the yearly yard sale, VBS, etc. I don’t remember how, but at some point the topic of miraculous pregnancies came up and a few women (who had given birth over the summer) were named as recipients of said miracle. After citing a litany of names the pastora (pastor’s wife) mentioned my name and that my miracle baby was still coming. Cringe. Smile politely. Move on. Once the meeting was adjourned we gathered to celebrate another woman’s birthday (as a surprise to her) with a cake and some munchies. While standing around talking, two of the miracle pregnancies descended upon me and proclaimed, yet again, that my miracle pregnancy is a-comin’. One of the women knew that my husband had left and so she threw in that her husband had run away to Puerto Rico with another woman not long before she had gotten pregnant for good measure. She said she was still believing God for her baby, even while she was thousands of miles from her husband. Good on ya Chica! But, I wanted to scream, “Could you STOP?!!” It has taken me an exorbitant amount of time to adjust to the fact that I will not be having a biological child. It was a grieving process that very near killed me, so excuse me for not jumping on the “I’m-going-to-have-a-baby” bandwagon. You, sister in faith, have no idea how detrimental it is to my emotional psyche to hear you pontificate on how you prayed for your blessing and how you thought it would never come, but it did and so it will for me too. Let me let you in on a little secret – you are not God. You have no idea what He has in store for me, so stop trying to tell me what you believe will happen. Worst yet, please do not imply that my faith is not strong enough and that is why God has not fulfilled the desire of my heart. Once the first one started, the second one began. She declared I WILL have my baby. I demurred, trying desperately to not get defensive or angry, stating, “Sure, in the future.” “Future? What future? It could be tonight!” she exclaimed. Um…….. No, for so many reasons, no. First of all, I don’t think God is interested in a second conception via deity. No sperm, no baby, right? Plus, my period was starting and the floodgates have since opened to gushing torrents. Wrong time of the month Chica. When I turned red (I blush so easily!) from trying to contain my mounting anger, she mistook it as me being coy and had a jolly good time pointing it out to other innocent bystanders. Eventually, I was able to flee from their misguided optimism to the comfort of a pedicure and quiet home (until I picked up the kids around 5 that night). And, I didn’t cry or rail at God, but I did feel pretty dam craptastic. I know they are just trying to be positive and encouraging, but the whole interaction was hurtful to me. Unwittingly, they were rubbing my face in the fact that they have become mothers and I have not. Never mind that I am caring for two children right now or that I have cared for other little ones in the past. It means nothing because I have not gotten pregnant or given birth. And how about the fact that I have just passed the anniversary of the end of my marriage? How uncouth of them to talk about getting pregnant, implying that I will either A) get back with Flaco and get knocked up or B) very quickly find a suitable replacement and get knocked up. One should never speak of things they know nothing about. They know nothing about my personal life but felt it was ok to downright demand I agree with them that I will be announcing a pregnancy in the next few weeks. It picked at the old scars I try very hard to cover. It rubbed salt in wounds I thought had fully healed. It left me gasping for air, clawing my way out of that dismal place I try to avoid, and it made me hurt all over. The ache still resounds today, two days later. The wind has been sucked from my sails and the color has drained from my world. It is temporary, I know, but the one-two punch has set me back momentarily.

And if the above one-two punch was not enough to drag me down into the depths of despair, last night completed the task. Ironically, I was supposed to be attending a workshop at the local Ag center on backyard composting; instead, I was throwing out hoards of spoiled food because my refrigerator died. With my father’s assistance I did manage to buy a new ‘fridge and salvage the majority of the frozen foods. But, the new refrigerator is much smaller than the old one because I had limited amount of credit left on my Best Buy card. And the old ‘fridge could not be removed from my house last night (my father and I hauled and installed the new ‘fridge) because my house is devoid of tools and my father did not bring his tool box along on our appliance buying jig. The children, thankfully, were sequestered away at another foster family’s place as had been planned for me to attend the workshop. But, for whatever reason, the family did not put the kids to bed, so the baby was wide awake when I went to pick them up at 10:15 and downright miserable when I woke them up at 6:30 this morning. Granted, I too was pretty grumpy after refrigerator wrestling with mega-cramps (because dealing with you period is not enough of a day-wrecker) and having a hulking dead refrigerator dominating my kitchen creating already cramped living quarters to become unbearable. I want to dig a giant hole in my backyard and inter myself there until “things” are all better. My father came back to my house this afternoon to dismantle and remove the old ‘fridge. Last night he took half of what was in my freezer home with him because now I no longer have the room for it. I had a side-by-side refrigerator that I could fit a pizza box in and now I have a 14.7 cubic foot ‘fridge that barely has room for all the condiments in the old one. And, since the kitchen is small, the ‘fridge is encased in a niche in the wall which is now too big, discolored and has a hideous floor – all of which I need to fix. My head is pounding and I’m kind of half-hoping it will just pop right off the top of my neck. I’m sick to death of it all. Everything. Every dam thing. As my dad was leaving last night I made him help me rearrange the kitchen table because it was blocking the door to the kids bedroom and I was worried about safety risks. “In case of a fire,” I admonished. “I sure hope you don’t have a fire tonight!” my dad exclaimed. “With this run of bad luck I’ve been having, I wouldn’t even be surprised.” As I was driving to pick up the kids I thought to myself, shouldn’t infertility cause the universe to give you a break on other shit happening in your life? Shouldn’t not being able to have a baby throw up a force field to shield out the other nasty crap life can dish out; give you a pass for awhile? But, it just doesn’t work that way, now does it?

Last month, when I was worried the ‘fridge was dying (it just kept running and running and running – looks like my fears were well-founded!) and it came in on the heels of other issues, like my “new” car not turning on, I posted something on Facebook about all the shit that keeps hitting my fans. My cousin implied that I am bringing in on myself because I’m not thinking positively enough. You know, what you think about you bring about. If you read back to my end of year reflection, you will notice that I was cautiously optimistic about 2013 and very sure it would be a better year. Now, I think I am being cosmically punked. Someone is getting their jollies out of torturing me into madness one stupid disaster after another. And I swear, if one more person tells me what doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger I will kick them in the shin and tell them it is to make them a stronger person too! But, infertility, a lost adoption, my husband leaving, two failed foster placements, a sick grandfather, debt, a totaled car, and now a dead refrigerator have yet to break me. Keep chipping away nasty cosmic punker! I’m not broken yet, so bring it! I’m so mother-flippin’ strong I think I can start bending steel with my bare hands! How’s that for positive thinking?