I’ve written a few paragraphs, edited it, then deleted the whole thing only to start again. I wanted to say something, but figured what I was trying to say was completely useless to the women who read my blog, completely useless to those who are still trying to conceive, or completely useless cause you’re just fine as you are.
Two years into having a child in our lives, I wonder how long I will still identify as being infertile. Seriously, I’m 48 now. Cranky. With a seriously compromised uterus. (Did I mention I was carded at the liquor store a few weeks ago? Yep, that made me a lot less cranky.) There have been a couple of pregnancy announcements lately of women in my acting sphere, one of which is in her 40’s) and I admit I felt that little ping. It’s almost like a kneejerk reaction from the old TTC me. You know the one. The one that says she’s pregnant and you’re not and never gonna be. Followed by the right thinking brain that says, hey, girl you’re 48, you know and a mother already who doesn’t pee when she sneezes, so stop it. You have gray hairs and chin hairs, really, why should you care? Observe the thought and then watch it pass. I guess I’m always going to care, at least a little bit. In that I’ve always wanted to go to Greece but I’ve been banned from ever travelling there kind of way.
Of course, I also have a child – yes, people JUST ONE, and I’m quite content. Grateful to be able to share the experience of parenting with my spouse. I will now go to baby showers if I’m invited. I will hold other people’s babies. It doesn’t hurt anymore. That old dream of having a little girl half me, half DH is long gone. Perhaps she’ll manifest in another lifetime, who knows? In the present, I’ve got an amazing little boy who is teaching me that motherhood is not for the weak. I am rewarded not with big paycheques or big movie roles, but with smiles, smooches, and “thank you, Mama”. He’s not the slightest bit interested in propping up my sagging ego, but he does want me to pick him up and kiss his booboos away. On those days, I stop worrying about what I don’t have. Didn’t have.
Oddly enough, when my back aches, I’m tired from having my sleep continually interrupted and I’m bored out of my mind from daily routines, I think of what it would have been like had our adoption not taken place. Remember my plan if things didn’t work out? I was planning on going to Bali to have a nervous breakdown in very dramatic fashion. Or if we had just chosen not to be parents at all. No doubt, I’d be a little bit skinnier, perhaps I’d be working full time and I’d definitely be doing more creative work. We might own our own home, probably a condo downtown, we’d be travellling more. I’m sure I would have been content. I also know that in a part of my heart, my child that never was would be alive and well, keeping me company at 3am.
On those days, I think of all the women whose babies died or never came to be. I wish adoption had been an option to them. And yes, I do understand why a lot of people don’t go that route to become parents. It is NOT a choice for everyone. I’m certainly not going to attempt it again myself. I get why women try over and over and over. Cause I did, too. Yet, I wish some of those incredible women, whose hearts are so big and so full of love to give to a child, had chosen to adopt a child from wherever. So that they could go down the other road less travelled. It’s nice here, even when it rains.
What’s the big deal with Greece, anyway?