My apologies, friends and readers, for no updates. No sooner than Sweet Baby A went home with his lovely, young parents did my adorable, angsty nephew need a temporary home. He’s gone now, too, and the house is back to just the four of us. Between “visitors”, the adoption travel, and a new baby girl, the last few months have been marked with me hanging onto a very thin thread of sanity. I have truly loved having all these wonderful folks become part of my family for even the briefest time, but knowing all their reasons for being here has made me a raw, gaping open wound of emotion. On top of menopause. And homeschooling. And a new child in the family. Buy stock in Kleenex is all I can say. And Ativan.
OK, I’m not really taking Ativan, though I certainly have no objection to it for medicinal purposes. In fact, at my last doctor’s visit, my doctor reviewed my “Menopause Checklist” which I assume is her way of evaluating whether my hormones are effective or whether she should duck and cover. I suspect she wears a bullet proof vest. On this particular visit, I was explaining that my physical symptoms were basically nil, but that I feel like a crazy woman by the end of each day. After further discussion (This is why your doctor is always late–there are people like me with little kids that just want to talk to an intelligent adult during the day), I explained about all my houseguests, and the traveling, and the adoption, and being broke as a convict, and homeschooling. She then looked at me and asked, “So. Do you need some meds or are you OK with some red wine?” This is why I love her. My wonderful, helpful, codependent physician. This is also why you might want to buy stock in “Our Daily Red.”
When Baby A was here, I was, of course, overwhelmed by his physical, middle-of-the-night care. But more than that, I was overwhelmed by everyone involved in our little “Village” adventure. It was impossible to look at Jo everyday and not feel how much she loved that little boy and how sick she was to leave him with me every night. It was impossible to look at Z everyday and not feel how much he loved that boy and that boy’s beautiful mama. It was impossible to look at Bebe and Roxanne (who are damn near joined at the hip) and not feel how thankful they both were that we were willing to open up the house to this family. Feel, Feel, FEEL. Constant emotions on top of emotions. On Mother’s Day, I could no more leave Jo longing for her son’s touch all day while I visited with my own mother and mother-in-law than I could flap my flabby arms and fly to the moon.
That same Sunday afternoon, I posted on my personal facebook page how much I appreciated the women in this world who were mothers but had given their children up for adoption so families like mine could exist. That evening, a precious friend I have known for years showed up bearing gifts for me. While we sat at the kitchen table amid all the chaos, she grabbed my hand and told me how much my post had meant to her because she had put a baby girl up for adoption years earlier. So my meaningful/meaningless facebook post suddenly got a name and a face. Of someone I know and love.
When my nephew came for his reprieve from his real life, we talked at great length about our shared angst at his age, and I relived all the bad stuff that got me in this wonderful here and now. But it wasn’t easy. It never is. And it isn’t easy to relive it and discuss it.
Maybe it’s just me. I know that sometimes it really IS just me. Or maybe life (MY life anyway) is closing in around me with deep, heartfelt, painful emotions. Maybe there’s a lesson here somewhere.
Pass the Kleenex. And pour me a glass of wine.