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Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Don't come into my cave if you are afraid of the dark . . .

This is as real as it gets, so please don't read this and then post some silly comment about how I need to keep my chin up or "look at the bright side."  For those of you who might think I'm not looking at the bright side, let me assure you that I am over-the-moon happily in love with my husband, abundantly grateful for my ever-supportive and loyal family, and crazy about my step-kids and foster kids. But here goes:  INFERTILITY STINKS.  I would use another adjective besides "Stinks" here but it would not be very nice. 
Last week, I was talking with a little boy who is adopted. He told me that he will not have any brothers or sisters because "my mom's stomach is broken." It was all I could do not to fall into the floor in a heap of emotions and just cry for his mom. Because I know what it's like to have a "broken stomach" and feel the ache of longing to carry a child, but also feeling like a part of you is so damaged or broken (and not because you did anything to cause that) and it is a disgusting, lonely, and miserable feeling.
Yes I know- REJOICE ALWAYS... The Bible says so. I want to rejoice always, I want to be so happy for the 12 people a day that cross my path with their perfect ultrasound photos. I want to REJOICE in this situation that I am facing. I want to rejoice in the crazy misfit family that God has given me. 
But some days it is hard . . .
I've had Jeremiah and Peniel since June 22 of last year. I love them so much, and they have healed my broken heart in so many ways.  But slowly, they have begun having overnight visits with their mom. This past weekend was the third time they have had an overnight visit with her. When they came back to me, they were awful. From his car-seat, Jeremiah was throwing a fit and when I tried to correct his behavior, he shouted "I don't yike you, Meyissa! You are the WORST BABYSITTER EVER!"  And let me tell you, that remark did not sit well with me.  Of course, I didn't cry in front of him- I did it much later, in my bedroom with John lovingly rubbing my back and telling me that I am NOT a babysitter. Becky later pointed out that if I was a babysitter, I'm really getting the shaft.  I feed, clothe, and bathe this child - wash his dirty butt when he has diarrhea and frequently fall asleep with his toes stabbing my in the back because he wakes up in the middle of the night and comes into my room.  And I don't get paid a dime for any of that!
Samuel wrote a letter to his mom in jail and gave it to me to mail. It read "I miss you when you are in jail. You are the best mom in the whole world." If the irony of that escapes you, don't worry - it escaped him too.

Obviously the hardest part of being a step mom or foster-mom is the fact that I am a substitute for the real thing. It's like when you watch a soap opera and suddenly without warning your favorite character is replaced by a new actor. The narrator's voice announces: "The part of Dash Wellington will now be played by . . ." and gives the name of the new actor who will take the place of your old favorite one. The new actor can do all the same things, read the same lines, romance the same ladies as part of the plot - but in your heart he will never feel like the real Dash Wellington. Well, that's me . . . the babysitter with the broken stomach. To my kids, I am just a stand-in for the real thing. Or at least that's how I feel right now. I'm just down in the dumps- in my cave.  It doesn't mean I won't come out . . . and it doesn't mean I will be this way forever. I will come back into the light of day, I will hear the boys laughter and their arguing over who can fart the loudest. I will hear the girls talking about their guy troubles and discussion about prom dates. I will look around our crowded kitchen table and think about how blessed I am - how fortunate I am to share my lives with them, to grow and learn with them . . . to see their progress in life, and to hear about their adventures.
So, if you read this blog and you pray- please pray for me. Pray that I can rejoice in all things. Pray that I can see God's hand at work in this- that I can "let go" and accept things as they are, or find fulfillment in God's perfect will for my life- even if is disagrees with my own plans. 


  1. I don't have any wise words, other than to say I get it. I know that is tainted by having HK now, but it was such a struggle to get her here. I don't understand why things are the way they are (I know He does, but that doesn't always make it hurt less), and I still cry sometimes about others perfect pregnancies and houses full of babies. I will pray for you, and know you are welcome to contact me if you ever need to vent.

  2. At least you vent and pitch your tantrums with humor.
    I pitch mine with a whine and slobbering tears...just like a 4 year old.