I'm a girl. A woman, I guess. I mean, I'm not a kid anymore, as much as I act like one. I'm childish, I'm obsessed with things younger than my years. Yet, there are moments when I am very much an adult, with adult dreams and adult goals. I'm almost 34 years old, ten years older than when I figured I would have my first child.
Do I have a ten year old? No. I don't have any kids. For many years of my twenties, I went back and forth about the idea of children. Growing up, I couldn't wait to be a mother. However, when I was married the first time around, there was NO desire to have them. I believe it was because I knew this wasn't the situation for me. When I got married the second time (yes, I've been married twice, it's 2013, get over it.) I started to feel like I wanted children. Those maternal urges started poking me at various times. I'd melt at the sight of babies, hearing toddlers talk made me grin like an idiot. I started to imagine what my kids would look like.
It was always a decision I could make. It was my body, my life. I could decide when we were going to make that all happen. It was an option I had. My option. A decision entirely up to me.
Once again, this monster inside me has taken that from my hands as well. My medication is detrimental to fetuses. I have taken preventative measures to ensure that I absolutely will not forget birth control and get pregnant. I did something you aren't supposed to do before you've had children because I really didn't have a choice. I absolutely cannot slip up and get pregnant while on the medication. And ... the two years I am on this medication is the minimum. I could come off the meds in two years and flare badly and be put on the same meds or something stronger. It's just not a guarantee that before my 36th birthday I'd be given control of my child-making body parts once again. Nope, I have absolutely zero control. The decision isn't mine.
I just purchased a half million dollar house. I have a ginormous mortgage payment with PMI. I have two car payments. I have utilities and bills. Yes, these were decisions that I made but ... they are done nonetheless. Adoption feels like an enormously expensive option that is JUST out of reach. Not that we are even anywhere ready to pursue that ... I just wanted to tell myself there was still hope for me.
It doesn't feel like there is. Dan mentioned that I can't focus on that right now. I need to get to getting better first. Would I be able to care for a child right now? No. I'd be a horrible mother because I work too much, I feel sick all the time, etc. So ... he's right. I have no idea if this is going to keep getting worse and would I want to check out on my child's life before they ever got to know me? Or ... am I going to die and leave my child with a lifetime of heartache? Would they hate me for adopting them knowing I could die and leave them behind?
As the child of parents that died, I know the feeling of anger that springs up. Anger at them for leaving me behind. I felt it. I was mad that they could leave me. Even though, logically I knew this wasn't their decision ... I was still mad that they left me. Sometimes, I still get mad that they left me because I NEED them sometimes. I need my Dad right now more than ever. I'd give anything just to get some time with him to talk ... I'd give anything to hear his voice. I want him to hug me and promise me that it is all going to be OK.
I can't consciously do that to a child. But, there's this part of me that really really really wants to be a mom. I want that. I want to be a mom. And, at this current moment, I don't get to make that decision for myself. It's a shelved idea. It's off limits. It's not presently in the cards. Maybe in a year, if I'm doing OK, we can revisit the idea. But, now's not the time.
The child in me wants to scream and throw a temper tantrum because this isn't what I want. And, it's all about me, right? It's hard to be an adult and have everything else run your life. It's hard to have control taken away. It's hard to face this and be quiet about it. I'm still trying to lock it up, to not talk about it, to not think about it. But, today, it's weighing heavily on my mind.
Dan made a comment today, joking completely about something but ... it was the way I was holding his cousin's bear. It looked like I was breast feeding the bear. And he was laughing and said "a girl can dream" and it was like an arrow was shot through my heart. I know he didn't mean anything malicious by it but ... right now, it feels like that's never going to be a part of my life. He can leave me and find someone else, someone healthier, have kids, live the life he wants ... and I still will be in this position.
I need to get my brain out of this dark place. I need to find the positive again. I have a diagnosis and a treatment plan. My doctor will keep me alive. I believe that. I need to get out of this darkness. I need to be happy again.