Church Depresses Me

It has been since last October that I have been a regular church attendee.  I have went a handful of times and each time I leave feeling drained and sad.  Sadness overwhelms me and it takes a few days to recover.  I think to myself 'that this is not how church should be, I should be encouraged and uplifted!'  But I am not.  I struggle with guilt and shame for not going, I struggle with depression when I do.

I label myself as a Christian and an ex-minister, and yet there are still times where every part of me has to struggle to get ready on Sunday morning, walk into the church building, sit down, actively engage in corporate worship, listen to the sermon, and socialize with others afterwards. 

I know I'm not alone in this struggle.  I think that church feels like a hostile environment for many people. 

There have been multiple times in my life where church has become a hostile environment for me to be in.

The first time I felt like this I was pregnant with my twins.  I was nineteen years old and had just come back from Bible college shamed.  I had once donned a pretty diamond ring on my finger, but that had been taken away.   Now I was a knocked up girl who had been caught in her sinful ways.  I attended church with my parents, until I started to show too much and then I wasn't allowed to go anymore.  We were keeping a secret and I wasn't allowed to tell anyone.  The only one who 'knew' was the senior pastor.  I remember one of the last Sundays I went; I was finally showing and I knew it would be one of my last Sundays at church.  I had my mother's long coat on to hide my bulging stomach.  I was standing in the middle of the worship service and I felt so lonely.  I wanted to cry, I wanted to have someone hold me, I wanted someone to tell me that it was okay, and that I would be okay.  But it didn't happen, and not too long after that I found myself home by myself while my parents went to church.  It was almost a relief not to go, not to have to dodge the truth. 

There have been other times where I felt like church was a horrible place to go, times where sitting in service put me on the verge of a panic attack.  As a minister I was relived that I was able to teach the children because I could embrace the sweetness of youth, love them, be present without worries about judgement. 

It's is almost amusing to me that almost every time I felt that church was hostile environment it had nothing to do with God, but everything to do with the people in it.  Sometimes people hurt others in a church environment intentionally, I have been on the receiving end of that multiple times.  Other times it was because I didn't let others in.  And sometimes it is just the situation that is overwhelming. 

I love my current church.  The first time we went there it felt like home.  It's not perfect, but it is a wonderful place for us.  So why have I been dodging it?  It seems so ridiculous when I type it out, when I say it out loud, but it is something that hurts to the deepest part of who I am.  In a choice that really wasn't a choice, I was denied my motherhood seventeen years ago in the shape giving up my twins for adoption.  After that my dream was to be a mother again, not to replace the boys that I had given up - that would never happen, but to fill my heart and home with children that I so desperately wanted.  I longed for motherhood.  It was a huge blow when we discovered that we couldn't have children.   In our first five years of marriage I struggled greatly and dodged questions of when we were going to have a family.  Looking back now I realize that I very likely had many early miscarriages.  Then I had two miracle babies, and yes I believe they were miracles.  Then the miscarriages started again. 

I was told that pregnancy was very dangerous for me, possibly life threatening, and yet we still tried and lost more babies.  One of those babies took, but she didn't make it and I held her tiny frame my hand.

Last March I had to choose between my health and the possibility of more children.   I was so sick that there was no question what I should do.  I had the surgery that destroyed every last bit of fragile fertility I had left in my body.  And so in a choice that wasn't really a choice I lost my ability to be a new mother once more, this time for good.

We go to a young church.  The preponderance of the people there are under thirty.  They are beautiful young people doing what young people do: date, get married, and start families.  When I go my church everywhere I look there are pregnant women glowing with radiance of early motherhood.  The church had to move the nursery because there were too many babies being born and they needed more space. 

I go to church and look at healthy glowing women and beautiful little newborns.  I was sick for all my pregnancies - either throwing up so much that I needed IV lines and hospitals or fighting preterm labor.  The last baby that came out of my body that I got to hold was a dead one.  I look at these lovely women and their babies and am truly happy for them.  But I am reminded at the same time of how my body betrayed me, how my motherhood was taken away at the beginning and at the end.  I am angry at my body, at myself, at my choices, at my life.  A woman's motherhood is not something to be taken lightly, is not something that is easily forgotten.  Even though I have two children that are (for the most part) healthy - I am still hurt and angry.  Having two children eases, but does not take away the pain and longing I feel.  It does not take away the betrayal I feel by my own body.  Being in that church only amplifies those feelings. 

I have gone back to church hoping that I could overcome these emotions, ignore them, compartmentalize them - but it never works.

I feel stuck.  And so I stay away.

I'm sure there are many others out there that can relate to me, whether it is because you just got divorced, are infertile, your sexual orientation does not match with traditional beliefs, or you have been betrayed... there are so many reasons to feel like church is a hostile environment and they are too many to list. 

So what do you do when your community, your support system feels hostile?  I'm still pondering that.  I hope that with time and counseling I'll feel like I can go back to my church and it can feel like home once again.

I'm tired. weary. sad.

I'm cleaning out the basement.  Something I've been trying to do for almost a year.  

Mostly there are baby clothes, maternity clothes and baby toys that I need to go through.

Most of the maternity clothes are brand new, from a baby that only lived inside of me for eight weeks.  There are tiny brand new clothes clothes were meant for a baby that I can't hold in my arms right now, a baby that is only a memory.  There is a dress that is 16 years old.  There are two teen boys out there that once hid inside that damn ugly maternity dress that I can't get rid of.  I wish I could see those boys this Christmas.  I can only dream about it as I have for the past 14 years.   

Such an ugly dress.  But so beautiful really.  That girl was beautiful.  What was inside her was beautiful.  That smile, it was not clouded with the trauma that befell her just weeks later, trauma that haunts me today.  The picture on the right was from the Elya.  That picture is beautiful to me too.  A beautiful tiny little life inside me that no one will ever know.  Elya's presence is missed in the house today.  Would she be annoying me trying to take the ornaments off the tree or marveling at the lights on it?   

There is no hope for any more children to come from my womb, and so I want everything out of my house.  It's just stuff.  It will never replace what I've lost.  I want to stop the pain.  I want to be free of the hurt that I know will never go away.  I hope that getting rid of these things will help, even though I know it won't.  

What I really want is my babies back, all three that I've lost.  I want to be a mommy to them.  I want all five of my children to be celebrating Christmas with us this year. 

But instead I'm just so very tired.

Judy

My friend Judy passed away last night.  I wanted to reflect on what she meant to me today.  

I started blogging in 2005 not long after my son was born. I wanted to explore my feelings about adoption. The birth of my son brought up many emotions I didn't expect. My identical twins that I had given up for adoption were nine at the time. The adoptive parents had suddenly closed the adoption when my boys were 18 months and I was still devastated from their decision 7 years later. Noah's birth opened me up to all I was missing in my twin's lives.

I was experiencing motherhood for the first time and the trauma of realizing all I had lost with my twins flooded over me and overwhelmed me. There wasn't a single book out there to help me, no support groups, not one avenue that I explored led me to the help I so desperately needed. I started searching for help online and found a small group of blogs that were written by birth mothers like me exploring their experiences and emotions. It wasn't long until I started reading adoptee and adoptive mama blogs too, we started all talking in the comment sections of our blogs, sorting out feelings together.

I don't remember how I got to Judy's blog, but I did. She was the first blog I read about international adoption. She was one of the first adoptive mamas blog that I read. She had such compassion for Nate's first mother, she expressed such love for her. I was so raw from my twins adoptive parents decision to cut me out of their lives that this was a balm to me. When she wrote to me personally she was so tender, I knew that she was trying to understand my pain. She was simply amazing. Judy was not an adoptive parent that only gave empty platitudes about "how they were forever grateful to the birthmother of their child," and then happily forgot the loss that both her son and her son's first mother had experienced. She internalized these losses and ultimately her goal was to be the best mama she could be to Nate because so she could understood his loss too. She made parenting an adopted child about Nate and how she could best parent him and not her needs or wants. She was an unselfish mother putting away the fact that adoption can be sunshine and roses for adoptive parents if they choose to ignore the loss that brought them joy, but she waded shoulder deep into the pain that is adoption sharing with us her thoughts, emotions, heartaches, and breakthroughs in often a snarky or humorous way. That woman could write.

Honestly Judy taught me that all adoptive parents aren't bad people that just want a baby and then move on with their lives pretending nothing ever happened. She taught me that adoption is complicated from all sides. She helped ease my bitterness.

I remember when Judy was diagnosed with cancer. She went into the doctor because her breast was red and tender and she had leakage from it. Back then I didn't know about Inflammatory Breast Cancer. I thought you had to have a lump in order to have breast cancer. A little PSA - if you experience redness and/or swelling of your breast, it feels warm to the touch, your nipple becomes inverted or the skin changes go see a doctor right away. IBC is not like regular breast cancer. It spreads quickly and often isn't caught in time. Judy, when faced with this awful cancer was honest, and still shared with us. She really truly amazed me.

I was sad when she made her blog private a few years ago, I'm thinking it after she went through her first round of battling the cancer. She wanted to concentrate on her family. But most us that were blogging back then where doing the same. Emotions got to be too much, we had put too much out there - it was there for anyone to see. It wasn't such a small private group anymore, all of our blogs got thousands upon thousands of hits. It was nerve wracking for me too, so I understood. I started parenting my daughter, my second child and everyday life got too much and I had to cut back reading, stop commenting and and pretty much dropped out of the blogoshphere too around that time and made my other blog that talked solely of adoption private. 

I found Judy again recently when a friend posted on Facebook that she was battling the cancer again. I found her on Facebook and reconnected with her again. What a privilege it was to share in this wonderful woman's last year of life. Judy taught me about adoption, about breast cancer, about parenting, about being honest when things are really shitty, about smiling, about being a liberal christian, about planking and so much more. Judy you are amazing. Thank you for all you did for me personally. I'll be praying for Nate and your family this week.

If you want to read Judy's blog it is here, much of the oldest stuff is password protected - but the awesomeness that still remains is all Judy.

Judy, this week I will Just Enjoy Them. I will remember that ultimately everyday there is enjoyment beyond the pain, even when life is shitty I can smile and laugh and remember my Savior's love for me and all He has blessed me with.

Broken in a parking lot

Almost 14 years ago I left my babies in someone else arms and walked away. Today I left my little baby in a clinic adjacent to that hospital and had to drive away. It seemed cruel. It was so much harder letting go off my tiny little baby who had no life inside of it anymore than I would have thought possible. My heart broke as I walked out of that building into that stupid parking lot. The parking lot that is connected to the same one of the hospital where I had to walk away from my twins. Tears flowed. Sobs were stifled. My only thoughts were of my baby, not of my adoption loss. I am so angry. I want my baby back. I can't believe that I had to carry my baby into a clinic and leave it there. It's not fair. It's not right. No mother should have to do that.

My body hurts not only from the trauma of loosing a baby, but from the stress and emotional turmoil that is within it.

I'm just so tired.

Revelations

In the thirteen days since I found out about the loss of our baby I have been truly conflicted. I have gone back and forth on whether or not to have a D&C or to let my body miscarry naturally. I have also had thoughts about how giving up my twins up for adoption relate to loosing this child. I have tried to push all the comparisons out of my head as I have thought they couldn't possibly be related. Standing in the shower today I had a revelation. Maybe others could have seen it clearly but in the midst of my grief I could not - I can't separate my adoption loss with the loss of this child. It is impossible to separate the two. My past loss that has scarred my heart will affect every single loss I feel for the rest of my life. How could I have thought that a loss of a child would not relate to previous loss of children even if it was in a completely different manner? When I allowed myself to connect the two I realized so much. I started crying so hard in that shower that I couldn't breathe. It all made sense finally.

I have asked myself hundreds of times in the past thirteen days why can I not make a decision about how to end this. Why can I not decide to have a D&C and have it all over with? In the light of my previous adoption loss it all becomes clear. Almost fourteen years ago I had to make that horrid decision to let another woman physically take my precious twins from my arms. That decision nearly ended my life. It has caused such pain that continues to this day. How can I make that decision again? How can I expect myself to make a decision that physically removes my baby from my body? I can't do it. I can't let someone take my child from me when I know that even in death this is the only time I will have it with me in my life.

I have been frustrated when anyone asks if and when I am going to have the surgery. It separates me from them and I have this anger and resentment that well up in me. My husband, my family, my friends care about me and want this to be over so I can start healing. In light of my adoption loss I understand why this upsets me so much. It was the same attitude of everyone almost 14 years ago. I had such a difficult pregnancy with my twins; my body suffered horrendously, emotionally I suffered even worse. They all wanted it to be over so that I could start to heal emotionally and physically. I knew even when I was pregnant what they did not - That delivering my precious babies would be the beginning of an emotional journey that would be harder than I could imagine. That healing would not take place for years and that delivering them would emotionally open up such a void in my life that it would never heal. I remember holding my precious tiny twins in the hospital one in each arm, their sweet bodies gently breathing in sleep against my body, knowing that after I handed them to another woman I would never be whole again because they had part of my soul inside each of them. I was right. I have never been whole since. Is loosing this child any different? I may physically heal - but emotionally - it will take forever. I will always carry this child in my heart.

I dreaded the end with my twins. I treasured each kick, each hiccup, each night of pain. I did not care how hard this was on my body I didn't want the end to come. When I went into labor a month early my heart broke. I didn't want to separate from them. In the thirteen days I have had since I knew this child died I have grown closer to it. I have fallen completely in love with it. Is it strange that I am in love with something that is dead inside of me? I know that it's soul is not here but somehow that doesn't matter. It's physical earthly manifestation is still inside of me. I don't want to let go of that. I don't want the end to come.

I don't know why I am okay with my body ending it naturally except for maybe it is the only end that I can not do anything about. It is an end that I have no control over. It is an end that is natural. It is an end that is different than my loss of the twins. I don't want anything to ever look like that loss of them.

Why am I having such a difficult time turning to my God? Fourteen years it was His will that separated me from from my children. This time it was His decision not to let my baby be healthy. I know there is always a reason, but is hard for me to trust Him right now. I keep trying to turn to Him but my heart won't let me. I know though that He is here with me in my sorrow holding me even if I can't turn to Him myself.

I'm relieved to finally realize these things. It doesn't make it easier, but it helps.

Needing to write...

I have no idea if anyone checks my blog any more. I'm not really caring if they do. I just need to write about what is going on in my life and my heart right now. Private journaling is not enough for me at the moment. I need to share these feelings and put them out there in the open even if no one reads them. It's almost as if I am releasing them from my heart and my head when I hit publish and can rest a little easier knowing that I have truly expressed my thoughts as well as I can at the moment.

I am somewhere around ten weeks pregnant, but my baby inside me is gone. I am waiting for the end. I want to write my baby's story out - but it's not done yet.

This grieving process is so difficult. I feel as if I have every right to grieve, but not too hard. I should be okay with this because thousands of women have miscarriages every day. It happens. It is part of being a woman. I feel like I am not unique in my sorrow. Why should this be so difficult if it happens every day to thousands of women? Why should I expect sympathy from others when I never even felt this child move inside of me. The most I got to do was see and hear it's little heart beat and see a little arm that was forming. I will never "see" this child, hold it, or be able to have pictures of it. How can I grieve something that didn't even look human yet? Yet I know it was my baby. I'll have to come back to this... I'm not able to express it well.

There are so many things going on in my head right now. Things that make me feel guilty and hurt. Inappropriate things. Things about God and his purposes. Things about adoption and how loosing a baby in a miscarriage relate and yet don't to it. Guilt over the loss of this child doesn't even compare to the grieving I have with my twins. It is easier for me to know that my child is with Jesus now and a comfort - where I have no comfort like that with my twins. Yet how can I compare living breathing children that I might one day get to meet again in this life with a child that I will never get to meet until I die?

My brain is never still - it goes wildly from one thought to another and I am thankful for the moments of numbness that I experience.

I am trying so hard to rely on God, to turn to Him. For some reason I am finding that I just don't have the strength to fall on my knees. So strange to me that it takes strength to rely on Him through this - strength that I can't seem to muster up.

I feel a little better already. This is cathartic.

i don't know

i often wonder what Jesus thinks of my situation. I wonder if this horrible situation is part of God’s plan to teach me, and possibly my boys something. Maybe I would not be a good influence on my childrens’ lives and that is why things are happening like they are. Would I not be stable enough for them? If I were in their lives, would I somehow do some damage to their psyche? Have I been disobedient in the past and that is why I have been disciplined with this horrible situation I am in? Or maybe this is purely the consequences of my sinful actions of having sex outside of marriage and this is part of the equation that God saw when I sinned.

Or is it something else? Are my boys’ adoptive parents disobeying God? And if they are what are the consequences of their actions going to be? Who is going to hurt most from their failure to obey Him?

Maybe things are as they should be, maybe they aren’t, but it all comes down to the fact that I don’t know.

__________________________

I think the worst part about my relationship with the adoptive parents is not knowing what my role is in their family and what they want or expect me do to fulfill that role. I have only some small guide lines. My only guidelines were set up 12 years ago – Our only form of communication is to be through letters, and when I write I send the letter through the agency. I don’t know what I am allowed to send or what I am allowed to say or if I am allowed to write to the boys or should I write to the boys and more importantly how often I am allowed to write? All are questions I frequently ask myself. Can I tell the boys I miss them, love them, think about them? If I write once a year is that enough or would you like letters more often than that? Do they still want to abide by the no gift rule that we set up 12 years ago, or is a book okay?

I just don’t know.

___________________________

I really hate not knowing so much. I feel like half my life I am wandering around in the dark groping for anything to hang on to. Maybe that is why I hang on so tight to my children. Because they are real and tangible and I have control in some form in my relationship with them. Not the bad kind of control – just the idea that I don’t have to pretend to be something I am not with them and I can define my role as mommy the way I want to.

I’m stalling writing that dang letter even now writing this, because I feel so uncertain of what I should write to 12 year old boys I don’t really know and their parents. I don’t think anyone can blame me either.

________________________________

Most roles in life are defined. Mother, daughter, minister, wife, employee, etc. these are all roles that you can do something with. I find that at least in my life some of the greatest stresses came when one of my roles was unsure. When I wasn’t sure if I wanted to date my husband or not and didn’t know how I felt about him. When I almost gave up becoming a pastor in college. When I wanted the role of mother so badly but could not achieve it and living with the stress of my husband also wanting the role of father. My family had a very difficult time with me transitioning into an adult we fought constantly because they still saw me as a child. Giving up my license as a minister to become a full time mother was exceptionally difficult for me.

For me, knowing and being able to function inside my roles helps me define who I am. Yes, sometimes I like to go outside that role and be someone I am not for a while. For example a couple Sundays ago I got to spend the whole day with my sister. I did not play the role of mommy for hours. I tried on diva-like clothes at a mall and ate Indian food at a restaurant I had not been to before. I was selfish and adventurous in a small way – something that my mommy role would not have let me do. It was fun to go outside my mommy role for a few hours.

But not knowing what my role should be as my twins’ birth mother is very stressful for me. Not knowing what is best for them, what I should be doing, what I am allowed to do, what God would really want in all this . . . well it’s impossible to tell you the stress that having this undefined role causes me.

I hate not knowing. I hate saying ‘I don’t know’ all the time. It is so frustrating that I have been at this for years, and might be at it for many more.

me, and only me

she just doesn't cry, she wails. She wants me. Only me. Annoyed that she is interrupting my hour of peace before I go to bed I put down the laptop and walk down the hall to get her. I look down at her tiny little frame in her crib, she is sitting up looking around for me, only me. And I am no longer annoyed at this small girl. I gently pick her up. I walk the four feet to my king sized bed and snuggle with her underneath the warm down duvet to protect us from the chill that always seems to linger in our room at night. I offer her my breast, but she doesn't want it. She snuggles into me calming down and her sobs turn into whimpers. She squirms a little as if she is too upset to calm herself down even though I responded to her within a minute of her initial cries. As her tiny frame finally conforms to my body, my arms wrap themselves around her to protect her from whatever woke her from her sweet slumber. Her breathing becomes peaceful as my body provides enough warmth to make a cozy spot for her to finally relax in complete surrender. It was me she wanted, not my milk, just me. And in this moment my heart is full. I am a mommy, a real mommy. And this little girl that has melted into me, who needed me and only me proves it. Her complete trust, her feeling safe only in my arms proves it. It is the most wonderful feeling in the entire world to be loved, to be needed, to be wanted like that. Nothing can compare.

There are small moments I feel complete. I feel normal. There are moments that I feel that it is okay to have the love of those two tiny children that call me mommy. That I am worth their love and affection, well maybe not worth, or even worthy, but it is okay that the world has allowed me to be a mother.

In those small moments I try desperately to push anything but my two children that are under our roof out of my mind. No hurt of - I missed this, or I didn't get to do this with them. But sometimes I can't help it, Sometimes my joy is ruined by my loss. And I am angry. Angry at myself, for letting a wonderful moment be ruined by my inability to cope with my past, with my loss. And I tell myself next time I am going to enjoy my children and not let this all consuming sadness that lingers in my heart also consume their childhood. I'm getting better, but as I get better I find myself building a wall against the past, against the pain that I can't seem to face. I build it against those two precious innocent boys that I haven’t seen in 9 years. I find solace in making them into something not so real, because they are so intangible to me that they are almost a dream.

The thought that entered my mind last night that ruined that wonderful moment? "I know that she isn't the kind of mom that would take my boys back to bed with her and snuggle until their sweet tiny bodies surrendered once again to sleep." And it kills me. My children, are they okay without that? The children under my roof need it - they need to be loved like that, need that affection. It hurts so much that my twins might have missed something only I could give them in order to gain something else that I thought was more important than me. Why couldn't God have worked it out so that I could have picked them up in the middle of the night and given them what they needed? Me and only me. Why couldn't I have been the One? Why couldn't I have been their mommy, their everything?
____________________________________

I hope when my sweet little Princess wakes up tonight it is all about her. I just want to be her mommy and Bear's mommy too. Not a mommy that aches with longing arms for something that can never be. Because to the Bear and the Princess I am mommy, me and only me - that is real, that is now and I will continue to endeavor to cherish those moments for the rest of my life without the sadness that seems to haunt them.

not enough ______, too much _________

i haven’t written a good adoption post for a couple months now. There has been a reason for that. I’m avoiding. That and I have too much to say that really can’t be said. That is why I’ve titled this the way I have. I am going to try to attempt to get some of these thoughts out of my head so that maybe I can have a little peace if only for a few hours.

Not enough sleep. I am so tired. The dreams that I have been having are horrible. I dream constantly about Calvin and Hobbies (my new name for my twins). In the last dream I had the birth father got to go visit them. In my dreams about the twins I always get to visit them, or at least see them in varying degrees. And that wakes me up with too much longing, but the horrid part is that those longings don’t go away a couple minutes after I wake up. Those stay with me all day. All week. Sometimes all month. But the problem is that even in my most hopeful moments I know the adoptive parents would never let me have a visit. So that longing will be unfulfilled. I will never see their eleven year old faces in person, only in a photo. Only in my dreams.

Not enough willpower to stay away from the adoption community on the internet. Why do I subject myself to this? Why? When things are said like:

"im an adoptee and im tired of hearing these birthmothers saying how the agencies stole there children i dont belive that one bit i think there just not taking the responsabitires of there actions they chose to give up ther child nobody forced them i think they just dont want the responsabilty of rasing a child so they dump the child on some fool that thinks they should raise a child thats how my adoptive parents made me see it the birrthmom would rather go out and party than change diapers i think a mother that thinks like this shouldnt be aloud to have anymore children after she gives up a child have there rights taken away for once instaed of the adoptees rights."

Now I know I have to take these things with a grain of salt, but there are adoptees out there that feel that way and adoptive parents saying horrid stuff about birth mothers. And it breaks my heart even more. I try to stick to the boards but that isn’t much better. Happy gottcha day, I’m a mommy now (before termination of the birth mom’s rights) posts abound. Let’s not forget the combative adoptive moms that pretend to care (or at least in their own head think that they are being caring, when really they are being condescending). We are talked down to like we are small children, when really I have more education, have lived this longer, and am older then a good portion of them. Honestly they might not see their own insecurities, but they come out loud and clear to anyone remotely trained in the helping profession. I just shake my head as too much frustration builds, and I need to walk away. But I feel like the proverbial dog returning to its vomit when it comes to the boards.

Not enough trust in the public school system. My almost three year old went to school yesterday so he can learn to speak. I almost had too many panic attacks to count. That is a whole post in and of itself that I really don’t want to get into today.

Not enough patience with my children, but too much fear to leave them with someone so that I could get a break. So we are watching way too much t.v. I feel like the worst mom in the world.

Not enough energy to clean my house, but too many good ingredients to waste and so I add to the mess by baking and cooking and leave the mess for my husband. Poor guy. But it has been my only release. At least the poor neglected children and husband are eating well.

Not enough time with my husband. He is working crazy hours as a UPS driver right now. Some days he is gone for 14 hours a day. There has been more than one night he got home close to 10pm. And I am so frustrated because the church he is a part time pastor is at doesn’t understand. It is Christmas time after all! So they are asking for more time from him too. So I am spending too much time alone. I miss my support system.

Not enough guts to write a letter to the Calvin and Hobbes, but getting impatient to send off the letter to the adoptive parents that has been ready for months. I have too much fear about letter writing in general and this time, well I think this might be the death of me.

Not enough money. Too much demand for it. $1,400 is due so that my hubby and I can keep our licenses as ministers. Ya know couldn’t they do it in July? Christmas is such and awful time for these things to be due.

All these things together culminated into what I can only assume is the beginning of an ulcer. Last night I was in so much pain I could barley breathe. I’m not sure what to do about it. I didn’t have my coffee this morning, but that makes me more crabby. I am sore and frustrated about the whole thing. It’s been years since I let things get to me like this. On top of that we are weaning the Bear off his pacifier. Why now Bear’s Mommy? Good question, internet. Good question. Simply my house is such a mess that I couldn’t find one at nap time, and well it was my only option. So Elmo came and took all the Bear’s paci’s for all the poor kids for Christmas when he was at school. It just popped out of my mouth. I think I’ve lost it. Really I have.

So there is my humongous whiny post. I could go on, but I think if you’ve made it this far you get the point. If you made it though than obviously you care so please pray for my sanity, pray for my poor tummy, and pray that I find a constructive way to deal with my stress. Oh and pray that I will have the kahonas to write that darn Christmas letter.

the boys, harry potter, mary jane, & the girls

did you all know that UPS is open on the Saturday that Harry Potter comes out? It’s crazy. They are having a sign up for the drivers if they want to work that day. The management says that it will be a full 8 hour day and all they we will be doing is delivering “The Deathly Hallows” all day long! Holy cow batman! That’s a lot of books. Of course I will also be anxiously awaiting my delivery from UPS or if my husband works that day, for him to get home with my copy.

Little Bear and I quite often frolic in the huge lawn that is outside our apartment. We are very lucky to life in a nice area that is relatively free of crime. Unfortunately, our apartment complex is the one spot in our entire area that is sometimes less than great. For example a couple of months ago around 9pm my hubby and I noticed a police officer with his gun drawn sneaking around the clubhouse. I was a little freaked out about that. I guess the police also think this might be a scary place. Later I found out that someone had just tripped the alarm when going into the workout room. It does make me feel a lot safer though that the police station is only ½ mile away and that they drive through our parking lots quite frequently. Anyhow as we were frolicking the yard I found this:

I thought “We really need to move if this is just randomly growing in our yard.” But after some research on the web I found out that it was just cinquefoil, a little herby-weed. Relief washed over me. Ahhh, I guess I don’t live in ghetto-land.

I’ve been exhausted lately. My princess just isn’t interested in food and at almost 8 months old and that is a really bad thing. She loves nursing and just doesn’t want to eat solids. She is also teething. . . . . Plus after 7 ½ months “she” finally came back. The only good thing about “her” coming back is that I thought I might be pregnant again because I was tired, crabby, etc . . . I was relived I wasn’t. But after more intent research I find “she” is a major reason for nursing woes. I was pumping in order to mix with her food so that she would eat better. Then I actually saw blood coming out with the milk I pumped. The pump went back in the closet – maybe never to come out again. The pain was so intense for a few days that I wanted to cry every time I nursed, but all is getting better. I just plain took a break from trying to feed her. Yesterday I could tell she needed more than just milk so we are going to start the battle again today. Any suggestions about late eaters and how to work with them would be VERY appreciated.

On the adoption front – I GOT A LETTER! Just when I needed one. A few days earlier I cried out to Jesus that I really needed something. I really think He knew and heard my prayer and saw the desperation of my heart. I think he moved her heart to write me. It is the fastest I have ever received a letter back (three ½ months). I am praying that it is the start of really good things for our relationship. I admit that if I am more stable (about contact and my life – or at least appear to be)than maybe their mom will be more willing to write me. I don’t think I have been as stable as they had hoped. Maybe? I know so, and I am ashamed of it. But I am committed to be more consistent with them and maybe just maybe something good will happen . . . at least I can pray in that direction.

Always Afraid

Little Bear is running a temperature today. He has been running one for the last few days. He got his shots one week ago today and is teething. So a temperature of 102 is not completely unexpected. But I can’t seem to get over the fear of loosing him. Right now I have the monitor on to make sure that he doesn’t go into convulsions (something that can happen with the mmr shot) and that he is still breathing.

When Little Bear was a newborn I was terrified of SIDS. In fact it is still habit for me to suddenly wake in the middle of the night alarmed and put my hand on his little back and check his breathing. For over a month he got no more than 15 to 30 minutes of sleep at most, unless I was holding him and then I couldn’t sleep for fear of smothering him. I gave in and put him on his tummy. Exhaustion won out because I thought I was going to die after getting so little sleep. He slept beautifully on his own for the first time. It’s amazing I didn’t get an ulcer from that.

Little Bear sleeps next to me in his crib partly because we are living with my parents (another post for another time) but partly because I am terrified for him be anywhere else besides right next to me. I have never left him in the care of a babysitter. I have only just recently started leaving him with my mom for an hour or two in order to go to the gym. I have even limited my husband from going out unless all conditions are absolutely perfect.

I am ashamed to admit that I have thought horrible thoughts about him dying. Not post-partum thoughts, but thoughts about how he could die so I can prevent it in every possible way. It doesn’t help that my friend’s baby died this summer.

I know deep down what it stems from. I seem to be a text-book case on loss. I am a slightly educated woman and have some background in psychology and counseling. So I know that a woman who experiences a pregnancy loss will have a hard time bonding with that child until she is past the point of the loss. Until the wonderful social worker at my agency gave me a free ultrasound, I had difficult time bonding with Noah. She is young woman who was pregnant herself who I wish she could have been my social worker 10 years ago, but she was probably still in high school then.

So the situation that I am dealing with now is also text-book. When you experience a trauma, that trauma will manifest itself if different ways. If you loose a friend in a car accident you might be afraid of riding in a car for a while. If you get raped you can have a severe distrust of men. If you traumatically loose a child you will be afraid of loosing your child again.

So I maybe text-book, but this is still not easy to deal with.