It’s Hard.

I feel like we’re at a stand still. Baby Boy has been legally ours for a month, and we sitll don’t have the documents in hand needed to take the next step. I think sometimes the frustration and heartache leave me torn between wanting to talk about adoption all the time, and not wanting to talk about it at all. It sort of makes me want to hole up until he’s home — only leaving the house for my Thursday morning coffee with other adoptive moms. It’s just hard to be and feel normal because being apart from your baby is hard and I’m distracted and emotional.

It’s hard for me to listen to a fellow mom complain about  how her baby kept her up all night, when I would give anything to have my baby keep me up all night (which I guess he sort of is since I am often up all night worrying about him!). It’s hard for me to listen to other moms updates of their babies weights and heights when my son weighs almost half of what my daughter weighed at his age because he is suffering from malnutrition, despite the fact that we’ve spent a small fortune trying to get formula to him at his orphanage. It’s hard for me to see what new milestone a friend’s little one has reached when I have no idea what milestones mine has reached because I have yet to meet him. It’s hard reading the Facebook debates about childhood vaccines when I read other posts from my friends adopting from Congo who have lost their children to the likes of chicken pox.

It’s not that I’m not happy that your baby is in the thirtieth percentile or that he’s finally learning to crawl. It’s not that I don’t think it’s great that you want to research all the options for your baby so you can make an informed decision. It’s just that it’s hard. It’s hard for me to relate right now, to sympathize, to…well…to keep it together.

I look forward to the day when I can brag about Baby Boy actually being on the growth chart or show everyone his new tricks. Until then, don’t mind me if I need to have a little (okay, gigantic) sob fest at my adoption support group because my son had malaria. Please try to  understand if it’s just too hard for me to hold your brand new baby because it reminds me of how I missed the opportunity to hold my baby when he was brand new. Please don’t hold it against me if I turn down a girls night in favor of prowling the Internet for news about Goma or watching a educational DVD about how the loss and grief my six month old has endured is going to affect him for the rest of his life. It’s just where I’m at right now. I won’t always be the crazy, erratic, sleep deprived mother waiting for my son to come home — pretty soon I’ll be the crazy, erratic, sleep deprived mother-of-two complaining about how my little boy kept me up all night.


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