I'm going public. I'm just going to throw it out there, so you'll all know. At my age, and with all I've been through concerning bringing life into this world, and seeing how I have the requisite 3 children, I know the expectation is that I'm "done". Finished with bringing up babies. Certainly my husband has said that he's done, which does tend to make me done by default. But in my heart I am so not done. I'm actually coming undone.
I know all the arguments as to why I should be done. They are even good ones. I've tried to come to appreciate all the perks I'm supposed to be so happy about. Everyone sleeps through the night around here now. Everyone uses the toilet. My ass is reasonably firm again. Travel has gotten easier, if not any less expensive. I even have a few hours a day to just do whatever I like. There's room in the car for groceries AND kids. Everyone has their own bedroom. I've tried to savor all of these benefits. But none of them is as lovely as raising another child would be. I could postpone all of those fringe benefits another three years for the joy of having another child to raise.
I know I'm a terrible candidate for having another baby. But that's not the only way to bring another child into our lives. I fantasize about adopting; I dream in Chinese and Russian. I literally had a dream last night about a little Eastern European girl named "Dasha". Over and over I kept saying "Dasha" in my head and when I woke up, I could not forget that thought.
I was just reading a book called "Comfort" by Ann Hood. A gripping memoir about the sudden death of her 5-year-old daughter, I sobbed and nodded the whole way through. Towards the end of the book (spoiler, here), she had endeavored to have another baby, but was not successful conceiving. I had this sense of coincidence building and thought, "Watch. I bet she adopts a little girl from China." Which is just what she did.
I asked Kelly if he would consider adopting. Unsurprisingly, he said no. I cried and cried, though, as if I thought he might just say something totally off-the-wall, like, "Wow! I was JUST thinking that! Lets print off the I-600A right now!" But no. He said no. It wasn't a strident no. But I do think he really just wishes I would get on with my life and stop wanting another child.
I would even do that, if I could just do that. I've tried. It doesn't work. Now I'm starting to feel a little desperate about it, because we really are running short on time. I've even felt I should stop ignoring God and plead with Him, since that's the only shot I have. I try to pray about it, but I get all tangled up in that whole "God's will" issue. I've prayed for a baby before and look at how that ended up.
I think there are people for whom it never works out. They never do wind up with the family they had hoped for. So, why should I be any different? But I hope I am. I hope I am right to still want children. I hope I am right to not be done. I might as well hope because in the end, that is all I have anyway.