Because I'm Not Funny At Alllll ...and I'm Not Even Kidding

I'd like to write about something else. Really I would.

I've written and deleted about six posts just this morning because I cannot seem to adequately think about anything else until I get this out of my system. I was hoping it would pass because I'm just so tired of THINKING ABOUT THIS and TALKING ABOUT IT. Maybe if I write about it, my brain will let me move on. To write again about the real estate market and my cats and Doritos.

Something is bearing down on me and I am hurtling towards it.

Time's Up.

Time is not your friend when you're infertile/barren/broke/almost 30. Every year is another year passed without the desired result (HINT: It rhymes with "paby").

In case you've forgotten why I can't have a "paby", I've added a highly scientific and incredibly accurate depiction of my predicament.




A few things worth mentioning:

1. My daughter is a blessing and I am eternally grateful for her creation and the healthy outcome.

2. It is no one's responsibility or obligation to fulfill me or make my life complete.

3. I could live the rest of my life without having another child and be okay with that IF THIS WERE ABOUT ME. Which it is not.

At this rate, I will be lucky if Savannah is seven years old by the time we have another child. And I want this desperately for her. All for her. Every day of my life is filled with endless questions about what kids she's going to be able to see, who can she play with, who's home from school. EVERY DAY. ALL DAY. This bears repeating so that you UNDERSTAND: EVERY DAY. ALL DAY.

How often, you ask? EVERY DAY. ALL DAY.

The child needs a playmate. She needs a little person to be her constant companion. I don't care if they fight all day long, at least they'll be BUSY. My heart BREAKS when she cries that she's bored, when she comes streaking down the stairs at the sound of children's laughter outside. When we finish a game together and she's immediately crying for a friend to play with. A friend that isn't me. "A little friend" like her. I want to give her this more than anything in the whole world.

I used to think that an unhappy only child was only a state of mind and that I could occupy her brain and keep her entertained. I thought that only children could experience days full of joy if they had the right parents. I thought that love would make up for what she was lacking in a brother or sister.

I was wrong.

My child needs a sibling. More than any other child I've ever seen. She needs a lifelong friend. She is CRYING for a lifelong friend. And I cannot give it to her. (Take knife. Insert into HEART.)

When Savannah was younger I was constantly being asked if I'd like to have another. ("Oh, no thanks! I'm already drunk enough!" HA!). I knew we would figure it all out when the time came. As I've mentioned before, the "time came" when Savannah was two years old and we starting "figuring it out".

Here, in chronological order, is how it went down:

1. Start looking into Domestic Adoption. Have total mental breakdown in front of the computer upon realization that we cannot compete with the other prospective adoptive parents and their perfect lives (Multiple homes? Check. Two SUV's? Check. Rolling green lawn? Check. Pictures of Aspen ski vacations? Check. Rambling, worshipful, vacant birth mother letter? Check. Bottomless bank account? Check. Desperate eyes? Check, check, check.).

2. Consider chucking it all to the wind, having Chris's Clip N' Snip reversed, getting pregnant the old fashioned way and seeing where the old Wheel O'Tragedy takes us: Will it be Premature Baby with Lifelong Developmental Problems? Premature Baby with Limited Problems? Premature Baby with No Problems (Already have one of those! Matching Set! Awesome!)? Dead Baby? Unhealthy Baby Who Dies Later? Healthy Baby, Disabled Mom? Healthy Baby, Dead Mom? Dead Baby, Dead Mom, Motherless Daughter, Widowed Husband? Oh, the fun we had deciding!

Decide risks are too much for me to get pregnant again. More crying.

3. Research International Adoption. Focus on Russia. Begin preliminary paperwork with Russian Adoption Agency. Read Every Single Book on Russian Adoption. Feel slightly disconcerted with talk of "shakedowns" and "payoffs" and "holding hostage" and "geo-political hostilities". Which, I should add, doesn't seem to be describing her experience, thankfully.

4. Run out of money. Put off adoption process.

5. Research Ethiopia Adoption. Still without money to actually do anything about it. More crying.

6. Receive offer from family member to Surrogate. Disbelief. Because: Offering Your Womb. My God. Something I would never be willing to do myself. Also? Because I know she's reading... I completely understand if she decides it is all a bit much for her.

7. No money for that either right now. Wait. Gnash teeth. Avoid babies. Finally cancel subscription to American Baby. Briefly ponder whether anyone has ever subscribed to a parenting magazine while pregnant and then miscarried. Can she bring herself to cancel the subscription? Does she cry like I do?

7a. Start drinking heavily and only child blurs into two. Problem solved!

I just don't see any way out of this. I can't foresee having a baby in my arms for a very, very long time. I CAN foresee NEVER having a baby in my arms again.

I feel like our family has been cut short.

I feel like I've been packed and ready for a trip around the world for the last three years and am still waiting at the airport. And everybody's saying "Why don't you just go home, Lena? There is no trip. It's all in your head. Why don't you just move on?".

And I'm saying "Because I don't believe that. Because the next plane may be mine. And I don't want to miss it.". And I keep waiting. And everyone else boards their flights and leaves.

And I'm still sitting here with my luggage around me. Looking out the windows at the sky. Waiting. And I'm afraid I may die here.

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