So, last week I threw myself a 2 day - o.k. - a 3 day long pity party! And since it was MY pity party I decided I could cry if I wanted too! Which I did - great, big, fat, wet crocodile tears. (Yvan was not happy to be a part of this party let me tell you!)
Let me explain myself here - last week our adoption community saw some long-time-coming referrals (YAAAAAAAAA Rhonda). With the knowledge that referrals are soon going to be a reality, comes the excitement.
Excitement that builds itself over a span of - hmmmmm...lets say about a week or so. There is a frenzy that starts at the tips of your toes and builds itself up to the top of your head - it's as if you are humming with electricity (seriously I could power a small town with my excitement). Even though you know it won't be your turn for the much anticipated phone call there is always that little nagging voice in the back of your head saying "maybe it WILL be your turn" and while you try to ignore that wee little voice it soon overpowers you and you start to believe that your turn will come NOW.
So, you check blogs incessantly, you stay logged into the message board for hours on end hitting the refresh button (right Ricki) over and over again hoping a new thread will pop up announcing the arrival of a referral. You tell yourself you will walk away from the computer and won't check it anymore and before you know it you are back sitting at the computer going thru the whole process again.
Every time the phone rings you jump so high you could win an Olympic Gold medal for high jump from a seated position. Then it happens, families start to post of their joyous news - they have gotten "THE CALL" and are parents. You are excited, exhilarated, happy, thrilled and relieved because it happens, it really does happen. You do a little happy dance! You wait for the phone to ring because maybe, just maybe you will get a call too. It doesn't ring.
Of course it doesn't, it is not your turn yet. Reality sinks in. Panic takes the place of excitement. Has our agency forgotten about us? Is something wrong with our file? Has our dossier gotten lost? Fallen behind a desk? Accidentally been filed in the wrong spot?
Sadness starts to creep in - the emotions of the week take over and before you know it you are sobbing. Sobbing like you have never sobbed before - sobbing the big, fat, wet crocodile tears I mentioned earlier.
You turn to your husband and between sobs ask "When will it be OUR turn?". Hugging you tightly he says, "When the time is right, sweetie, when the time is right." You know he is right but still it hurts. Hurts like no pain you have ever experienced.
And then the pity party festivities commence. You feel as though you CAN NOT continue on with the adoption for one more day. You are convinced it will never happen. You will never be a mother, you will never have children running around your home. You feel destitute, lost, and as though every single breath is a struggle. You start to consider how now would be a good time to book a ticket to the south pole to live among the penguins. Seriously, you consider it.
You mope - around the office, your house, your friends, family and co-workers - feeling sorry for yourself! You cry at the most inconvenient times, you sob in your breakfast, lunch and dinner. There could be no greater sorrow in the world then the one you are feeling at this exact moment.
Then the love starts to come to you - friends send flowers :) emails of support :) and call to see if you are o.k. (even when they are celebrating the best time in their life they remember how they felt when in your spot). Your husband tells you over and over again how much he loves you and how you will be the best momma in the whole world.
Ever-so-slowly the nagging voice in your head starts to disappear and a new one takes it place calmly telling you that you can do it, you can make it, it WILL happen. You start to take deep breaths - in with the good, out with the bad - you can make it thru this, you are strong enough, good things do happen. You remind yourself that life is really pretty good and to stop being so selfish.
You know this won't be the last time you feel this way - there is still a bumpy road ahead, more pity parties to be had. You will still have days of doubt and sadness. The only thing that will really cure this ailment is the call telling you there is a baby for you.
So, I had my pity party - I cried my great, big, fat, wet crocodile tears and I feel better for it. I can't keep all that emotion inside of me - I need to release it. Yvan held me tight and let me cry and then told me it was time move on.
I am strong, I am weak, I am human.