Isn't it funny how grief never really seems to go away, but lingers like a bad cold? Lately I've been focusing on the day to day of being a mother and trying to read up on topics such as discipline and feeding. Still, I woke up today feeling bummed out. Maybe it was the book I read about adoption last night. Or maybe it was just because of the holidays. Whatever the reason, I felt an aching combination of disappointment and resentment. The disappointment was for what I thought my family would be like. After all, few people dream of one day being adoptive parents. I dreamed of expanding bellies and maternity clothes and waddling around town. I definitely envisioned it when I called our families to announce we were expecting, only to have to call them back to say we were not. And then do it all over again. I enjoyed, for a short time, the process of watching what my body was doing and how it was changing. It amazed me that I spent my whole life abhorring pickles and then, overnight, they became quite tasty. (And still are...even a short pregnancy changes your body) It was exciting hearing my husband talk about imagining what I would look like at eight months. That round, fruitful belly is an outward reminder of the baby to come. People smile knowingly, mothers with children seek you out, strangers ask you how you are feeling. Unless I find ways to fit it in a conversation (and I do, of course), no one would guess I was expecting. During pregnancy, you have a certain amount of time to transition your life from child-free to child-full. I feel like with adoption, there is zero time. You wait and wait and wait but there is only so much that can be done before things go into over drive. We have to wait for money and wait to fill out papers and wait for referral letters to come in. I can't even start buying a cute layette because I have no idea how old or how many children will come to us. We did receive a crib from a friend, which we love...now I wonder if we will need another or if we will need a toddler bed. Too bad we don't know and we won't know for a while. It is just harder to maintain the buzz of anticipation at this point of the process. 

The resentment is for feeling that me and my family are been cheated. Tadd and I try to be good people, good friends and good citizens. We stay out of jail, pay our bills, obey signs and warning labels. We are fun and funny and make a point to be friendly. We were careful to pick a good neighborhood and a nice home to raise children in. We even work comfortable, not glamorous, jobs to support our family. All this time we were doing the "right thing" and what was our reward? On top of a "swell" auto-immune disease, I get to add "barren" to my medical folder. Well, whoopee-freaking-do! Don't forget to add on the unspoken rule of society that pregnancy and childbirth are rites of passage for mothers. Sure, you can do all sorts of sweet things as your children grow, but when you deliver a newborn, then you really "earn" your stripes regardless of what happens after.

The truth is, I've known for quite some time that life is not fair. Sometimes bad things happen to good people and doing what you are "supposed" to do does not guarantee a fairy tale ending. Disappointment and I have a long history together. This time is different, because this time it trickles down to my kids. Am I going to get enough time switch to motherhood? Are my precious babies going to feel "second rate" because their Mommy doesn't know what it felt like to have them kicking in her womb? Will people snub us because I can't share war stories about vomiting, sore nipples, and stretch marks? Will others be so focused on feeling sorry for us that they fail to notice the miracle of a family finding each other?

Perhaps all of this is just my own insecurity of feeling left out of an elite club.  Who knows? I just don't want my babies to ever, EVER feel like they are a step below other kids just because they are adopted. I don't want to be treated like a "pretend" Mommy since the "real" mother is unavailable. I never liked being an understudy. All I want is to enjoy this journey for what it is...another path to our family. The elite "Pregnancy Club" has every right to celebrate their war stories. They've earned them, after all. And I will have earned mine, when all is said and done. It just takes time to realize the "stripes"  I earn are legitimate, albeit different.