I have a dream

What is it with parenting? You spend the first six years married without children, then you have the "one," raise him for six years before you realize that you're turning him into a little Emperor and that this can't be good for mankind, so you decide to bring number "two" into the mix to teach number "one" how to care and share. So what's the matter? Nothing. The baby is adapting very well and thriving and we feel very lucky that Jack is, more often than not, always pleased to see her -- but I can't say that it's been a walk in the park. On the best of days, I go to bed feeling like I'm a productive member of society raising healthy well-adjusted children. On the worst of days, I feel like I'm losing my mind, my autonomy, and staring into a pit of despair, raising children who will end up in therapy the minute they leave the house because their mother is whack. This could very well be the onset of menopause (gulp).

I feel like my brain has shrunk since Makena arrived into my life. I feel distracted and it takes super-human concentration to remember the simplest of tasks. My husband thinks that a black hole has formed inside my head and that it is slowly sucking up any remaining ounces of logical thought I have. The size of said matter so monumental that it has its own weather pattern. Normally, I would take offense, but I just thought that his analogy was so funny and biting, that I've decided to own it.

Are children contagious? Does having one make you want to have two? Does having two make you want to have three? I had a dream recently that woke me up and kept me awake for the rest of the night because it felt so real. It actually scared me because I knew that I couldn't keep it to myself and I also knew that sharing it would spew chaos into our delicate family ecosystem. So what was this monumental revelation? I dreamt that the director of our agency had called me personally to tell me that he wanted to place a teenage girl into our family. My heart leapt, I was so shocked and excited by how real it all felt. I don't know if it was the thought of being mother to another child or the fact that I could contemplate it without having to change more diapers or schedule feedings and naps, but it made me really emotional. I also knew, before I even woke up, that sharing this dream with my resident astronomer was going to be like having to navigate a minefield on the way to a 75% off Barney's warehouse sale -- very risky.

I just couldn't let good enough alone. I just had to "casually" mention this dream to my husband. I laughed, making light of it, I even dragged Jack into it by volunteering that he wouldn't mind having another sibling (he wants one) and, boy, was that NOT the way to go about it. Mentioning a number "three" at breakfast when we were trying to recover from a sleepless night with number "two" wasn't the best time to bring the subject up. Damn that black hole!

My husband dropped the sports page and stared at me for a long moment -- probably wondering which institution he was going to park me in -- and then he told me (without blinking) that he was done having children and that I could adopt as many of them as I wanted with my next husband. Conversation over. I felt like a meteor exploding upon entry into earth's atmosphere.

Nice. So I stewed, annoyed, wondering if I was just taunting him with it for argument's sake (which I may or may not have a habit of doing sometimes) and not at all serious about it, or if I was now determined to latch onto the idea of a Chinese teenage daughter because he hadn't expressed any interest or curiosity in my dream. I called my girlfriend (the one whose coat tails we rode through the adoption process) and I invited myself over with Mak and Jack so that they could play with her kids and because she had mentioned wanting a number "three," too, and had also been told "no."

Since we had so much in common, I asked her for a "teenage Chinese daughter adoption dream" intervention. I wanted to find out from her how she had gotten over it. Well, first things off, she hadn't, so the intervention was already on shaky grounds. But she did let me talk and she tried to help me analyze what it all meant. Initial diagnosis: sleep deprivation. Then we started wondering whether adoption could be addicting. We even hypothesized how long it would take to get divorced, lose ten pounds, find someone worthy enough to start dating again, get married and then convince number "two" husband to adopt a teenage daughter and the numbers just didn't add up. First,I'd be seventy by the time this could theoretically work out. Second, I love my husband, he is a wonderful dad (whose only flaw happens to be a lack of sharing when it comes to the television remote control) we have a great life together and why would I want to risk losing it all? Third, and more importantly, I realized that the dark hole in my brain had not sucked up all the logic because I came to these conclusions on my own (ok, maybe I had a little help)!

Ha! Just laughing about it diffused the whole situation. An enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders and I almost felt normal on the drive home. And ever since then, I have been more productive and organized than I have been in months. Which really isn't saying much, but it is progress.

So where are things now? Well, I have earmarked our donations for the Big Sisters program at Half The Sky (see link) and I feel better knowing that by sponsoring some of the older girls who still haven't been adopted, that I might be helping them realize some of their dreams of getting a higher education, even if I can't be their mom.

Isabelle
Who can't post pictures because she seems to have misplaced her camera charger...so much for being organized.