Out of sorts

I've been out of sorts lately, and I think I have narrowed down the issue that seems to be at the heart of it... something that is at the heart of most of my inner demons. This post is going to be somewhat of a stream of conscience... ramblings even... feel free to move on to something more interesting (so I don't loose all credibility)! And while I haven't used this blog lately as a therapy tool, that is why I created it... so here goes...

If you read the side bar or title atop you will see that our children came to our family through the vessel of adoption. They were adopted through Child Protective Services (well, through a private agency that places children that are in the foster care program... but that is neither here nor there). And while they were still very young when we brought them home, they do have a past and at the moment Bobcat does have recollections of life before us (thankfully they seem to only pertain to his foster home which was a loving environment).

That last paragraph will play a role in later aspects of this post... but I'm jumping somewhere else with this now... I warned you that this could be complicated. Flash forward to the last few months.

Unpredictable emotional moments started rearing there head around Father's day (while it had nothing to do with Father's day... that's just when it decided to come out). And since then I'm never quite sure what might set me off... and to be honest it usually doesn't make sense, while I know that, that doesn't change the fact that it still happens. Take for instance, I lost my marbles talking with Daddio about Bubba's schooling and how I thought he was doing... water works big time, and it really took Daddio by surprise because I hadn't mentioned being worried before... because when I'm in my right mind I'm not at all worried about him, just when the freaky brain shows up... that's when the self doubt seems to show up. There have been other times, too, but again to silly and made no sense... and I don't want to embarrass myself anymore than I already have.

Keep moving forward to this past weekend. Daddio brought up the boys' foster mom, and what I thought about them possibly seeing her. Come the first week of August it will be our 3 year anniversary with the boys, and 3 years since they saw her.

• She had them for nearly 2 years and was very attached to them as were they with her. They called her mom and everything. She had considered keeping them when the parental rights were terminated, but later decided they needed to be in household that had a father and that was something she couldn't provide for them. Anyway, while she (FM) wanted to have some sort of on going relationship with the boys, we with the help of our social worker and agency ultimately decided that while it would be nice for her it would not help the boys in the bonding process. FM has honored our request, and in return we send her a Christmas card with a letter from Daddio and I where we share about the boys and send pictures. We truly appreciate what she did for them, and feel like we owe her something.

Just Daddio bringing her up, started my emotional wheels a' turnin'! Before I knew it, the tears had shown up and I was having a hard time talking about this very serious issue... let alone making case for what would be best for the boys. Ultimately we decided (again) that we are still having some issues with appropriate boundaries with the way boys attach to others, and we feel that reintroducing her to them will only complicate the situation. And at the same time, the relationship between Bobcat, Bubba, and I is still very fragile (in the sense that I am not more important than any other woman they know, yet). So FM is a threat to me... that is really the only way I can think of phrasing it, even if it sounds somewhat harsh... that is simply how it is. This isn't the case with Snookie, he was not even two when we got them and attached and bonded to me right away...

Over the last several months several friends (some close, some not) have become pregnant... and while I am very happy for them, there are times when I my brain is very happy for someone else, and my heart is in mourning.

What's that phrase... What's the best way to get God laughing, MAKE A PLAN! I guess that is my problem. I'm a planner through and through. I find comfort in creating a plan and following it... I am usually scared, unsure of myself, and awkward when I don't have a plan... and usually am crushed when things don't go as planned, because I find failure in that. So what does that have to do with adoption and/or pregnancy... well Daddio and I knew that we wanted a big family, and just a few months before our wedding I was told about my condition (PCOS and then later also endometriosis). This was a crushing blow, but they said I was still young and could probably achieve pregnancy pretty soon. Three + years later we filed for adoption classes... that was enough waiting for us. But I had failed... three + years of trying, a few doctors, a laporoscopy, meds to correct some of the issues... I failed. So we came up with a new plan, adoption. We looked into the different ways, and finally decided on the route we would go... and 8 months later we had three brothers.

So here we are nearly 3 years from the anniversary of the boys coming home (and nearly 7 years of wanting to achieve pregnancy), and I still struggle with being infertile. I would say that the majority of the time, to my peers, I appear normal and happy. And I am, really. I love my husband... and I love my children, and we have a great life. Shoot during the day I'm fine... we're busy and I don't have time to think about hardly anything. It's when I'm tired, when I'm not the sole parent in the house, when my thoughts take over... that is when trouble lurks.

What's the trouble... the trouble is the baby shower invitation, it is the dear friends who are glowing, it is all the lovely ladies at church with all the little ducklings following behind with one on board. It is in my moments of weakness when the graces of peace and patience are well beyond my grasp. It is in the moments of sheer painful effort to show happiness for others, and in the moments of complete isolation.

The cause of my troubles... infertility... having all the wrong hormones in the wrong amounts and at the wrong times. And holding onto something that was a little girl's fantasy.

Daddio... there you have it... you knew something was up, and you knew it wasn't about what ever I said it was... I just figured it out myself.