Ugh. I'm just so d#$% sad, and I can't shake it. I know it's some combination of AF, next week's holiday, all the kid-birthday-party-weekends we've had recently, all that jazz. Our anniversary is in a few days -- we're just close enough (12 months and 3 days, not that I'm counting) to kind of get the adoption ball rolling, but not close enough to really do any paperwork. Deciding on a country? A lot can happen in a year. The foster thing, so far, isn't working out, because not enough people in our county were interested.
I've had 2 pieces of some awesome chocolate cake @ my m-i-l's for lunch, and 2 scoops of B&J's chocolate fudge ice cream, and I still managed to get tears in my eyes on the way home. I want to cry... I want to just lay down and have a good, hard cry, like I used to have before all this if-crap started. Oh, I was a crier in elementary and high school, and somewhat in college. Then over the years, something has happened through if-land. I now react in one of a few ways... I zone out, just staring into space and ignoring everything around... I bite my lip until I practically (hey, sometimes literally, okay?) run to the restroom, where I stay until either everyone leaves, or I get angry and force myself to calm down, find my happy place, and just deal with it until I can be alone.... Or I run away -- run(literally) home from the church during a shower, disappear out a back or side door, slip away to my car and quietly leave.... Or I shut down any and all emotion, get really quiet, attempt to brave a smile when needed, and promise myself I can cry later, when it's more convenient. All very good, healthy coping mechanisms, huh? (NOT!!!!!) It seems that I have now made it to a point where somehow, "later when it is more convenient" never comes, because by the time "later" arrives, I've basically just went into shut-down mode.
Looking ahead to next week's Sunday School lesson... It's on Hannah, focusing on the vow she made to God -- that she would give her son back to God, if only He would allow her to bare a son. My mind immediately goes to Hannah, focusing on how she was so deep in her grief, that the men thought she was drunk as she prayed and begged God to bless her with a son. Why don't I let people see my emotions more often? I'm tired of giving these flippant answers and excuses when asked why we haven't started trying to have kids, or when we're going to start a family, etc. Why, instead of "We're just not ready yet," can't I say "Well, that's not really happening so easily for us!" Or instead of "I'm too busy playing with 6 niece/nephews to have my own," couldn't I say "I keep myself busy with these awesome kiddos, because we can't have our own, and we can't adopt for another year." When I'm asked why I quit singing in the choir, instead of "I just needed a break," can I not say "It just hurts too much to look out and see all the families and little kids sometimes." It would be a perfect opportunity to open up and share about our struggles and our plans to adopt, during this lesson next week, but will I instead find myself staying at home avoiding it, or running to the bathroom or running back home?