Broken

I was watching a show today, where a couple finds out they are expecting.  They go through the moment where the unexpected truth is shocking and unwelcome. But then they realize the beauty of the situation, and share a moment of pure joy. I assume, a joy that can only come from realizing that you and your true love have created a miracle. A little bit of both of you.

If the show were to continue, I am sure they would ask questions like these, "Will it be a girl? Boy? Who will they look more like? Will they act like me, you, or be a perfect mixture of the both of us?"

As I watched,  pain shot through my heart. I thought that the pain of infertility would disappear when we adopted.  It didn't.  I hope to make sense of this and not have anyone misunderstand me.  The pain I feel has nothing to do with Superman.  It has everything to do with me feeling inferior.   My family is complete (until we feel we need to adopt again) and it is beautiful!  I love Superman beyond anything I could have imagined.  I feel that he is part of me and my husband, almost like I knew him before he came here.  So having him be part of our family is not hard, it is miraculous.   Yet, infertility is something totally different.  It's still painful even though our son has found us.

I think this sadness will never go away. It hurts to think that I never got to have that moment of uncertainty in telling my husband we are expecting.  I never got to have the 'pure joy' moment of realizing that I would be bringing a beautiful soul into this world.  I know this sounds stupid, and I'm crying as I write it, but I still feel broken. It comes and goes, and yes it is different than before I became a mommy, but it is still real.  I feel like I am unworthy to have that experience.  I know I am wrong and that my emotions are talking, but it is a real feeling.  Why can't I get over the fact that I haven't been able to carry a child. How come I still feel sad, even though I have this beautiful boy to look after?

I must admit, anytime I look at that handsome face of my newborn, I am never sad.  I've never felt like I missed out when I am holding him. I guess he is my peace.  He gives me comfort and helps me realize that even though I may be 'broken' I am still made for something.

Journaling

I wrote this on Monday August 11. I couldn't post it then. 

I taught a lesson Sunday about journaling.  I never realized the importance of it.  I knew that I should do it.  I should write my thoughts for my children and their children to read.  But why? What if they don't want to read it? What if it is a waste of my time. And to be honest, writing stresses me out.  I worry about what others will think of me and if I use correct grammar or not.  

 Now I realize the importance of record keeping.  It's not only for my children, it's to help me.  I need to find out who I am.  I feel like I am a different person at every stage of my life.  Now that I am a new mother, adoptive mother, I am not sure who I am.  How should I be feeling?  Am I the same as a mother who carried her child? I get the occasional comment that suggests I couldn't understand what a mother feels like, because I didn't carry my son.  Sometimes I want to reach out and slap the person who says it and say, "How stupid are you! Don't you think I would like to understand! Does it matter! How inconsiderate." Then I realize people are just naive. I can't blame them for not understanding my situation.  They haven't been there. But it still hurts to her that. 

To be honest, I am nervous.  I worry that I'm not doing things right.  What does the birth mother think?  Is she happy with her decision?  Am I being the mother she wanted for her child?    She reassures me that I am doing a good job,  but my insecurities come out still. I'm not sure if I feel like 'his' mother yet. Will I ever? 

I am scared.  I am absolutely terrified that I might mess this all up. Sometimes I think that I am not worthy of this wonderful family and to be the mother of Superman.  For the longest time, I thought that I couldn't get pregnant because I must have been doing something wrong.  Why else would God not send a child to us? I don't feel like that now.  It is very clear to me why I needed to experience infertility.  It taught me to understand others.  It taught me to love more and to have compassion where I didn't understand infertility  before. A friend once said, "God cares more about our spiritual growth than our physical." I guess you could say that I grew spiritually as I was feeling physical broken. 

Here are some worries I have. They're probably stupid, irrational worries, but they are there.

 I worry I will ruin my relationship with my husband. I'm not sure why I feel like that. I guess I realize that I have so many weaknesses and sometimes they get the better of me. Jeff is so good.  He may not be the 'Peter Priesthood' type, but he has such a pure heart.  I feel like the sinner in our relationship.

I worry Superman won't love me as much as I love him.  

I worry I won't be willing to  sacrifice what I need to sacrifice at the time I need to.  That probably doesn't make any sense to you.  But it makes sense to me.

I worry I won't be able to help little Superman understand how important God is.  Life is so much better with a solid belief in our father in heaven and our savior Jesus Christ.  I'll have you know that I don't believe in God just because it makes life easier, I have many reasons to believe, but an easier life is an extra perk.

I worry I won't be the mom superman needs.  

I hate to worry and I'm usually not a worry wart  (maybe it comes with being a mommy) but I'm grateful for this time of reflection.  Some thing about writing down my worries helps me realize that things will be okay.

Birth Mom

I am lying in bed and can't stop thinking about my little Superman's birth mommy. I love her more than I think she will ever know.

She is a true friend and now we share a bond that no one else could have. 

Not only do I love her because she gave me an opportunity to be a mother, but I genuinely love and admire her because of her character. 

Here is a list of all the reasons why I love Mama Superman.

1. Brave

2. Spiritual

3. Forgiving

4. Strong willed

5. Intelligent

6. Charitable

7. Funny

8. Beautiful

9. Happy

10. Logical

11. Protective

12. Good energy

13. Friendly

14. Loves to give service

 15. Inspired

The list could go on forever. I hope she knows how wonderful she is too. 

Sacrifice an Blessing

I realized something new. The sacrifices we have to make are replaced with other good experiences. This may be a silly example, but today our extended family wanted to go to a cave. I live for adventure and constantly crave an adrenaline rush no matter how minor it is. So for me to go to a cave, I was beyond excited!  Nature, bats, stalagmites... I'm such a nerd. Not only do I love the rush, but I love the science behind it. 

I had been on the fence with taking Superman. He is still so fragile and only a little over a month old. He has also been fussy lately. I feel terrible when he cries and nothing I can do helps to get his gas bubbles out. So it wasn't surprising that when we got to the cave, I got a sinking feeling that I would not be going and neither would my son. Jeff felt the same way. Except he is more cautious than I so he had been against it from the beginning. It just takes me longer to realize the danger to things.

I was embarrassed to tell the rest of the family, so I made Jeff do it. Of course there was protest and not everyone understood, maybe no one did. But when I get a feeling I have to follow it. I don't know what would have happened, maybe nothing and maybe this was a little test from God to see if I would still listen to the spirit and put my son first instead of my own desires. Who knows, and who cares. The thing that matters is that I have a peace in my heart that wasn't there before.

Now Superman is sleeping in my arms, fast asleep. Dreaming of milk coated  lips and a full belly. And as I look at him I fall more deeply in love. I'm  memorizing his auburn tinted hair with blond roots forming. I'm  memorizing his eyelashes that are just now starting to fill out. I'm memorizing the blood vessels that have created webs over his eyelids. I'm memorizing his tiny hands and how he likes to suck on his first two fingers and then looses them with the twitch of a reflex. I'm memorizing his long fingers and toes, and how his long feet have never fit in the newborn socks. I'm trying to memorize every detail, because I know the days vanish like a magic trick and soon they will be gone.

Maybe the spirit knew nothing would go wrong, but that I need to realize more of the beauty of my son. As that is the experience I need right now. It wasn't a sacrifice, it was a blessing.

Journaling

I can't post my thoughts because my entry is on another device that does not have internet for a few days, but here is a portion of a talk that I read this weekend. Changed my views of journal writing.

Spencer W. Kimball, “The Angels May Quote from It,” New Era, Feb. 2003, 32–35 

Your own journal, like most others, will tell of problems as old as the world and how you dealt with them.

Your journal should contain your true self rather than a picture of you when you are “made up” for a public performance. There is a temptation to paint one’s virtues in rich color and whitewash the vices, but there is also the opposite pitfall of accentuating the negative. Personally I have little respect for anyone who delves into the ugly phases of the life he is portraying, whether it be his own or another’s. The truth should be told, but we should not emphasize the negative. Even a long life full of inspiring experiences can be brought to the dust by one ugly story. Why dwell on that one ugly truth about someone whose life has been largely circumspect?

The good biographer will not depend on passion but on good sense. He will weed out the irrelevant and seek the strong, novel, and interesting. Perhaps we might gain some help from reading Plutarch’s Lives, where he grouped 46 lives in pairs, a Greek and a Roman in each pair. He tried to epitomize the most celebrated parts of their stories rather than to insist upon every slightest detail of them.

Your journal is your autobiography, so it should be kept carefully. You are unique, and there may be incidents in your experience that are more noble and praiseworthy in their way than those recorded in any other life. There may be a flash of illumination here and a story of faithfulness there; you should truthfully record your real self and not what other people may see in you.

Your story should be written now while it is fresh and while the true details are available.

A journal is the literature of superiority. Each individual can become superior in his own humble life.

What could you do better for your children and your children’s children than to record the story of your life, your triumphs over adversity, your recovery after a fall, your progress when all seemed black, your rejoicing when you had finally achieved?

Some of what you write may be humdrum dates and places, but there will also be rich passages that will be quoted by your posterity.

Get a notebook, a journal that will last through all time, and maybe the angels may quote from it for eternity. Begin today and write in it your goings and comings, your deepest thoughts, your achievements and your failures, your associations and your triumphs, your impressions and your testimonies. Remember, the Savior chastised those who failed to record important events.

Miss you like mangos.

I love mangos.  There is no better treat than a ripe mango that is as smooth as butter.  The first time I ever ate a mango was in New York City. It was delicious! I couldn't believe that I had never eaten one before. The next day I bought another one. Couldn't wait to eat it and when I finally did, nothing.  The magic of the mango was just bland, stringy and did not compare at all to the other I had previously.  From then on I went on searches to find the perfect mango.  It was like chasing the dragon. I had to have my mango fix! I eat a lot of mangos now, and i am always on the search for a good mango.

Here are a few things that I love like mangos:
1. My husband.
I miss him every time he is at work. 24 on 24 off stinks! He is a paramedic, and I love that he helps people, but sometimes I just want him to help me.  Be home with me and love me.  He does do that, but it's a sacrifice for me to not have him home at all on some days.

2. My little superman.
He brings my heart so much joy.  I love how he eats and looks like a little milk drunk baby. He is my everything.

3. New York City
I miss their fruit stands, and even the smell of garbage that lingers in all of the alley ways.  I think of New York every time I get a whiff of garbage.  It's weird, but I love it.
I miss it.  I am a country girl.  I was raised on a small farm.  I thought for sure that I would never love New York as much as I loved the mountains ands fields of home.  But it all become home to me, the busy streets, crazy people, warm subways and beautiful parks amongst the asphalt.

4. My home town
We moved my parents to a smaller home. I miss where I grew up.  I drove past the home the other day and the lawn hasn't been mowed, weeds everywhere and yellow patches on the lawn.  I miss the way it used to look.  I loved growing up there.  I loved the fields and e sunsets.  So beautiful.

5. God
He is so good.

6. Family and friends
Many of my friends I consider family, and I consider my family friends.  Isn't that how it should be.

Well, I'm tired and that's all I have for today.

Turkey legs

I had the worst pains of my life yesterday. I once told my husband that period pains are the equivalent of tearing apart limbs. Picture you carving a turkey.  You have carved the white meat and are now ready to work on the dark.  You go for the drumstick first, so you pull and twist until suddenly 'pop'. You have ripped out the drumstick from the socket.  That is how my hips feel when I am cramping.  Constant pressure and twisting pain.  Then add the stomach cramping that comes and goes every 30 seconds and there you have it.  The beauty of being a woman.

The worst part was that I was in so much pain that I couldn't take care of my baby. I tried just dealing with the pain.  That's what moms do right! So I sat in our rocking chair and fed superman.  Then the pain grew.  I had to put him in his crib and lie down. He began crying, he was still hungry. So I got up and went to hold him and nearly passed out.  I thought I had maybe got up too fast, so I sat back down with the heating pad on my hips and tried again. The pain became so severe that I couldn't make it to the crib.  My husband was away, so my sister came to help.  The pain was excruciating.  By far the worst pain I have ever felt in my life.  I honestly thought I would have to go to the ER.  Luckily our neighbors were home and her husband came over to give me a blessing.  A blessing of the sick and afflicted is done by men who have the priesthood of god.  I am a member of the church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Men you are worthy can hold the priesthood, which gives them the authority to act, in the name of god to bless people and to baptize.  I've had many blessings in my life, my father and husband usually perform them, but neither were available. I was lying in bed, had thrown-up 3 times and couldn't take care of my son. I needed a miracle.  When the neighbors came and placed their hands on my head, just like how Christ did it in his day, they blessed me to have peace, be healed, and to sleep.  They also blessed that my son would be alright while I was recovering.  Almost immediately the cramping became less and I was calm.  The wife to one of our neighbors came and rocked my baby until he could feel peace too.  (She has a grandma's touch). Within 15 min. I was able to hold my son and comfort him.  Afterward I fell asleep and woke up with energy and no pain.

I am so grateful for the priesthood of god.  It is a real thing.  I just wish my husband could have been home to help me.  He has to work for 24 hour shifts and then is home for 24 hours.  I just miss him. 

Spiders

Spiders cover
Plastered
Clinging to walls
Spiders hide
Darkened
Webbing across the floor
Spiders wait
Pounce
Spin then devour prey

Okay, so I am not a good poet, but I tried.  And I don't have to care what ya'll think of it so that's that.

Can you tell spiders have been on my mind.  Last night I killed 11 Hobo spiders.  Yes their bites can cause harm to humans.  They are huge and, well, disgusting.  I couldn't even pick them up after smashing them with my shoe.  I used to be brave, but I'm done pretending.  I hate them.

Zombie to Superman

Have you ever been so tired that you really question if you are a zombie or not.  I mean really think that the normal life is a dream and that you are a living-dead person, with no brain?  I have that many times when I wake up with my son to feed him.  He is only a few weeks old and I know he has to eat.  I expect to wake up every few hours, yet that knowledge doesn't make it any easier to stop a REM cycle.

I really like my sleep, but I love zombie land.  I love the noises he makes when he is eating and the unnatural kicks he can't control as he is trying to fall back asleep.  To think I may not have been his mommy.  

Yesterday, an adoption group stopped by to congratulate us. They gave us a gift.  In it was a onsie.  It had the superman logo on it and said, "Superman Was Adopted Too!" Not only is Clark Kent a hottie, he has one of the best adoption stories ever! Everyone wanted him.  His birth family sent him to earth for his safety. Of course they wanted to raise him, and if they could have they would have done a superb job.   Unfortunately their world was in shambles.  They couldn't raise him and keep him safe, so they loved him enough to realize that they no longer could provide for him in the world they lived in.  They made the hardest decision of their lives, and sent him to earth.  They sacrificed everything to keep him alive.  The love his parents had for their son was pure and everlasting, and never went away.

Then the adoptive parents of Clark came into his life.  It was sudden and unexpected.  I imagine a bit scary too.  They became Mom and Dad to him.  They provided what they could to help him reach his potential.  They didn't care that he was different from them or had special powers from his birth family.  They loved him unconditional and sacrificed their lives for him in a variety of ways. He was their son, no question about it.

My son is a Superman.  Everyone wanted him. Everyone loved him, but he was placed because this was the safest place for him. It was sudden, unexpected and at some points ... scary.  I wonder if his genetics, or his environment was what made superman a hero.  I like to think that it was both.

From zombies to superman, now that's an entry. 

Ps I write this as I sit next to my son's crib while he falls asleep.  A little here and a little there, and now I am done.