I have a ton of reading of other people's blogs to catch up on, and several posts in the works, so bear with me as I recover from our whirlwind trip. Who knew that sitting in the car for 43 hours could leave one's entire body sore? Old age, anyone?
Anyway, I had a vivid dream turned nightmare last night. In the three plus years we've been going through this torture, I've had many uber realistic dreams about babies: being pregnant and feeling the baby kick, going into labor, giving birth, nursing, the whole nine yards. I always have a hard time waking up from these dreams, I think because part of me knows that these dreams are probably the closest I'll ever get to experiencing having a baby.
This nightmare was different. We were adopting. We had the cash, the homestudy, and a mother willing to hand her baby over to us. We were in the room in the hospital, watching this woman push out her baby. Our baby. It was worth it, all of it, to get there and know we'd finally be parents. And when the baby was born, we held it (not sure if it was a boy or a girl, so it is the only appropriate pronoun. I guess you can never turn off the English major inside.) We cried. We fell in love. We took it home. We were parents. And then, birth mom changed her mind. The police came and took our baby away. It felt like they ripped my heart right out too. I cried. I woke up crying. I'm crying now (at work no less. I can only hope no one comes in just yet.)My dreams, like my lady parts, have betrayed me.
I hate this shit. I can only hope this depressive state is the result of Aunt Flo's imminent arrival, and not a total mood change triggered by my visit to New York, aka the Land of the Happy Fertiles (more on that later). I've been so happy lately. I'm not ready to send that version of myself packing. Not just yet.