Masochism 101

Why do I do these things to myself?

Every month about this time I get all worked up about adoption. I suspect that this is a hormone thing -- the last, frustrated gasp of my aging ovaries as they realize that they have once more been thwarted by Captain Vasectomy. There will be NO BABY this month. Or any month.

Not that even the tiniest corner of my being wants to go through another pregnancy and delivery, which for me means c-section. No thanks. But my baby, my real, live, refusing- to- be- potty-trained baby has all of a sudden grown so tall and gotten so heavy, that her babyness seems in danger of evaporating all together.

Adoption, as a topic, is not new in our house. I actually had a little article tucked away in a drawer from before I was married, when I vowed to adopt if for some reason I never met Mr. Right. Then, when baby number one proved harder to conceive than we'd thought and we were told that I had some "issues" which might prevent me from either conceiving or carrying to term, we never hesitated. In fact, the morning I realized I might actually be pregnant I was on the verge of calling an adoption agency to get the ball rolling. Little did I know that the ball had already dropped (or the rabbit died, or however you want to phrase it). Again, after our second child was born, we considered adopting at that point, but we got a little sloppy with our birth control and that was that.

Or so we thought.

This desire to adopt, for me at least, has never really gone away. It went dormant for a long time as we struggled to adapt to a third child, but in the last 6 months it's come back with a vengeance and I can't seem to shake it. Over the years my vision for adoption has changed. I no longer really want an infant. In fact, I'm no longer sure I even want a child under 2, though I could probably be talked into one.

I am on a couple of waiting child groups and lists and occasionally get emails about children who need homes and each time my heart breaks a little for all the kids (so, so many) who need families. Once in a while a child just tugs at my heartstrings and I find myself really anxious over his or her future. Sometimes it's a little one, but lately it's been older kids -- 6, 7, 8 years old -- whose ability to find families dwindles every day because of their age. And while the little girls always make me smile, I find I worry more about the boys, who are less likely to find homes because they're boys. Sometimes kids get under my skin to the point that I wake up in the night to pray for them because I can find no other way to relieve my anxiety.

What I should do is take myself off these lists. My husband seems no closer to embarking on this process, and with the economy as it is, it's unlikely we'll ever have a spare $20grand lying around. Then, too, there's the issue of how we'd really cope with another child. It took us forever to be able to cope with a 3rd -- heck, she still derails us at least once a week -- could we really manage our life with a 4th? And one who came with whatever baggage derives from orphanage life? One who probably speaks no English? And would disrupt our birth order? I must be crazy even to think about taking this on.

And yet....and yet I am once again smitten with a picture. A little boy in China with a repaired heart defect who is all of 6 years old. Much older than I ever thought possible for us in an adoption scenario. Right now I'm just praying for him, because that's all I can do. But oh how I am asking God for a family for him. He's so cute, so handsome, and he made a face for his photo just like my son makes; that face that says "I may be cute, but I am about to get up to some serious mischief!" He is breaking my heart.

Damn these hormones.