Thank You

Thank you all for your kindness and words of support. We are doing okay.

If it was just me going through this, I think I could accept that maybe I’m just not meant to be a mom. I’d love to be a mom, I want desperately to be a mom, but I could understand that somehow maybe I’ve done something in my life to tick God off enough to make him say, “I’ll show her – she doesn’t deserve children.” (I think I’ve mentioned in a previous post that my faith has been suffering a bit lately.)

That’s not to say I’m an axe murderer in real life. Actually, my wild side could be described as “beyond dull” – a cigarette has never touched my lips, R is the only guy who’s ever seen me naked, I’ve never been drunk. (Though I did get a bit tipsy one time several months back when I forgot you’re not supposed to mix Metformin with alcohol and had a rather strong pina colada at a party.) But for all my boringness, I’m certainly far from perfect, and it’s hard not to feel like I must have done something, said something, thought something at some point along the way to make God very, very angry with me.

Except that there’s R. He is my other half, definitely my better half. There is no question that we are meant to be together. And there is also no question in my mind, not even a teeny, tiny little shadow of a shred of a doubt, that he is meant to be a dad and that he will be a fantastic dad.

So, because of that, somehow I will pick myself up, dust myself off and keep going. He deserves to be a dad, and knowing that all the way deep into my bones is what keeps me moving forward every time we get smacked back down.

This weekend, while I was at a training session for work, I called him to see how his day was going. He was at home, baking carob brownies for our dogs from a mix that he had bought them as one of their Christmas presents.

What I just can’t understand is how there are thousands of men sitting in prisons across this country because they beat their kid, shot their kid, raped their kid, strangled their kid, and then here is a man who 1) buys Christmas presents for his pets and 2) BAKES. THEM. BROWNIES and yet God or the universe or some sick, cruel, sadistic version of fate keeps dangling parenthood in front of him/us and then yanks it out of reach. Again.

Apparently I’m still in the “anger” phase of the grieving process.