Keeping Perspective

A couple months ago my sister-in-law J told me that she and my brother are expecting baby #4.  She told me before they told anyone else--even the grandparents--because she was concerned about how I would feel.  She was worried that I would be hurt that they are having number four while we are desperately hoping to adopt number two.  I wasn't hurt.  I was excited for them and excited that they live just a few minutes from us so we can be a part of this baby's life.  I appreciated her concern and felt pretty special that I knew about the baby before anyone else in our families.

On Tuesday they had their ultrasound to find out the gender of #4.  (They have two boys and a girl.)  My brother sent me a text that read, "K (their daughter) is officially the last of the Mohicans."  I assured him that K will be fine.  I grew up with three brothers and no sisters and I turned out okay.  He responded with, "If she's anything like her aunt, it will take three brothers to keep her line."  Hey, now!

So after this fun exchange I started thinking about what really had just happened and started to tear up.  No, I wasn't thinking about how wonderful it was that they're having #4 and that wasn't it neat that they had been able to see him.  It hit me afresh that I will never have that experience.  I will never feel a baby growing inside me.  I will never have that "let's find out what kind of baby we're having" ultrasound.  Never.

I couldn't believe how upset I was.  I thought I was past all of that.  I'm okay with our infertility (most of the time) and I love adoption, but it was like a slap in the face, reminding me that I'm different, I'm broken.  I don't get to be in the club.  I didn't feel like B and J were reminding me of this, but our closeness was probably the catalyst for my mini-meltdown.  I love them so much and am so excited for them and feel sad that I will never get to experience the very beginnings of parenthood in the way they do.

I felt pretty sorry for myself for the rest of the day.  I called my husband to tell him the news, cried a lot, and told him I wouldn't be making dinner.  He's so wonderful.  He brought me flowers and ordered dinner.  I kind of just checked out for a while.  I let him do the bedtime routine with Olivia and wallowed a bit.

Then I started remembering that Heavenly Father knows and loves me.  He knows me far better than I know myself and loves me more than I am capable of imagining.  He's given me everything I value (and plenty of things I don't value enough).  He has plans for me.  Big plans.  He has given me the opportunity to be a mother through the miracle of adoption.  He teaches me through my experiences--the good and the tough--and provides me the opportunity to become a better person.  And sometimes I actually remember that.  I think I needed that jolt of awareness this week to help me keep perspective.  I am a daughter of God.  He loves me and wants me to be happy.  That is what I need to remember and focus on--all the time.