Yesterday, I blogged about how, in being "forced" by my husband to donate or toss the last remnants of baby gear, I realized I still have this place in me that kinda maybe wishes I could get pregnant. And by getting rid of that stuff, it symbolizes the release of that dream.
See, we adopted our kids because we couldn't have biological children together. If you click on any of 3 tabs up top (Dead Dreams, Our Adoption Story, Adoption Rocks), you can read our adoption journey. I love my kids. I know am on this earth to parent them. But technically, I can still get pregnant and give birth.
A couple of my regular blog friends (and real world friends) were very supportive of me in their comments. In replying to their comments, it became clear that another blog entry was brewing. So here is your response, ladies:
Oh, Ladies, thank you for your kind thoughts, suggestions and instilling a new fear in me - becoming so incredibly old that I will have entered the grandparent phase. Actually, I LOVE not having a baby. I don't feel the baby need. However, I have never gotten pregnant and seen the man that I love excited to be having a child with me. I have never bitched and complained about being fat or retaining water, or not being able to find cute clothes due to pregnancy. I have never screamed and yelled in pain of childbirth. My screaming and yelling is for other reasons - like J not taking out the trash. Because I have never had these things (and childbirth scares the hell out of me, btw), I want them.
J is not only sterile, but he was fixed a few years back so we could never ever have a biological child. I thought it would take away the feelings of failure each month when I got my period. Sadly, not the case. I thought it would take away the desire to see my spawn (quite curious as to what I could procreate). Sadly, not the case. I thought it would make me feel empowered: This is our choice. We chose to stop having children. Sadly, not the case.
I'm 40. I'll be 41 this year (well, 40 again 'cause it's been a great year). My eggs are drying up and what is left may not be the brightest or the best. However, I feel this gong going off in my head. 'Now or never' the gong says. But unless I tramp it up with some stud muffin, sadly, not gonna happen. Well, no, no, not an option.
Yet still, I find myself longing for that which I cannot have (the baby, not the stud muffin). Nor really want (again, the baby...). I think in my perfect world, I would be a surrogate. How perfect would that be? I get to be pregnant and legally required to be fat, have hours of epidural bliss labor then get to see what my eggs can do, hug the baby, hold the baby, give the baby to people who actually want the baby.
I wouldn't have to parent or feed or pay for the child or wake up at crazy hours or drive across town to pick/drop off kids at different schools. I wouldn't be almost 60 and trying to figure out how to retire AND pay for college. And, in helping to create a happy family for someone else, my good deed is done. I could quit volunteering for the rest of my life. Or at least 18 years of pay it forward goodness.
However, along with my decaying eggs is my decaying uterus. Seems I can't sell my eggs or my uterus to the highest bidder as I am a good 5 years past desireability. Yes, I have researched it. Do you realize how much money surrogates can make? How is a girl to help support her family in her 40's? Reeks of discrimination. Where's the civil liberties union when you need them to advocate for the marketability of your incubating parts?
For the most part, I really am happy and content. It's just every now and then, you realize you have some baggage that was packed away without being emptied from your last trip and you really should clean it out.