Do you ever have the thought that you have no original thoughts? Even that is not an original thought, because here I am thinking of it first. Only not.
This is not the first time I've pondered this. I wrote about it last year, or sometime. On occasion, when I think deeply about a new subject, I want to blog about it and hash it all out on the interwebs and its virtual paper. The problem is, there are a million blogs, with a million people, pondering the same thoughts and probably saying it better. Sometimes that gives me a boost, a sense of belonging in this human community, and sometimes it makes me a little tired, because if they didn't figure it out in 1680, what's to say I will get a good grip on it now?
All that being said, I'm still thinking about it. Thinking about her. No, not that kind of her. I mean the woman who is carrying the child I will parent. My baby's mother. I spent way too much time on angry birthmother blogs in 2007 and 2008, and even though it was really uncomfortable reading for someone who hoped to be an adoptive parent, I think it was good.
For one thing, I don't think adoption is win-win. I think it's necessary sometimes, and it's a wonderful answer to the problem of our foster care systems, but it's not easy. Someone is losing here, in a big way. A mother and a child. I can guarantee you that I will love a child with all my heart, and they will be my child, and I will be their mother, and still, it will not be the same. Maybe I've read too much angst on all this, because I can't be totally carefree and giddy like I'd like to be.
There is a woman. Today, a woman, with a swollen belly and tiny feet kicking her from the inside. Trying to sleep with tiny elbows in her ribs. She will give life, and then she will say goodbye. I can't be totally happy about that, no matter how much I want to hold a little baby, to call him or her my own.
In my most selfish moments, I wish she was awful. I wish she hated being pregnant and she couldn't wait to be rid of a baby, and it won't hurt her at all to let go. Then I snap out of it and I know that is wrong and crazy and of course she loves her baby and of course it will hurt, and someday I can say, "She loved you. She loves you SO much. You are so worth LOVE."
And maybe in a couple of years I will read this and think about how little I knew. And that won't really be that original, either.