One of my more bizarre adoption-related issues is the period conviction that I can’t have kids. Mr. Book will point out that I am almost certainly fertile; I had a baby. I counter that it wasn’t my baby—I can’t have my own kids, is all. There was a loophole for Cricket because he was never meant for me. I can’t get a good, sustained argument going because Mr. Book believes that he’ll win by default in a year or two, but I can at least annoy him in the mean time. 😉
I worry a bit about talking about this here; I in no way want to trivialize the infertility experiences of other women. I know, when I sit down and think about it logically, that my issue is mostly in my head. But I really do believe that I can’t have kids—that I’m not the kind of person who can have kids. I dwell on it for just a bit when I take birth control every day, but the birth control cuts down my period pain which is *~*aWesOmE*~* and completely worth it.
I do wish that I could have a kid—I still have a hope chest full of baby things, I still think about futurekid. But if you asked (at least this week), I’d tell you that I don’t think it’s going to happen. I think that’s part of why I have some of these wishes for Cricket. I have a recipe for graham crackers and animal cracker cookie cutters—I want very much to make those cookies for him. But he’s not eating wheat yet, and Ruth strikes me as the kind of person who doesn’t want her kids eating cookies regardless. But I feel like he is my one chance to have that experience. That’s silly even if there never is a futurekid—both of my sisters want three kids—but I find it weirdly hard to let go of.
It’s been my assumption for longer than the adoption that Nora dislikes me, but there were two things during this last visit that make me question that. First, the wrestling match over the check—she really wanted to buy us lunch, and while it was important to me that we pay, I was still touched. She’s not into talking things to death the way Ruth and I are, but she does care. The other thing was that she was very deliberate about complimenting things I’d obviously taken care with: she told me how much she liked some of the toys I had out for Cricket; she raved about the dinner. She was reaching out to me, and I’m glad. Now I just have to figure out a way to demonstrate my caring to her in her language.