I’m going to list this week’s pathetic adoption-related grief moments:
- While listening to “Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio,” imagined myself explaining to a preschool-aged Cricket that there’s another version sung by Boston fans which includes the lyrics “Who’s better than his brother Joe? Dominic DiMaggio!” And then I started to cry. No little baseball fan for me.
- Started an email to Ruth three times, on three different days, before giving up and deciding to wait to hear from her.
- Have been feeling the urge to go through the hope chest again, refold all the clothes and stare at the tiny shoes. Still resisting.
- Wrote Cricket a letter complete with airplane stickers in which I tried to convey love in a laidback kind of way but instead came across super lame. Can’t bring myself to mail it.
- Obsessed about how to inscribe one of the books we’re giving Cricket for Christmas (Mr. Book will write in the other one).
- As part of the nesting that never ends, used my monthly allowance to buy three children’s books and one book about children.
- Thought again about calling Ruth and Nora, which I am permitted to do but have not done even once; sometimes I like the idea, but I worry about being unwelcome or inadvertently disruptive.
- Picked up the cat and carried him around against my shoulder like a baby, with my eyes closed, rocking back and forth a bit.
I could make a list like this every week—not big things, but there are always a few, and they make me feel pretty weird.