A Touch of the Migraine

Typing an entry with a migraine: I am clearly becoming some kind of blog-addicted lunatic. For me and the mister both to be afflicted within a few days suggests a major shift in the weather. Maybe it’s spring.

Still no word from Ruth, and the idea of not hearing from her at all and then not showing up makes me a bit nervous. Perhaps I’ll write to her this weekend if that is what happens—maybe even tonight, something like “While we won’t be seeing you this weekend, I want you to know that you’re in our thoughts as you” etc.

As I’ve been looking at toys for Cricket’s next visit to Stumptown, I’ve also been keeping a weather eye out for possible birthday gifts (what can I say? I like to plan ahead!)—I’ve got a short list of options, trucks and boats that float in the bath and Duplos and suchlike. It’s weird to think that he’s going to be talking, like talking talking, at some point in the near future. Right now our adoptive relationship is really with his parents, but I imagine that will shift as he is able to tell us what he wants. Unimaginable from here. Not that he doesn’t seem like a person with opinions already, but—I guess I’m a little scared of dealing with a Cricket who can talk to me. And I suppose he’ll be getting into separation anxiety pretty soon, which I don’t think will bother me (apparently it is italics day here at the blog); I’ve never expected him to be affectionate with me. Why would he be? He has reached out a couple of times, and it always startles me. That said, once he is speaking in sentences and everything, hearing him say mean things to me feels like it would destroy me. I’m not sure what to do about that, aside from the unhelpful “wait and see”; if my choices are (1) hideous vulnerability with basically no upside to it save the fact that I am remaining emotionally available to this kid who might value that at some point or (2) build walls, be warm but not actually open, and ignore what my therapist says about this being a terrible idea . . . I mean, you can probably tell what my impulse is here.

This isn’t Cricket-specific—it’s more that the kid is raising all kinds of old issues for me. I was seventeen when I decided that my life would be better if I killed the part of myself that could feel things (of course this is hideously melodramatic—I was seventeen), and I spent a couple of years working to accomplish that. Then, you know, therapy. I’ve got a predisposition to take away from any given situation the message that reaching out to people/being vulnerable/openness to my own feelings is a lousy policy—I’m less likely to jump to this conclusion now, after much therapy and seven point something years of a loving relationship, but with the adoption I just go straight for it. Something in me is looking for reasons to shut myself off from the kid. I assume it’s at least in part a desire to get out before I’m thrown out.

Okay, I’ma take my ice pack and go home. I hope everybody out there in radio land has a good weekend.