Adoptions, healing, & why I write it all down

Carving out time to write involves time management and selective surfing. The catharsis part? I am getting to that now.

Writing is healing. I’ve been struggling since Peanut’s adoption last month. Many things about this adoption have been stressful and overwhelming and I feel like I’m just finding my way back to the surface. Writing helps. Two back to back adoptions have knocked me on my ass. I’m trying to get up. The response of “but you asked for this” is not cool and not fair. These children were wanted. Doesn’t make parenting them easy. I guess parenting never is, under the best of circumstances and our circumstances haven’t been the best.  But, they are what they are.

I am struggling.  I’m struggling with the difficulty we’ve had getting Peanut properly registered for insurance benefits and getting him evaluated by the appropriate professionals. I am struggling with the lack of organization and adoption savvy in the medical community and I’m tired of being treated like the

first. person. ever.

to adopt. I’m struggling with the amount of red tape I have to wade through before I can get a doctor’s appointment to tell me what I already know is wrong with my child.

I am struggling with being told by various clerks and receptionists that Peanut is not the same as a “real child” a “normal child” or a “regular child” as far as their paperwork is concernd.

I am struggling with undisclosed medical needs in a 3 year old with “documented” medical history. I didn’t expect so many surprises.

I am struggling to figure out how to parent 2 three year old “twins” who were strangers a month ago. I am struggling with how to integrate them in to the rest of my family and maintain some sense of self.

I am struggling to get my head around the fact that 3 years ago hubs and I were empty nesters. Now we are a family of 5.

I am struggling because the presence of friends in my life isn’t what it was a year ago. Some of this is through natural attrition, such as moving, or because we’ve got nothing in common anymore. And, I get that. Most of my peers don’t have small children. Most moms “my age” have breathed the giant sigh of relief because their kids are finally out of the house. The moms of other 3 year olds are named Dakota and Summer, don’t know who Duran Duran is and use “sick” as a synonym for “cool”.

I’ll pull up. Things are better than they were and they’ll be better than they are now. I’ve got a few people counting on me to keep my cookies together. But right today? Difficult. Challenging. Overwhelming. I use a lot of Kleenex.

Motherhood and marriage are wonderful (most of the time). There is beauty in adoption and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. But with that beauty comes pain and loss.

Everyone asleep in my house (and everyone IS asleep in my house) is here because they are supposed to be here. Have I come to my family via the traditional road? Uh…no. We are still a family.

What I write heals me. It pleases me. I censor what I write only slightly. No holds barred. I have a lot to say. Think you can hang? Stay tuned.



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