I was going to blog today about the absurdity of the Michael Jackson funeral, and how I just can't wrap my head around this absolutely insane outpouring of grief for a man that has been largely ridiculed and villainized by the very people now praising him. I think it's the product of a perfect storm of absolutely no other news and Jackson's ability to sell tickets, no matter what the situation. I was going to write about that, I really was. And it was going to be funny. Really funny. However, those plans are being thrown out, due to the fact I can't really focus on anything else besides the fact that we might be getting a baby, and the fact I am totally panicked about it.
For almost three years we have been working towards this moment. We have spent thousands of dollars on medical treatments and then adoption agencies, and thousands of hours in emotional turmoil over the fact out efforts have not been successful. Now, we are just weeks away from quite possibly becoming parents, and I am freaking out. Oh, and I am not just freaking out because we might not get this baby. I mean, don't get me wrong, that is causing me plenty of grief. The fact that we will not know if this baby is ours until at least 24 hours after her birth, and that at any moment the rug can be pulled out from under us has me constantly hyperventilating. Beyond that though, there is a greater fear -- that we will actually get to bring her home.
What if it turns out I don't really like children? I mean, I do like them, but what if it turns out I only like them in small doses? What if three hours after bringing this baby into our home I am waiting for someone to come and pick her up? What if I don't bond with her? If I always think of her as some kid who came to live with us, and not our own daughter? Worse yet, what if she doesn't bond with me? What if she hates me? I mean, it's hard to believe, but some people don't like me. She could be one of those people.
Oh, and then there is the fact I have gotten exactly NOTHING done that I wanted to do before the baby arrived. I have not lost any weight. I have not cleaned out the room. I haven't socked away near enough money. And now I feel like I don't want to do any of that. I'm kind of in a coma, and it feels like all I can do is think about the fact I am going to die.
I know they say having a child makes you immortal, but really, I feel the most mortal I ever have. The fact I could soon have a child shows I am aging, and reaffirms the fact I will die. Oh, and now I have to worry about this baby dying as well. Not just the big death either, but all the little deaths that we suffer throughout our lives, that this child will have to suffer, that I won't be able to protect her from suffering.
I think you can now see why I am not writing about Michael Jackson.
I am hoping all of these anxieties are only temporary. I am hoping that the joy and excitement of having a child I felt when we first began this process returns, and perhaps intensifies when she becomes a part of our family. That's what I hope. Until that happens I will just be taking deep breaths, and trying to keep calm. Oh, and maybe I'll finally start setting up the nursery. No promises though.