Sometimes the world is a hard place to live in. Things aren't great economically, the weather rarely cooperates, people drive like maniacs, and so often (in Ireland anyway) people will plow into you in a store without so much as a glance, knocking you over because they're in a great rush to get past you and you're not important enough to acknowledge as a human being.
It's easy to list the bad things, and the hard things, and the negative things. I know this to be true because I've done it many a time myself. A few days ago was one of those days. Nothing seemed to be going right, and except for the fact that I'm in one of the most beautiful places in the world, I'd have been thoroughly miserable. And then, Mental Floss saved the day.
If you click HERE, you'll be taken to a short article followed by about 200 comments, all about the kindness of strangers and the goodness of people. I cried all of my eye makeup off reading through the comment section, and I felt much better about my life and about humanity in general.
There is so much good in the world if you're willing to look for it!
Friday, June 18, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
May 2009, Part Two – Mother’s Day
May brought my first Mother’s Day. I’d already gotten a great gift – my 3D ultrasound. I wasn’t really expecting much. I don’t think my mom was either, but she got something just the same, something she didn’t deserve.
H’s mother wrote her a letter. She e-mailed her, and she did it on Mother’s Day, first thing in the morning. My mom didn’t want to tell me about it at first. She didn't say a word. But I could tell that something was bothering her. At first I assumed it was me, that she felt a little strange about the circumstances of my first mother's day. I asked her several times what was wrong, and finally she told me.
It was a very manipulative letter. I don’t want to get into it, but suffice it to say that H had lied to his mother and said he’d never heard back from me, and H’s mother had a little pity party about how it must be nice for my mom to spend Mother’s Day surrounded by her grandchildren, and how maybe she should stop to consider how H’s mother felt, not knowing what was going to happen to her grandchild, blah blah blah. It upset me greatly and I cried for a while. I felt like Mother's Day had been ruined for all of us, and it was all my fault.
But my mother – my dear, sweet, strong mother – the one who should have been more upset about it than I, was the one who made me feel better. She said that she wasn’t going to let the letter bother her, and I shouldn’t either. We went to my brother’s house for dinner. He and his wife had gotten a card and flowers for my mom, and a card and a box of chocolates for me.
Their kindness was overwhelming. Cruelty and nastiness, I’m used to. I can more or less handle it. But kindness and understanding were still sort of foreign to me, and brought me to tears much more quickly. It was a lovely card, and the chocolates were my favorite kind. After their kids were in bed we all just sat and talked for about an hour, which was great. I'd worried that my pregnancy would make things awkward and uncomfortable but that wasn't so. It felt good to feel normal.
I was a bit depressed I didn't get a cute mother's day-for-the-mother-to-be card, but then who would buy me one? My mom, perhaps, but it seemed like more of a husband sort of thing to do, and I had no husband. Probably never will, I thought to myself. No one had wanted me before. Why on earth would anyone want me now?
I began to suspect that childbirth classes were a huge mistake. There were so many more things to worry about than I’d ever imagined. On the day we discussed labor, I thought to myself again that, sorry, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t actually want to deliver a baby. The only way I got through hearing about everything was to remind myself that my mother had made it through childbirth with each of her children, and she’s no glutton for punishment. If she could do it four times, I told myself, I could do it once.
More than once I began to have doubts about whether I could be a good mother. I thought that such concerns were probably normal, but that didn’t bring me much comfort. I wondered: Am I too selfish? Too anxious? Too tightly-wound? What if I couldn’t take good care of my baby? What if I lost my patience? I wasn’t certain what you were supposed to do with a newborn. I knew about feeding and diapering and supporting the neck and sleeping on the back, but that was about it. How much crying was normal? How many diapers was a baby supposed to go through? How often was a newborn supposed to eat?
Could I give my baby everything she needed? All the attention, all the love? I knew I loved her, and that I’d love her even more once she was out of my belly. But I thought, was love enough? I wanted to be a good mom so badly. But I wasn’t sure if wanting was enough, either.
I wanted to keep my baby very badly. It felt like the right thing do to about 95% of the time. Was the other 5% nerves and anxiety, or something more? I had trouble stomaching the thought of adoption, the thought of my baby being someone else’s to cuddle and care for. It didn’t sit quite right with me. It was like an emotional heartburn. It wouldn’t digest properly.
I continued to meet with my therapist weekly. I read him the letter H’s mother had written. John was galled. He agreed that the whole of it, especially the timing, was distinctly manipulative. He also said not to let it get to me. My mother met with her own therapist, who helped her craft a terse response to the message. She heard back quickly – H told his mother I’d never responded to his e-mail. Based on what H’s mother had to say, it seemed that H had been telling his mother naught but lies for months. Oh well, I thought. Their problem, not mine. My mother ignored the second letter, and we agreed to put H and his mother behind us.
H’s mother wrote her a letter. She e-mailed her, and she did it on Mother’s Day, first thing in the morning. My mom didn’t want to tell me about it at first. She didn't say a word. But I could tell that something was bothering her. At first I assumed it was me, that she felt a little strange about the circumstances of my first mother's day. I asked her several times what was wrong, and finally she told me.
It was a very manipulative letter. I don’t want to get into it, but suffice it to say that H had lied to his mother and said he’d never heard back from me, and H’s mother had a little pity party about how it must be nice for my mom to spend Mother’s Day surrounded by her grandchildren, and how maybe she should stop to consider how H’s mother felt, not knowing what was going to happen to her grandchild, blah blah blah. It upset me greatly and I cried for a while. I felt like Mother's Day had been ruined for all of us, and it was all my fault.
But my mother – my dear, sweet, strong mother – the one who should have been more upset about it than I, was the one who made me feel better. She said that she wasn’t going to let the letter bother her, and I shouldn’t either. We went to my brother’s house for dinner. He and his wife had gotten a card and flowers for my mom, and a card and a box of chocolates for me.
Their kindness was overwhelming. Cruelty and nastiness, I’m used to. I can more or less handle it. But kindness and understanding were still sort of foreign to me, and brought me to tears much more quickly. It was a lovely card, and the chocolates were my favorite kind. After their kids were in bed we all just sat and talked for about an hour, which was great. I'd worried that my pregnancy would make things awkward and uncomfortable but that wasn't so. It felt good to feel normal.
I was a bit depressed I didn't get a cute mother's day-for-the-mother-to-be card, but then who would buy me one? My mom, perhaps, but it seemed like more of a husband sort of thing to do, and I had no husband. Probably never will, I thought to myself. No one had wanted me before. Why on earth would anyone want me now?
I began to suspect that childbirth classes were a huge mistake. There were so many more things to worry about than I’d ever imagined. On the day we discussed labor, I thought to myself again that, sorry, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t actually want to deliver a baby. The only way I got through hearing about everything was to remind myself that my mother had made it through childbirth with each of her children, and she’s no glutton for punishment. If she could do it four times, I told myself, I could do it once.
More than once I began to have doubts about whether I could be a good mother. I thought that such concerns were probably normal, but that didn’t bring me much comfort. I wondered: Am I too selfish? Too anxious? Too tightly-wound? What if I couldn’t take good care of my baby? What if I lost my patience? I wasn’t certain what you were supposed to do with a newborn. I knew about feeding and diapering and supporting the neck and sleeping on the back, but that was about it. How much crying was normal? How many diapers was a baby supposed to go through? How often was a newborn supposed to eat?
Could I give my baby everything she needed? All the attention, all the love? I knew I loved her, and that I’d love her even more once she was out of my belly. But I thought, was love enough? I wanted to be a good mom so badly. But I wasn’t sure if wanting was enough, either.
I wanted to keep my baby very badly. It felt like the right thing do to about 95% of the time. Was the other 5% nerves and anxiety, or something more? I had trouble stomaching the thought of adoption, the thought of my baby being someone else’s to cuddle and care for. It didn’t sit quite right with me. It was like an emotional heartburn. It wouldn’t digest properly.
I continued to meet with my therapist weekly. I read him the letter H’s mother had written. John was galled. He agreed that the whole of it, especially the timing, was distinctly manipulative. He also said not to let it get to me. My mother met with her own therapist, who helped her craft a terse response to the message. She heard back quickly – H told his mother I’d never responded to his e-mail. Based on what H’s mother had to say, it seemed that H had been telling his mother naught but lies for months. Oh well, I thought. Their problem, not mine. My mother ignored the second letter, and we agreed to put H and his mother behind us.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Awkward
A couple of days ago I was walking in Dublin with one of my trip friends, J. When we passed the ATMs in front of a bank, we ran into two of the other girls in the SAI (study abroad Ireland) program. J is good friends with one of them so we stopped to talk a moment.
I don't know either of the other girls very well, so while they talked I did what I usually do when I feel awkward. I fidgeted. I used to twirl my hair or pick my cuticles but in the past year I've taken to playing with my necklace. P and M gave it to me at placement and it's one of my favorite things in the world. I wear it every day. I feel strange without it, really. My mom suggested I leave it at home lest anything happen to it but I couldn't imagine going overseas without it.
The girls talked; I fidgeted. As I fidgeted I drifted, looking at the statues in front of Trinity College, and when my attention finally came back to my immediate surroundings the conversation seemed to have hit a lull. Then the inevitable happened. One of the girls asked me about my necklace.
"That's so pretty!" she said. "We've been trying to figure out what it says."
I wondered how long they'd been staring while I woolgathered.
"Oh," I said, "thanks." I showed them the inscription, then flipped the necklace back over so Roo's initial showed and waited for the conversation to move forward.
"Is that for anyone special?" the girl asked.
Well. This was interesting. What was I supposed to say to that? I quickly considered my options. I could lie, of course, with some detailed story about a boyfriend, maybe an almost-fiancé. But could I lie convincingly with no time to prepare? No one has ever asked about my necklace before so I've never taken the time to prepare an alibi, if you will, for the times when I don't feel like telling complete strangers my life story.
I could say "yes" and move on and hope they left it at that - but what if they asked questions? They were bound to. Young women are a nosy lot, and these two (and J as well) looked curious. I could say "no" and have them thinking I am quite, quite odd, wearing an obviously significant piece of jewelry just because I think it's pretty.
I decided this was no time to be shy, though, and what little I know about one of the girls is what made the decision for me. This girl, C, is also LDS, but I wouldn't have guessed it if J hadn't told me. Not because of any malicious or inappropriate behavior on C's part, of course. I'd heard specifically that she didn't drink or make out with random men at pubs.
But she was going. C is a bit younger than I am and still seems to have that pull to belong to a little group. So she goes out to the pubs every night with her little group of friends, and aside from the beer she goes where they go and does what they do. I don't blame her. I probably would have done the same thing at her age. I know firsthand how hard it is when you're the only one outside a circle of friends, and it's awful. It sucks feeling like you don't belong. But then, C has other options. Neither J nor I go out drinking and we still have plenty of fun. C could hang out with us at any point. But she doesn't. It's important to her to spend time with this group of girls who seem determined to ruin their livers whilst abroad.
J told me that C said it was hard going out and not drinking. That she'd been tempted. Well, of course she was! She's human. It's human nature to go with the flow. I've avoided pubs specifically because I don't want that temptation in front of me (and also because I dislike being surrounded by drunk people). Not to mention that I've heard stories of bartenders giving woolly eyes to people who only order Coke at a bar - here in particular. A Coke is €2 most places. Not exactly a high-ticket item, and not how the pub is making its money.
With J as a common friend, C and I know a bit about each other, so I know that C knows that I'm LDS too. And I thought, she's struggling, and if she's not careful she's going to mess up. I've been there. I messed up.
I felt like C needed to hear the truth.
"Um, yeah," I said finally, after enough time had passed that it felt exceptionally awkward now. I looked up from my necklace, then back down at it. "I had a little girl about a year ago, and I placed her for adoption with this really awesome family. And they gave me this necklace when I placed her, to remember her by."
There was this awkward sort of silence for a second, followed by a murmur of "Oh, wow," and that sort of thing.
"That's neat," one of the girls said finally, and then changed the subject with a speed I'd not have guessed her capable of. (Please disregard the fact that I just ended a sentence with a preposition.)
I don't blame her. What on earth do you say to an announcement like that? When they stepped back from the ATM and commented on my necklace I bet the last thing they expected was to hear that I got into a little trouble a few years ago. It's awkward. It was awkward for me, too. Because once that's out there, I always wonder, what do they really think? What's the judgment? There's always a snap judgment. Whether people have a lot of experience with adoption or not there's always this idea they've got in their minds about what it is to be a birth mom. And I don't think any of these girls necessarily had a great mental picture of birth moms. I could see it in their faces - She looks so normal! She doesn't look like a homeless crackwhore. But she seems nice! We misjudged her - she's a weirdo.
Later that day, over pizza, J asked me about Roo. "I hope you don't mind me asking," she said.
"Of course not," I told her. I explained the school presentations I've done and said I didn't have a problem talking about it at all. She seemed relieved - she must have been curious. She asked why I placed Roo and I explained as best I could ... or that's what I thought as I spoke. But I don't think I did a great job. I was tired and hungry and words came out without a ton of thought. After I explained it I thought to myself, that sounded terrible. I didn't mention love once. I didn't mention what a hard choice it was. I sounded cold and callous and flip as my own words replayed in my head.
But J had already accepted my tale. "Oh, that's neat," she said. "It's great you found a family you like and that they let you see her."
And I thought what I always think when someone says it's nice that P and M let me see Roo, which is, Yeah, and it's nice that I gave them a baby.
But I didn't say that. I just mentioned that yes, it was nice, and that I'd gotten a video recently, and that Roo was darling and sweet and clever and pretty much perfect. I wanted to show J a picture but I don't have one on my Irish cell. It was sort of odd to realize that I didn't have a picture on me. I think I've pretty much always had one on me since placement.
J moved on to another topic, much to my relief. I don't think I've ever felt so awkward discussing adoption before. None of what I said came out how I meant it.
What is wrong with me? I wonder. How on earth could I have told even a truncated version of the Roo story without mentioning how much I love her, how hard it was to let her go, how she's my favorite person in the world? I told the story with as much emotion as I'd use to discuss the vintage designer heels I listed on eBay.
It must be all the secondhand smoke I'm breathing in here. It has to be. How else could I have messed up my explanation so badly? How else could I have done such injustice to my little Roo and the love I have for her? I sounded cold - Roo needed a daddy, I said, and my ex wasn't going to cut it. And I left it at that. The same way that my mum has said my Chevy needs an owner who can keep up with the maintenance, so we should sell it. Just like that.
I am so angry with myself! Angry, and frustrated. I wish I could turn the clock back a few days and do justice to Roo's story. I wish I could go back to the conversation with a picture and say, Look. This is my little girl, my Roo. Isn't she the most beautiful, the most precious little thing you've ever seen? Isn't she perfect? I love her. I love her more than I ever thought I could ever love anyone. I love her so much that placement nearly killed me. I love her so much that I broke my own heart to make her happy. She is happy. Look how happy she is! Look at how wonderful her life is! I placed her because I love her. Oh, how I love her! This trip is the first time I've done anything since before she was born. I placed her 9 months ago and I'm only just starting to figure out who I am without her. I love her, and placing her with her parents is pretty much the bravest and best thing I've ever done. I miss her every day and I think I probably always will.
If only I could. Next time I'll do better. Next time I'll be prepared. Next time I won't let my awkwardness extend to my tongue.
Next time, the first thing I will say is that I wear this necklace because almost a year ago, I fell in love with the most beautiful baby girl ever born, and I'll go from there.
I don't know either of the other girls very well, so while they talked I did what I usually do when I feel awkward. I fidgeted. I used to twirl my hair or pick my cuticles but in the past year I've taken to playing with my necklace. P and M gave it to me at placement and it's one of my favorite things in the world. I wear it every day. I feel strange without it, really. My mom suggested I leave it at home lest anything happen to it but I couldn't imagine going overseas without it.
The girls talked; I fidgeted. As I fidgeted I drifted, looking at the statues in front of Trinity College, and when my attention finally came back to my immediate surroundings the conversation seemed to have hit a lull. Then the inevitable happened. One of the girls asked me about my necklace.
"That's so pretty!" she said. "We've been trying to figure out what it says."
I wondered how long they'd been staring while I woolgathered.
"Oh," I said, "thanks." I showed them the inscription, then flipped the necklace back over so Roo's initial showed and waited for the conversation to move forward.
"Is that for anyone special?" the girl asked.
Well. This was interesting. What was I supposed to say to that? I quickly considered my options. I could lie, of course, with some detailed story about a boyfriend, maybe an almost-fiancé. But could I lie convincingly with no time to prepare? No one has ever asked about my necklace before so I've never taken the time to prepare an alibi, if you will, for the times when I don't feel like telling complete strangers my life story.
I could say "yes" and move on and hope they left it at that - but what if they asked questions? They were bound to. Young women are a nosy lot, and these two (and J as well) looked curious. I could say "no" and have them thinking I am quite, quite odd, wearing an obviously significant piece of jewelry just because I think it's pretty.
I decided this was no time to be shy, though, and what little I know about one of the girls is what made the decision for me. This girl, C, is also LDS, but I wouldn't have guessed it if J hadn't told me. Not because of any malicious or inappropriate behavior on C's part, of course. I'd heard specifically that she didn't drink or make out with random men at pubs.
But she was going. C is a bit younger than I am and still seems to have that pull to belong to a little group. So she goes out to the pubs every night with her little group of friends, and aside from the beer she goes where they go and does what they do. I don't blame her. I probably would have done the same thing at her age. I know firsthand how hard it is when you're the only one outside a circle of friends, and it's awful. It sucks feeling like you don't belong. But then, C has other options. Neither J nor I go out drinking and we still have plenty of fun. C could hang out with us at any point. But she doesn't. It's important to her to spend time with this group of girls who seem determined to ruin their livers whilst abroad.
J told me that C said it was hard going out and not drinking. That she'd been tempted. Well, of course she was! She's human. It's human nature to go with the flow. I've avoided pubs specifically because I don't want that temptation in front of me (and also because I dislike being surrounded by drunk people). Not to mention that I've heard stories of bartenders giving woolly eyes to people who only order Coke at a bar - here in particular. A Coke is €2 most places. Not exactly a high-ticket item, and not how the pub is making its money.
With J as a common friend, C and I know a bit about each other, so I know that C knows that I'm LDS too. And I thought, she's struggling, and if she's not careful she's going to mess up. I've been there. I messed up.
I felt like C needed to hear the truth.
"Um, yeah," I said finally, after enough time had passed that it felt exceptionally awkward now. I looked up from my necklace, then back down at it. "I had a little girl about a year ago, and I placed her for adoption with this really awesome family. And they gave me this necklace when I placed her, to remember her by."
There was this awkward sort of silence for a second, followed by a murmur of "Oh, wow," and that sort of thing.
"That's neat," one of the girls said finally, and then changed the subject with a speed I'd not have guessed her capable of. (Please disregard the fact that I just ended a sentence with a preposition.)
I don't blame her. What on earth do you say to an announcement like that? When they stepped back from the ATM and commented on my necklace I bet the last thing they expected was to hear that I got into a little trouble a few years ago. It's awkward. It was awkward for me, too. Because once that's out there, I always wonder, what do they really think? What's the judgment? There's always a snap judgment. Whether people have a lot of experience with adoption or not there's always this idea they've got in their minds about what it is to be a birth mom. And I don't think any of these girls necessarily had a great mental picture of birth moms. I could see it in their faces - She looks so normal! She doesn't look like a homeless crackwhore. But she seems nice! We misjudged her - she's a weirdo.
Later that day, over pizza, J asked me about Roo. "I hope you don't mind me asking," she said.
"Of course not," I told her. I explained the school presentations I've done and said I didn't have a problem talking about it at all. She seemed relieved - she must have been curious. She asked why I placed Roo and I explained as best I could ... or that's what I thought as I spoke. But I don't think I did a great job. I was tired and hungry and words came out without a ton of thought. After I explained it I thought to myself, that sounded terrible. I didn't mention love once. I didn't mention what a hard choice it was. I sounded cold and callous and flip as my own words replayed in my head.
But J had already accepted my tale. "Oh, that's neat," she said. "It's great you found a family you like and that they let you see her."
And I thought what I always think when someone says it's nice that P and M let me see Roo, which is, Yeah, and it's nice that I gave them a baby.
But I didn't say that. I just mentioned that yes, it was nice, and that I'd gotten a video recently, and that Roo was darling and sweet and clever and pretty much perfect. I wanted to show J a picture but I don't have one on my Irish cell. It was sort of odd to realize that I didn't have a picture on me. I think I've pretty much always had one on me since placement.
J moved on to another topic, much to my relief. I don't think I've ever felt so awkward discussing adoption before. None of what I said came out how I meant it.
What is wrong with me? I wonder. How on earth could I have told even a truncated version of the Roo story without mentioning how much I love her, how hard it was to let her go, how she's my favorite person in the world? I told the story with as much emotion as I'd use to discuss the vintage designer heels I listed on eBay.
It must be all the secondhand smoke I'm breathing in here. It has to be. How else could I have messed up my explanation so badly? How else could I have done such injustice to my little Roo and the love I have for her? I sounded cold - Roo needed a daddy, I said, and my ex wasn't going to cut it. And I left it at that. The same way that my mum has said my Chevy needs an owner who can keep up with the maintenance, so we should sell it. Just like that.
I am so angry with myself! Angry, and frustrated. I wish I could turn the clock back a few days and do justice to Roo's story. I wish I could go back to the conversation with a picture and say, Look. This is my little girl, my Roo. Isn't she the most beautiful, the most precious little thing you've ever seen? Isn't she perfect? I love her. I love her more than I ever thought I could ever love anyone. I love her so much that placement nearly killed me. I love her so much that I broke my own heart to make her happy. She is happy. Look how happy she is! Look at how wonderful her life is! I placed her because I love her. Oh, how I love her! This trip is the first time I've done anything since before she was born. I placed her 9 months ago and I'm only just starting to figure out who I am without her. I love her, and placing her with her parents is pretty much the bravest and best thing I've ever done. I miss her every day and I think I probably always will.
If only I could. Next time I'll do better. Next time I'll be prepared. Next time I won't let my awkwardness extend to my tongue.
Next time, the first thing I will say is that I wear this necklace because almost a year ago, I fell in love with the most beautiful baby girl ever born, and I'll go from there.
Monday, June 7, 2010
11 Months
My little Roo is 11 months old today. I can hardly believe it.
Her parents sent me a video today, which was an awesome surprise. They're very thoughtful that way, which I so love and appreciate.
It's sort of strange to get a video when I'm so far away. I feel like I'm far away in time and not just distance. It seems like years ago that Roo was born. It seems strange that I was ever pregnant, that I ever had a baby and placed her for adoption.
Last night I had a dream that somehow I ended up pregnant again, and I was devastated because I knew I couldn't parent that baby, either, and I wasn't sure I had the strength to place another baby. In my dream the baby's father was some random guy I met on my trip, and it was horrible (in my dream) to realize too late that I'd done such a stupid thing again, that I'd tossed aside my newfound morals. It was a relief to wake up and know I still had my self-respect, and that I won't have to go through everything again.
I've never been the sort of person to think that dreams have any kind of super-deep meaning but I do think our brains use dreams as sort of an information dump. What I got out of my dream was this: I've come a long way. The distance I have from the events of two years ago has given me a greater perspective, and this was my brain's way of saying, we know better now. We are better than that, and we are stronger.
Distance helps - time distance, that is. I got so sick of other birth moms telling me that time would make things easier. "How MUCH time?" I always thought. And I won't claim to completely be there yet. But the more time passes, the easier it gets, even if just a little bit.
I think, has it really only been 11 months? It feels like forever ago. Because I've come so far! I'm not the woman I was 11 months ago - and I'm glad of it.
And I'm thankful for Roo. She saved me. I'm glad I could return the favor. She is 11 months old today. The world has been a happier place for 11 months. A Roo-ful world is a happier world, I think. I know I'm happier. I know she's happy, too. I can't ask for anything more.
Her parents sent me a video today, which was an awesome surprise. They're very thoughtful that way, which I so love and appreciate.
It's sort of strange to get a video when I'm so far away. I feel like I'm far away in time and not just distance. It seems like years ago that Roo was born. It seems strange that I was ever pregnant, that I ever had a baby and placed her for adoption.
Last night I had a dream that somehow I ended up pregnant again, and I was devastated because I knew I couldn't parent that baby, either, and I wasn't sure I had the strength to place another baby. In my dream the baby's father was some random guy I met on my trip, and it was horrible (in my dream) to realize too late that I'd done such a stupid thing again, that I'd tossed aside my newfound morals. It was a relief to wake up and know I still had my self-respect, and that I won't have to go through everything again.
I've never been the sort of person to think that dreams have any kind of super-deep meaning but I do think our brains use dreams as sort of an information dump. What I got out of my dream was this: I've come a long way. The distance I have from the events of two years ago has given me a greater perspective, and this was my brain's way of saying, we know better now. We are better than that, and we are stronger.
Distance helps - time distance, that is. I got so sick of other birth moms telling me that time would make things easier. "How MUCH time?" I always thought. And I won't claim to completely be there yet. But the more time passes, the easier it gets, even if just a little bit.
I think, has it really only been 11 months? It feels like forever ago. Because I've come so far! I'm not the woman I was 11 months ago - and I'm glad of it.
And I'm thankful for Roo. She saved me. I'm glad I could return the favor. She is 11 months old today. The world has been a happier place for 11 months. A Roo-ful world is a happier world, I think. I know I'm happier. I know she's happy, too. I can't ask for anything more.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Oh, by the way ...
... if I owe you an e-mail, I'm sorry, I promise I will write back and I still love you :o)
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Ireland
It almost didn't feel like I was really here for a few days, because everything's just how you'd think it would be, so it almost felt more like an Ireland amusement park than an actual foreign country. Disney Ireland, sort of.
It's really lovely here, green as far as the eye can see, and while it's cooler than I'm used to in the summer months, it's so beautiful I don't much mind what the weather's up to.
So far, I have:
Stared at this for 12 hours
Made friends with a baby swan or two
Stormed a castle (looks like someone beat me to it, though)
And become a Ring Donut Monster (I adore Tesco)
(and no, that is not Duckface. That is my Ring Donut Monster face)
My dreams of finding a pasty Irish husband have been dashed when I realized, after a day or two, that everyone here, including small children, seems to have alcohol running through their veins. I have a theory that this national obsession with booze is the reason Ireland has never been a major world power.
But it is beautiful here, and I love it, and I'm going shopping in a few minutes with my new non-drinking buddy, Janelle. There's a mall downtown with an H&M and a Marks & Spencer, and all sorts of other exciting stores with ampersands in the titles.
It's supposed to rain this weekend, so I'll be looking for something in a waterproof jacket. And sometime soon, as early as next week, I may or may not become a Jam Donut Monster. We shall see.
It's really lovely here, green as far as the eye can see, and while it's cooler than I'm used to in the summer months, it's so beautiful I don't much mind what the weather's up to.
So far, I have:
Stared at this for 12 hours
Made friends with a baby swan or two
Stormed a castle (looks like someone beat me to it, though)
And become a Ring Donut Monster (I adore Tesco)
(and no, that is not Duckface. That is my Ring Donut Monster face)
My dreams of finding a pasty Irish husband have been dashed when I realized, after a day or two, that everyone here, including small children, seems to have alcohol running through their veins. I have a theory that this national obsession with booze is the reason Ireland has never been a major world power.
But it is beautiful here, and I love it, and I'm going shopping in a few minutes with my new non-drinking buddy, Janelle. There's a mall downtown with an H&M and a Marks & Spencer, and all sorts of other exciting stores with ampersands in the titles.
It's supposed to rain this weekend, so I'll be looking for something in a waterproof jacket. And sometime soon, as early as next week, I may or may not become a Jam Donut Monster. We shall see.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
