The Thing With Feathers

I recently had a conversation with a family member who was saddened by this post, wherein I proclaimed my ambivalence about having more kids, or not having more kids. She thought, on the whole, that my blog was sarcastic and bitter, and it worried her. It especially worried her that I seemed decided against any more children. I set her straight.

But it has been eating away at me ever since our conversation--this idea that my tone is sarcastic and bitter and that readers may think of me as a sarcastic and bitter person who doesn't want the one she has, let alone more kids.

My humor tends to be dry, and I do use a lot of self-deprecation, but I don't view myself as particularly sarcastic. Maybe I use a lot of sarcasm, especially since the deployment, but I don't think that it is a particularly defining facet of my character as a whole.

And bitterness? I think that I am one of the least bitter people I know. I roll with the punches. I may complain for a minute or two, but then I get over it and adapt. I don't often take public political sides, and I try my hardest to wish others well, even when I am teeming with jealousy. I think that I am pretty good at expressing gratitude and love and serving other people, but maybe that doesn't come through so much on the blog.

The best and worst thing with a blog is that everyone can read it. I love reading comments--many times the little affirmations are the only contact I have with a grown-up all week, and I have made so many friends over this crazy little universe. But there is always the threat that someone will be hurt, offended, or misunderstand my intentions, words, or tone. And, at my core, I absolutely hate confrontation. (As a side note, thanks, Secret Clinical Strength, for getting me through the day!) Like many journaling bloggers, I often think about suspending my blog, or eliminating it entirely, but return because I remember how much I enjoy the opinions, snippets, and secrets that I can observe from the postings of others.

Getting back to the family comment--I want to explain my feelings from that post, wherein I talked about things that I just can't summon the energy to care for. By saying that I have no opinions about more children or less children or adopting of fertility or stealing a Romanian baby I am saying just that--I don't have the energy to make those dreams or goals a major part of my day. In a perfect world I would have a house filled to the brim with little Joojes and Yuniors. I would have all of the working parts, or a medical care system that would allow for broken parts to be fixed. Or adoption would not be cost prohibitive and time-consuming and heart-breaking. When I said that I didn't have the energy for these aspirations, it is not because I spend so much time playing games or because I am so busy with my career or because I am currently over-scheduled because of my attempts to make a dalmatian-skin coat. It is because the thing in my life that takes more energy than anything--more than Jooj and her repeated watchings of Da Wuss y Da Peet, more than the back and forth to the post office to mail packages to W, more than cleaning and cooking and yardwork and callings and sewing and laundry and looking for my wedding ring--is hope. It is just too hard to hope.

And that is why. No bitterness, no sarcasm, just honesty.

In all reality, we will probably put in for adoption again. I am going through more fertility stuff as we speak. But the quest for enlarging our family has ceased to be even a tenth of my daily thought. Because I can't get myself to have enough energy to hope and dream, to imagine scenarios and write birth-mother introduction letters, to pick out names and rearrange furniture just in case. I love my kid with a passion I never expected, and I have gotten to the point where if she is the only one, I am okay with that. And if there are more, I am okay with that, too. Just along for the ride.

So there you go.