Fitting, that I actually used the seat heaters in my car this morning on the way to the dentist. For gum surgery. Blech. Which means I am writing this pumped full of Vicoden.
I know I promised that I would focus on DIY and nothing else during the Summer of Love. Last Friday, however, I caved. I researched a bunch of international adoption agencies. And now have some packets on the way to our house. Must remember to get the mail first over the next few weeks.
There are scary things about international adoption. But I am tired of being so damn scared all of the time.
We’ve been hiking once a week in the Columbia Gorge. You can get a lot of steep vertical in the Gorge (its goes from 90 feet in elevation to 4,000+ feet in a few short hours). It helps get our legs ready for ski season. It is also amazingly therapeutic for us to be in the outdoors.
I spent the time on the trail last Sunday confronting all of my fears about the international adoption route. I made my peace with each and every one of them. By the end of the hike, I felt less afraid and more at peace than I have in months.
Until this morning. When Cowboy woke up and told me he had a dream that I had a baby – a little girl. Our second child. And she had a really deep voice.
Just like Cowboy’s.
It hit me how much I really love him. How I haven’t yet made my peace with the fact that I might be giving up on making something from us without really trying our last remaining option: IVF. With PGD.
And all because I am scared of failure.
My husband is so classically handsome. A big, rugged Western American guy. With twinkly blue eyes. An athletic frame. A strong chin. And a deep voice, like John Wayne.
His mother once told me he’s had that voice since opened his mouth to cry. How she could hear him on the playground without seeing him because that voice was so unmistakable.
So here I sit on the freakin’ fence. Again.
Only, today, loaded up on drugs.