The post with no title because everything I tried seemed trite

This post is because of Andrea. Because she asked me why I haven't been blogging, and I realized that it's because I didn't want to talk about this. But I'm doing it anyway.

When I become aware of my spirit, I know that I'm in trouble.

When my life is moving forward, and my brain is functioning the way it ought, I am very seldom aware of my own human spirit. My life is too full, my experiences too rich for there to be that awareness. But when I start to consciously think of my spirit it is because I am feeling it, constantly, and because it doesn't feel right. It becomes dark and weighty and it no longer properly fits the confines of my body. I start to notice it in the tightness of my shoulders. In the grim set of my mouth. In the nagging headaches and the terrible exhaustion. In the squeeze of my ribcage when I try to get one, just one, deep, filling, cleansing breath into my lungs. And can't.

Then one day I wake up, and I don't want to do anything but cry.

I started on a regimen of antidepressants and therapy after my third miscarriage in 2005. Confronting my infertility was difficult beyond imagining, unless you've been there too. But the drugs helped. The therapist helped. Adopting Grasshopper helped most of all.

In January 2007, I made the decision to give up my dubious chances at a biological child and underwent a hysterectomy. It was a very freeing decision for me, the removal of that uterus I'd come to hate so fiercely, and one that allowed me to feel strong enough to go off the drugs, and (with her blessing) to stop seeing the counselor. I didn't regret it. I still don't.

I made it through my various other hells between then and now, and I handled them on my own. But lately I am discovering that my hands are too full for me to continue doing so.

The adoption of our second child is still moving forward, albeit slowly. There have been more setbacks on that topic than I care to integrate into a post that is ostensibly about my mental health, so I'll save it for another time. Suffice to say that it has been far from easy.

There have been major crises in JR's business, and in his family. One of our very best friends went into an emotional free-fall a few weeks ago and I did all that I could (it wasn't much. Not nearly as much as I'd have liked) to help and support them. The anniversary of B's suicide is approaching. I'm preparing to sue someone for the first time in my life (nothing like a lawsuit to make a girl feel like a real, red-blooded American!) and I have been deeply disappointed by people who had the power to disappoint me. Finally, someone very important to me, and even more important to my husband, has cancer.

This list is by no means comprehensive, nor is it indicative of how many wonderful and positive things I have in my life.

When you are in the grips of depression, the good things are all muffled and muted, like a TV in the apartment next door, by that heavy darkness that seems to spread from the inside out. The things that add weight to the darkness? Those you perceive in stark relief.

I have an appointment on Wednesday to see my doctor about a prescription, and hopefully a referral. I'm exercising again and taking vitamin D. I'm doing one of the things that I hate most in the world and asking for help (if you know me IRL, you know how true this is) before I reach the point of letting the dishes and the cat hair and the laundry pile up and my hair go unwashed for 6 days at a time because, "who cares, I'm worthless?"

This time I recognize the path that I'm on and although this isn't where I want to be, and I wish that I'd caught it sooner, I know that I can to find my way back to the road I actually want to travel.

Conversaions with Grasshopper: the Deep Thoughts Series

I had one of the most important conversations of my life yesterday.

On a busy thoroughfare. In the rain. At 5:00 pm.

Because why should anything be unnecessarily easy?

Yesterday Grasshopper and I went over to Good Attorney's house for a play date with her son, Little Z. Good Attorney is 7 months pregnant and looks every minute of it.(I hope she doesn't kill me for saying that. I'm hosting her baby shower in a couple of weeks and that could get awkward.)

On the way home from their house, Grasshopper had some questions about the baby in Good Attorney's tummy.

"Why does her got a baby in her tummy? Did her eat it?"

"No! No, honey. Good Attorney did not eat a baby. Babies grow in their mommy's tummy until they..."

"Come out!"

"That's right, sweetheart, until they are born."

"Like I was in your tummy before I was born."

Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I did not expect to be doing this in rush hour traffic, on Ponce de Leon Ave. in the rain!

Please don't let me screw this up. Please.

I'm so not ready for a pop quiz.

I haven't had enough rehearsal time.

Please.

"Well. No. You didn't grow in my tummy Grasshopper."

"Yes I did. Before I got born."

"No, honey. You didn't grow in my tummy."

"I grew in your heart!"

Huh? I know that "grew in my heart, not in my tummy" is a cliched adoption saying, but it's not one that I've ever parroted. I appreciate the sentiment behind it, but JR and I always thought that it would be confusing to children, especially young children. So we've never said it.

"Well, I've loved you since even before you were born, so you've been IN my heart for a long time, but you didn't grow there. You grew in another lady's tummy. She is your Birthmother."

"Why her is my Birthmother? Why I not grow in your tummy?"

Because the universe isn't always fair.

Because this is how we were meant to be.

Because I could never have created anyone as perfect as you.

"Because my tummy doesn't work right for growing babies. So your Birthmother grew you for me, and after you were all ready to come out..."

"I got bornded!"

"Yes. You were born and then your daddy and I adopted you and I became your Forever Mommy, and he became your Forever Daddy. We love you so much."

"Little Z has a Birthmother, too?"

Why the extra-credit question son? Did you really have to do this?

My palms are sweating so much I can hardly turn the wheel.

I can't even see your face!

Was this really necessary?

"Yes. Everyone has a Birthmother. For some people, their Birthmother and their Forever Mother are the same person. Like my mother is my Birthmother, because I grew in her tummy, and also she is my Forever Mommy."

"And my Grandmommy!"

"Yes, exactly!"

*silence*

"Why da winsheild wipers go swish, Mommy?"

I don't know baby. I'm just glad that I can tell you, "I don't know." and let the tears roll right on down my face.

I'm so glad that you're watching the wipers and can't see me.

I've practiced for this day since before I ever laid eyes on you.

Since those first nights after we decided to adopt.

Laying there in the darkness I would imagine this conversation with some faceless child (a girl, by the way) and picture us sitting on the beach, or in her bed at night enjoying snuggles before we tucked her in.

She was always at least 4 and a half.

I never once pictured having this conversation with a 3 year old.

But then, I never pictured you.

You are everything that a Forever Mother (or a Birthmother) could hope for.

I love you, baby boy.

I really hope I didn't screw this up.