I've been lying around feeling sorry for myself. Feeling stuck in limbo between carrying out a charade and torching, myself, the only solid ground I have to stand on. This results in a lot of staring into space, walking into walls, and continuous, droning, circular thoughts of self-pity.
I need to snap out of it. The stress is bad for the seabass, and it makes me an absolute nightmare to be around. I really do need to think of this one day at a time. I need to ease up a bit, back off a bit, try not to control everything so tightly, try to trust those around me a little bit more.
The social worker appointment was wonderful. We were there for a couple of hours, and SW talked to me and Max Power both together and separately. We got to look through the photo albums of the two couples we'd picked out of the book. One of them really, really stood out to me (even more so when we looked at their album - even though they used Papyrus font) and Max Power liked them too. After getting some basic medical history from MP and flushing mine out a little bit more, SW told us she's gonna contact them, and maybe we can set up a preliminary getting-to-know-you meeting at the agency if they like us on paper. I am remaining firmly neutral on this, trying not to picture the seabass gallivanting happily through their lives; me in the kitchen on his birthday, playing on the floor with new toys; them holding their new son, smiling, full of love. NONE OF THAT. One day at a time.
Also, STUFF helps. Focusing on silly, short term things helps. Such as:
- My two-pack of JCPenney sport-ish kinda bras came and OMG I AM NEVER TAKING THEM OFF. My bazongas have sprouted like Tomacco and not having a bra on is awkward and painful, but I'm not gonna be sleeping in my push up. Nor do I wanna sleep in a sports halter corset coffin. NOW I HAVE THESE. SO COMFORTABLE.
- I cashed in my Chase rewards points from my debit card for a $25 gift certificate to Gap! Now I can get the maternity shorts I know are unnecessary long-term and I couldn't afford but would be so wonderful right now.
- Stretch mark lotion: I bought some cheap lotion to rub between my toes which always feel interminably dry. And then I got some more expensive lotion from this site: http://www.duematernity.com. If you go to the bella b section under skincare, they have this tummy lotion to prevent stretchmarks. It's $20, which is ridiculous, but they're doing a promotion where if you buy it you get their stretchmark reducing cream ($25) for FREE. I am a SUCKER for shit like that. I bought it. Seriously, it cheered me up, so fuck it.
- I dyed my hair. It's reddish red with a tint of red, which is my standard shade.
- I finally went to the eye doctor, and I'm getting glasses - a godsend, since I can't see - and I have frames all picked out. They're like Buddy-Holly-meets-librarian.
Focusing on these little things - getting the bras, focusing on when the Gap card will come, when the lotion will come, when I can go get my glasses - they are the handholds I use to swing from day to day and preserve my sanity. I've been doing the same thing with the seabass since the beginning: focusing on the trivial and taking the big picture as it comes, fitting in the pieces as they show up. Whenever I try to step back from it, I panic. So I would think about little dorky things, like how a girl would be a good thing so I could dress her in a onesie that said, "Though she be but little, she is fierce." Or how I want to breastfeed, just once, so that I can truly say, "I have given suck, and know how tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me." But then my mind goes dark, because more onorously, I will have to say the rest.
"I would, while it was smiling in my face, have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums and dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you have done to this."
Because I have sworn to adoption, willingly and fully. I will be that disgusting, twisted Lady Macbeth. That's how I feel, anyway. Fiendish. Bloody. Despicable. Unwanted. Capable of anything but love. And this is how trying to focus on little pieces ends up sending me back into tailspins of self-pity. I am a dork, therefore I am sad.
To end on a lighter note, here I am, gettin' pregnant! Yes, that is a tattoo of the Batman symbol. No, I am not ashamed.
And thank you, dear kind readers, for your support on my previous password protected post (ALLITERATION FTW). It really meant and means a lot.