I hurt, just about everywhere. The pain medicine that I took so I could at least go to the bathroom without screaming has caused my stomach to cramp every time I eat. My heart hurts, my brain hurts, and my stupid uterus REALLY hurts. All of that is pretty secondary to the anger right now. I still really want to hurt someone or something. Surely there is something/someone (besides me) that I can blame, something I can do to get this poison out. I have been exceptionally hard to get along with since Thursday. Even though I recognize that I'm taking my anger out on everyone around me I can't seem to stop it. I'm wondering if maybe I need to be back on AD's. This is an awful lot like the anger I had after Aiden died. Maybe after my mom's suicide attempts I'm so afraid of depression that I just get angry instead. I suppose that's better for me, but it makes it harder on everyone else.
I had a talk with my husband that really crushed what hope I had left. I asked him months ago if he would consider respite-only foster care. I was trying to avoid his fear of losing a child he cared about by making it strictly a temporary situation. I reasoned that it would be a good way to at least have babies in the house and we would meet more foster parents and case workers that might eventually lead to an infant adoption. I had forgotten when I asked him about this how he reacted to our neighbor's son after we lost Aiden. He refused to be left alone with him. He was extremely reluctant to interact with him at all. Even though we saw these people very frequently, I think he held the baby once the whole year we lived next door. He told me that he couldn't stand being around a baby that wasn't his. I took that to mean that the pain of holding a baby (especially a boy) was just too much for him. It never occurred to me that he would still feel that way. He's been putting me off on the respite care and I finally pushed him for an answer. He started crying and told me that he just can't have a baby in the house that we can't keep. He can't care for someone else's child. He didn't want to tell me because he didn't want to take away my hope.
I told him that I would never force him to do something he wasn't comfortable with. I told him that wouldn't be fair to anyone in the family. I didn't tell him that he was right. Any hope I had that I would someday have a baby in this house, in our family, is gone. I didn't tell him because it wouldn't be fair; he already feels horrible that he can't give me what I want so I didn't want to add to that. But the loss of hope isn't even what made yesterday so hard. It was the confirmation that we are not on the same page. He admitted to me that he doesn't care if we never have another baby. He said he was sad we couldn't get pregnant but that adopting an older child was a perfectly acceptable alternative to him. We are not even on the same planet. I desperately NEED another baby. Older child adoption was never an alternative to having a baby for me; it was supposed to be in addition to. I wanted to do it because I want a larger family and I really want to provide a family for a child that has been waiting far too long, but I still want a baby. The two things are not really related in my mind. When I thought of my family when I was younger, I thought of two babies, followed by adopted older children when the babies were old enough to understand. I was never set on my children being biologically mine, but I was set on them being babies, at least the first two. Now it seems that I will only ever have that one experience (which I thank the universe for every day) of parenting an infant. It’s just heartbreaking. I thought I could find a way around this failure of biology, but it can’t be done. And a tiny but kind of loud part of my brain keeps whispering that I could do it on my own. Not that I would ever in a million years leave just so I could have a baby (I kind of doubt that would work out anyway) but the horrible little thought is there. What is wrong with me?