Everyone knows patience is a virtue. Perhaps the reason is twofold.
When a person is patient, their friends-and-relations don’t get fed up with their constant harping on about whatever-it-is and remain on good terms. This can only be a good thing, as people need their friends-and-relations around them and in an agreeable state of mind to be supportive in various ways.
When a person is patient they don’t work themselves up into fits of anxiety and stress and wish away the minutes, hours and days until whatever-it-is occurs. This means they hang onto their health and sanity (or at least don’t lose it over the whatever-it-is).
I am increasingly finding I am not a patient person, and the cracks are beginning to show.
I am struggling daily with whatever plan my life is unfolding which means I have remained childless til now, despite all the goodness (Husby deserves a strong mention here, as today I have been rather off-colour and he has done everything whilst I have been a useless jelly-person attached to a bit of a brain). In fact, just to remind myself as I type, a little list of thankful wouldn’t go amiss:
- Imminent house move, thanks to dear members of family, who will be our landlords
- Dear members of family
- Having a place to live
- Being in a position to undertake a college course as a mature student
- Christmas is coming and we can *just* afford it
- My health
- My ever-supportive (even when that support comes in the form of a telling-off) best friend
- Strong faith and belief that there IS a plan and the plan is good
All this and I am not satisfied! There are child-shaped holes in my heart.
Growing up, I presumed I would be a Mum someday.
When I was about 14 I had a very vivid dream that I was pregnant and I felt the baby kick within me – it was awesome. When I was 19 I didn’t like babies at all and wanted little to do with them, but began a job in a nursery which lasted 9 years and firmly cemented my love of children, reawakening my desire to be a Mum. No hoards of men were battering down my door for attention and those who were keen were wrong for various reasons. I welcomed the arrival of Neff and Niece with mixed joy and heartache. 5 years ago I met Husby, and on that first day I knew that he would be a good husband and a good Father. It wasn’t so much love at first sight as it was a deep, instinctive feeling that this chap had a touch of destiny about him. 2 1/2 years ago I got married, which meant that it *might* at last be my turn.
On Thursday I will begin tests at a fertility clinic to determine whether I am likely to be able to have my own children. If this is the case (and it’s never been called into question, so I have absolutely no idea other than to presume I’m a-ok) then Husby will begin a course of treatment which should retain his fertility (and even boost it), giving us a chance that many people are able to take for granted. I’ve even managed to find a blog about The Impatient Woman’s Guide to Getting Pregnant (though that seems to be aimed at people in a ‘normal’ situation rather than those with added medical issues.
The minutes are plodding.
And in the meantime I don’t even feel like I can do anything sensible about exploring adoption other than read numerous books on the subject, as it wouldn’t be sensible to begin anything until we’ve moved house, and if we are actively pursuing the natural child option, adoption agencies will put us on hold. If we have a child, adoption agencies will put us on hold til it is 4, so that the needs of both children can best be served.
All very sensible and child-centred. But we could be in the position of ‘pursuing the natural child option’ for years – who knows? And in the meantime children remain in care, desperately needing their forever family to put an end to the damage and begin the healing.
The minutes keep plodding.
And in the meantime I rail against the culture-on-a-pedestal attitude which means that certain children are left in the system for lack of ‘suitable’ parents, whilst others wait years for a child that fits their culture; the attitude that the culture of a child from another country is so important that they must stay in care there, despite their own culture rejecting them because of the additional needs they have. I rail against the grinding sloth of the system (we have friends who are actively pursuing adoption and have done all they can at the initial stage and are waiting and waiting on responses from adoption agencies to take them to the next step). I rail against the bureaucracy of it all.
Mostly I rail against the slow, slow speed at which it feels things are progressing (though really it’s all happening in a fairly timely fashion).
If you are so inclined, do stick with me on this. And accept my apology in advance because I feel that there will be further posts as a result of my impatience.
Time to go and research some anxiety-busting techniques.
In the meantime, if you fancy some…not light relief…but heartbreaking/heartwarming, edifying and very compelling viewing, check out The Children Beyond Chernobyl, an award-winning documentary produced by Chernobyl Children International about the difference these wonderful Irish people are making to the lives of affected children in Belarus. Almost makes me wish we lived in Eire so that we could get stuck in.