There was a brief moment this afternoon where someone was trying to give me a baby. A little three month girl whose mother was overwhelmed and had made a very difficult decision to give her up for adoption. For a few minutes today, I thought it was possible that I could find a way to have a child soon…

And then I realized that I was in no way ready for adoption, we don’t even have a home study done. Of course, even if this woman was dying to give me her child, I would have had to say no. (This was all second hand and probably one of those things that would have ended up being a fiasco although I did, later on, learn that the child in question had gone to her adoptive home on Monday and information was just a little slow to travel… very unusual for the South, I assure you…) Reality. That bitch.

So as I’m sitting here in the aftermath of a VERY emotional couple of hours, I kind of had an epiphany… I’m dragging my feet because of the overall impending judgment of it all. Home study. Background checks. Letters to people I may never meet. Waiting and waiting and waiting.

I thought infertility treatments were going to be hard. I can tell you right now, that shit was a cakewalk compared to even THINKING about adoption. Infertility treatments depended on me and Patrick and a doctor. I didn’t have to plead my case to a third party. Or a fourth or a fifth. It was all step A then B then C and cross your fingers.

But now I am paralyzed with fear. I can’t even bring myself to READ the paperwork because the thought of opening up my life and my home and my marriage to the judgment of someone else renders me speechless. What are they looking for? What do they want to find? Am I going to look like the type of person who will buy shoes before diapers? Because I’m NOT… I’ve just… never had to make that decision.

I’ve fallen more times than I can remember. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t convince myself that it isn’t the falls they are looking for. They want to see how well I got up and how it changed me for the better. Because I DID get up. Every damn time. And I’m not perfect. But I like who I am… most of the time. I’m messy. I’m difficult. I’m sometimes selfish and I always take things too personally. But I did a lot of work to get here.

It’s just that, until now, I never feared it not being enough…