Cha-cha-cha Changes
My husband used to be pretty certain about some things.He used to be certain he didn't want children, certain he would remain single, and certain he would have specific kinds of successes in life.
He told me when we were dating that he wanted to be a "rock star" in his profession. He wanted to be that person who writes the quintessential theories and articles and books on a given subject. He wanted to be the person whom everyone comes to hear talk about his research. He wanted to be the first name that came to people's lips when they talked about research in his area of expertise. He wanted to be THE ultimate scholar. He was close to becoming that.
Then I came along.
I hated his work habits, and they way he lived his life like a hermit. I hated how he neglected me to the point of telling me I couldn't come visit him because he was "too busy" or "ovwewhelmed with work" or "had deadlines he was working on". There was always something. He neglected friends and his family. He went to movies alone, ate alone, and lived his life very much alone.
Yet, in all that he was beautiful. At times he was peaceful and calm, and relaxed just enough to enjoy some lovely moments. He was witty and brilliant, and kind when he could free himself up enough to live in-the-moment or invite others into his life for a bit. Interestingly enough, everyone liked him. Given a glimpse of him or even a brief conversation, people were drawn to him and spoke highly of him, his abilities, and his work. He is an award-winning scholar and an all-around "nice guy". He's the guy who doesn't drink, smoke, cuss, or do anything "bad".
One of the main reasons he ended our relationship (refusing to see me face-to-face for 6 months) was my desire to have children. It is still so painful to recall those conversations about children and family that I cry every time (as I am now). It was that horrific. Imagine having to verbally defend your desire to have children to the one person you believe to be your life partner, and having him speak about children as if they are the ultimate ruins of a satisfying and comfortable life. I felt like there was something wrong with me for wanting what I wanted - it wasn't what he said about me as much as it was what he said about other people we knew who had gotten married and had children. He spoke so badly of them - it was like he truly believed they had killed their careers and entered the Twilight Zone.
When Michael and I reunited, and when we got married, it was a compromise for him - a huge, overwhelming compromise. Even finding a date to get married was tough because it couldn't cut into his work schedule. We got married over Spring Break - he drove down from OH to GA, and together we drove to Mississippi to get married. We drove back, and he went back to OH and we both resumed our teaching for that semester.
From that point on, he said we could have children "if it was that important to me". He made it clear that he didn't want any, but that if it was important to me, it would be fine with him. Fine - it would be "fine". I hate the word "fine". To me, it means "it won't kill me".
Five months after we got married he finally agreed to let me get off birth control pills because we were finally living together in Kentucky. Five months after that I found out I had PCOS, and several months after that he found out about his low fertility as well.
It felt like he had won a prize, but in order to win that prize a little bit of me had to die.
I did foster care for the Humane Society and took in litters of kittens until they were old enough to be adopted.
It was my mom who suggested that we become foster parents to human babies instead of just kittens. I think she was half-teasing. I thought it was a great idea. I called the next day to find out how to do it.
Michael agreed to go to the classes with me "as long as there was no commitment". That was (sadly) good enough for me. He didn't say much in the classes, and many times seemed to resent being there. He made it a point to let me know how it cut into his writing time.
But in his defense, he did a lot of work to see to it that I got to be a foster parent. He cleaned out the front bedroom of our then-apartment. He helped set up the crib and made changes in his lifestyle that would accomodate being a parent.
And sometime between a year ago when we finished our foster parenting classes and now, things began to change. It wasn't a "whomp you upside the head" kind of change. If you hadn't been looking, you might not have seen it happening. But if you had known Michael and I before, and hadn't seen us in a while, you'd be amazed at the changes.
But when did it begin?
It might have begun doing respute care for a beautiful 3-yr. old little girl we called "Bumble Bee".
It might have been with the newborn baby boy who was our first placement - for 23 hours. It might have begun there in the hospital corridors as we were escorted by police and social workers to another area of the floor - away from the mother who was being arrested and led out of the hospital by police.
It might have begun when we got our first placement of siblings we thought could be permanent, and crying on the sofa together when they were sent to live with relatives 10 days later.
It might have begun last December 22nd when Cookie arrived in the arms of the social worker who told us the situation and that this newborn baby girl could quite possibly become our forever-daughter.
I remember the first time Michael fell asleep with a baby on his chest - a baby who stayed for 10 days and whom we both loved. This past weekend, I was sorting through baby clothes to sell and donate when I came across her little pumpkin onezie and booties that she wore on Haloween. Michael said it was "what our first Boo wore". It was sad.
As quickly as a baby arrived in our house, Michael was boiling water and sterilizing bottles, and cuddling with the kids. He was telling them he loved them, and meaning it. He was reading them bedtime stories, teaching them to wash their hands and count to 10, making sure they brushed their teeth, and saying prayers at night. Instead of working through the night, he was going to bed with me, taking kids to daycare in the mornings, and playing with them in the evenings. He was growing into a kinder, more tolerant, and more expressive person.
I did not grieve the departure of our first 4 foster children alone. He grieved their departure as much as I did, and had just as much difficulty hiding it publically as I did.
Michael's love for Cookie was clear right from the start. He did just as much work as I did - and he still does. He makes all of her bottles and loads the empties in the dishwasher. He plays with her, sings, dances, and talks with her. He takes her for walks in the stroller while I make dinner. He probably changes more diapers than I do, and feeds her just as often.
A few weeks ago, he purchased her an NFL jersey that has great meaning - it is an official jersey of a plater who shares our last name. So, here's the smallest 2T jersey we could find for her - with her future new last name on it. It's currently hanging up in her room. It wasn't even my idea.
When you see the pictures of Cookie, it's clear that she's a daddy's girl - all over him - laughing and dancing, and enjoying being in his presence. She knows he loves her all-out.
There's a wind of change I sense lately in our little family. It's as disturbing as it is comforting. That is, where do we want to go from here?
We moved here so Michael could be at a Research 1, grant powerhouse of a department. We moved here so we could both have a job at a university. We moved here for very different reasons than we are living out. And now, I am restless in my job - and my husband is looking at job postings. He's mentioning postings at schools that have no graduate programs, where publications and grants are less important.
He's saying that life is changing and priorities are changing. I never, ever thought anything or anyone could do that. I couldn't do that. Loving me, marrying me, and being with me didn't change him. My depression, crying, yelling, stomping around, threatening to leave...none of it did anything. I stopped all that. I had resigned myself to a life that wasn't at all what I'd wanted. I had chosen poorly...or so I thought.
Now it seems I'm getting more than I ever thought I wanted. It's mysterious and a little frightening. We just bought our house in January. Now, we might just leave this place a year from now if the cards fall that way. Now, he hasn't even applied for another job anywhere - but the deadlines are in November. By November, he will have either made a decision to stay here at least another year - or put himself on the marker again. That is a hard thing to wrap my brain around.
The implications for adoption? We've already asked. As long as TPR has happened, the workers are willing to process approval for us to move Cookie whereever we want to - as long as we would be willing to travel to get her here for mandatory monthly check-ins until the adoption is final. We'll do what it takes, but trust that we would never leave here if it meant leaving our daughter.
So many decisions we make anymore revolve around our lovely daughter.
That is a huge change, and neither of us seems to mind.
posted by No Longer In Crisis @ 8/18/2006 10:55:00 AM
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