Next Up on the Soap Box...

I’ve tried a few times over the past couple of weeks to sit down and write a letter to Elijah. Somehow writing letters to my boy so far away helps me feel connected to him. It helps me to think that somewhere he knows that someone loves him. As of yet, I’ve been unsuccessful. It’s hard to write something tender and loving when I’m worked up. And I am worked up!

Since this adoption process started, and more recently since I’ve made the waiting list, I’ve noticed a very interesting phenomenon. Suddenly, people around me that already have kids turned into experts in parenting. I had no idea! They gladly dole out their thoughts and parenting advice—their unwanted, unsolicited parenting advice at every turn. Now some of them, I would willing and gladly take parenting advice from. Others? Not so much. It’s not because I don’t fully believe them to be good parents, I’m sure they are. It’s the way they do it.

Usually the comment is made after I make a statement about the type of parent I want to be or share my feelings on some parenting matter. It’s then that I hear “just you wait, Amy” or “I can’t wait for you to get your kid” shaking their head and rolling their eyes. They respond like I have no idea of what I’m talking about, like I’m some cock-eyed optimist with rose colored parenting glasses. They’re not wrong—I don’t know what they are or have gone through as a parent, much less a single parent. But I’m not devoid of the mothering instinct at some point it does become second nature.

All the crappy stuff they dislike about parenting: the sleepless nights, the tantrums, the loss of personal freedom, the sacrifice-- all the stuff they are warning me about, all the “just you wait” stuff-- I’m actually looking forward to. I'm looking forward to taking care of someone other than myself and my grumpy, old cat. I never thought I was going to GET to experience it for myself. I thought I was going to live this selfish existence and never get to experience the joy (and pain) of being a parent.

It’s like years of hearing about a super exciting yet terrifying roller coaster and all you want to do is ride it. Then you get there and find out you’re not tall enough.

If you’ve made comments like this to me, perhaps you didn’t know how personally I take them. Maybe you didn’t know that this issue has been a struggle for me. I'm willing to let it go. But going forward, if this is your way of giving me parenting advice, do me a favor, shut up. You’re not being supportive.

Maybe you are doing me a favor because what you fail to realize is your challenging me is only going to make me work harder—to want it more. If that’s even possible in this case.

Rant over.