Friday marked the fifth time (that we are aware of) that we have been shown and not been chosen. Or, I should say, that our profile was shown to someone who was not our birthmother, not our baby's first mother.
There is a familiar drop in my stomach, a quick numbness, and then I realize that I have skills for dealing with disappointment. I have more skills, even, that I need for this. Believe it or not, I have been rejected before. Believe it or not, as I take the deep breath and back away from the computer for a moment after reading the email, I'm grateful for those other experiences of rejection. I am, almost, proud of them.
Look, I tell my extremely awkward and lonely adolescence. I hated you when you were here, but without you I wouldn't have been ready for this.
Look, I tell the love life of my early twenties, you broke my heart over and over. And taught me that I'd rather be broken for risking than whole and wondering what if. Thanks to you, I am fully aware of how good I've got it now. (and that I can get through heartache. That it pays off at the end of the day.)
Look, I tell the crisis of faith of my college years, I felt flat and lost when you were with me. But without you I wouldn't know that faith can heal like a broken bone, stronger than before. That relationship with the Divine is no different than any other relationship. I have to let it be what it really is, and let the projections and pretenses go, or I'll lose the whole damn thing.
So, suffice to say, I hope we don't go much higher than 5 and 0. I hope we know something (anything!) about our baby soon. But - tempting fate, I realize - I can take more than this.
I'll go 150-0 if I have to, to find you, little one. I can be lonely longer, if I need to, to find the one and only you. My heart can keep right on breaking. And I've got the faith to let you be who you are, to arrive when you get here, and peace to rest in through my impatience while your dad and I find our way to you.
5 and 0, psh. I'm tough enough.