One year ago- I notice freckle morphing into a weird splotch

One month ago- I finally join the ranks of “patient” again and I introduce my splotch to my new gp

Last week- I see a dermatologist for my expanding splotch. She tells me the splotch needs to come off immediately, but is too large for her to deal with

Yesterday- I met with a surgeon who removed my splotch and left me with 5 gory stitches

Today- I think about tomorrow

Tomorrow- I find out if the splotch is melanoma

This week, one year ago, was the last time I heard from Little Lassie’s birth mother. I think of her many times a day. Most times my thoughts are gracious, other times anger and fear take over. Our agreement of maintaining an open adoption has not panned out. We send pictures, letters and inquiries about a meeting. The response? Silence.

The last time LL’s birth mother contacted me, she sent me a Happy Mother’s Day text message. I reciprocated not knowing that would be the last we would hear from her. Had I known that, I’d have said more- or maybe less. Well, I don’t know, I just wish I had known we wouldn’t have contact again. I don’t like the unknown.

My daughter has a tether to her birth family and what is on the other end of that tether is unknown to me, yet I feel compelled to draw that tether back to us. I worry that I might be inviting something dark into our home. Where is her birth family? Why haven’t they contacted us? Did something terrible happen? Did something wonderful happen? If I leave myself open to this open adoption will I endanger our family or the life we’ve created? These thoughts exist in my mind. They don’t plague me, they don’t keep me up at night. They simply exist. One day these questions will be answered and all I can do is hope that I’m prepared for the answers.

When I think of LL’s birth family, its almost like I’m watching a movie. I feel like I know the characters intimately because they are so often on my mind, but ultimately, they are characters conjurred up by me, saying what I think they would say, feeling what I assume they would feel.

My connection to LL’s birth family is completely inexplicable to an outsider. LL is my daughter 100%. But she is also someone else’s daughter, 100%. Illogical, nonsensical, but true. Can a fertile person really understand the feeling of sharing a child with another mother? No. Sharing. I hated that word when our social worker first used it. I didn’t want to share LL with another mother. I don’t hate the word or the concept anymore, but I fear it – because I don’t know who I share her with.

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My hormones seem to be in a tailspin. I’m wondering if I have a monster case of pms or ppdd. The thoughts zipping through my brain are reminding me of the infertility-drug-induced madness we weathered during iuis and ivfs. Our marriage barely made it out alive. Right now, FlyGuy and I are on solid ground. So, why do I feel crazy? Hormones? Bad karma? Emotionally immature? Or just plain funked?

I’ve been debating going password protected and think this is the time to do it. I will happily share my password with my internets, but prefer to debrief my in-real-life peeps- well, in real life. Only a few posts will be pw protected to protect the innocent. I will definitely need feedback when I confront the funk, so if we have never met in real life, please use the email button on the left sidebar of this page to request the pw.

thanks.

Last week was exciting, given our water woes and this week promises to be even better. Little Lassie and I are joining FlyGuy at a conference in Florida. When we planned this months ago, we discussed it at length. It will be a long weekend (Thursday-Sunday) and I agreed because FlyGuy really wanted us to go. Also, he keeps using his boatload of frequent flyer miles on trips with his buddies, so I took the opportunity to relieve him of some miles thus lessening the burden of thinking up another reason to drink and smoke cigars with his buddies out of state.

FlyGuy got the tickets over a month ago. In the beginning, we were going to be on the same flight. AFTER he made the reservations he told me there was a small glitch and we are leaving at the same time (7:30am) but on different flights. I would have to take Little Lassie with me. I was lukewarm with this idea, but agreed. A week or so later, I saw that we were not flying at the same time. FlyGuy is leaving at 7:30 AM. Little Lassie and I are leaving at 7:30 PM. Yes, I married a man who does not know the difference between an A and a P. FlyGuy does not want to pay $200 to get on the same flight as us because “it doesn’t make sense for all of us to get in really late.”

After much gnashing of teeth, eye-rolling and against my better judgement, we decided Little Lassie and I will go to Ohare airport, during rush hour on a Thursday, fly to Florida arriving at midnight while FlyGuy spends a quiet day on the beach awaiting our arrival.

In preparation for this lovely journey, I will do 8 loads of laundry tonight because its piled to the ceiling since the washer has been our enemy for a week. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.