Last night at dinner with Al I ran into a former co-worker. I knew her two years and two jobs ago. I was just starting to come to grips with the fact that after three-or-so years (at the time) of off-the-pill sex, getting pregnant was not going to happen easily or naturally. She had suffered two miscarriages and was ready to move on to adoption. Adoption had a lot of appeal to me, too. It still does, and in the back of my mind I have often wondered if the reason I have so much trouble moving forward with infertility treatment is that my heart wants a baby, not a pregnancy, and adoption might be a better solution for us (assuming we won't have the resources for both).
She was the only coworker I ever spoke with about my infertility. We mostly talked about various adoption paths. She chose domestic, interracial adoption and within months was surprised and thrilled to hear that she had a referral. She quit her job to concentrate all her energies on the adoption and getting ready to be a mom. I heard later that the adoption fell through, and can only imagine how devastated she was. It was not long, however, before she had a second referral, and this one resulted in the adoption of a healthy infant boy. She brought him by the office to visit, and she was thrilled, and I was thrilled for her, and a little jealous. She was finally a mom!
Last night at the restaurant her husband was holding their son and she was holding a six-week old infant, also a boy, also adopted. She put him in my arms, and he was gorgeous. She was radiant with happiness. I was so, so thrilled for her. But I wasn't jealous.
Maybe I am a better person than I used to be? I doubt it. Pregnant bellies still induce mad jealousy in me. So maybe my base emotions are telling me that I am not ready for adoption yet, and that I do want the pregnancy, after all. That I am on the right path for me, for now.