It's been 70+ days since we found out that the adoption fell through.
In that time I've: wept, blogged, withdrawn from the world, come back out into the world, exercised, not exercised, gained and lost 6 pounds, gone back to therapy, attended a conference for work, decided that I'm going to have a nervous breakdown if I continue my work, tendered my resignation (effective July 1), started looking into new careers and returning to school, cleaned my house, let my house become a complete wreck, avoided the subject of adoption, talked incessantly about adoption, got weepy when I would see little babies out with their moms, came down with The Plague, missed a week of work, started revamping my novel.
At least over the course of the past week, I stopped thinking about the fact that I am still not a mom.
It just kind of hit me. And I don't know why. I walk into the house after my trip to the gym and there it is loud and clear in my head:
I. Am. Still. Not. A. Mom.
Which then leads to this thought:
Chris. Is. Still. Not. A. Dad.
And the really sad thing is that we're not having those great little conversations that we had been having for a long time before the adoption fell through...
"We're not going to be able to sleep in on the weekends anymore once the baby comes."
"I can't wait until we get to take her to her first PawSox game!"
"Omigod. I am so not looking forward to the poopy diapers."
It seems like we've kind of lost our enthusiasm.
We've turned our attention to other things to avoid thinking about the fact that we were supposed to be more than two months into parenthood by now.
I am still not a mom.
Which kind of sucks.
However, there's not much I can do about that now except be in the present moment.
And so in this present moment I am off to drink a green smoothie, have some lunch, shower and then hit the grocery store.
Life goes on.