I am leaving tomorrow for three days, two nights, at this adoption conference.
Never ceases to amaze me that no matter how prepared I think I am, how detached, how “good”, how ‘okay” I think I am, I prove myself wrong.
I am weepy tonight. Anxious. I will likely not sleep well.
I am committed to going. I will likely speak very well. I will feel simultaneously exhilarated and emotionally drained following the panel. I will enjoy, immensely, seeing ThirdMom/Margie, meeting Skeeto for the first time and AdoptionTalk for the second time. I will smile. I will laugh. I will cry. I will hug friends and feel validated and respected and understood and loved. I will take pictures.
And it will take me days to fully recover from the experience.
And yet I still go.
Jenna had a blog post today that hit home. Read it here.
My immortal indeed.
“These wounds won’t seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There’s just too much that time cannot erase”
Wondering, exactly, why I continue to do this?
Am I fooling myself? Does this really make a difference? Can I make a difference? Can my little wounded voice be heard in the sea of screaming prospective adopters and baby brokers waiting to profit off of the sale of our children?
In other nonsensical ramblings, I wrote my daughter (yes, yes, I know she told me she doesn’t want a relationship) and let her know I would be in the city, I still hope to meet her some day, perhaps she and her girlfriend might want to meet for a drink … for coffee?
But I am known be a bit silly at times. Even rather reckless. For sure rather annoying (at least to her).
I don’t expect a response.
But you know, the invite/email wasn’t sent to get a response. It was sent to be me. Who I am, who I always will be.
A mother that loves, misses and wants to know her daughter.