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I just found out today that another niece is having a baby. This will be my FOURTH great-niece or -nephew. I am happy that I'll have a new baby to play with, and pi$$ed off as heck that I can't be pregnant, too. Hey, at least I got a referral to my new RE, although who knows when the first appointment will be. So when my niece is getting her first ultrasound, maybe I'll be getting my first ultrasound to see if I even OVULATED yet on whatever horrible drug I'll get put on.

I feel guilty for being so angry when I should be just happy for my niece, who deserves it. But I am really angry and bitter and jealous. I'm sitting here crying, and I said to my husband that I don't think I can go to the family gathering for Christmas: too many pregnant women and babies. He commented that we'll never go home for anything again, then, if that was how I felt about it. So I can't talk to him about this right now. Usually he tries not to say things like that.

And I have no close friends to confide to in person. I have one good friend who is going through the same thing, but she lives far away, and I don't want to obsess to her too much because I don't know if she feels better or worse after our infertility conversations. I'd hate to make her feel worse.

I did ovulate on Thursday (possibly Wednesday). I didn't make a big deal of it, and I didn't tell dh until it was over. I want to say at this point, defiantly, that it's because nothing will happen, anyway. But then I think, "Oh, but what if you just spoke that into existence, and if you hadn't said it, you would've found yourself pregant at the end of the 2-week wait." So then I feel screwed either way. I don't want to hope too much, but I can't not hope.

So, so sick to death of all this.

Someone asked me about my post on adoption. They were very insightful comments, and I think you pegged me down exactly.

Yes, adoption. A worthwhile and holy enterprise, without a doubt. Joseph adopted Jesus, even at the expense of his reputation. In turn, God says he has adopted all of us into his family. What could be better than that? As I said previously, I see adoption and personal childbearing as two separate things, and I always thought that I would wish to adopt whether or not I have biological children. I think that an adopted child would be lucky to have me, and that I'd be lucky to have him/her. Now I'm starting to wonder: If I can't have biological children, will I still adopt? I know that I would love that child without question, as I do for all of the children in my classroom. However, I would still long for biological children, and I NEVER want an adopted child to feel secondary in any way. I wouldn't see an adopted child that way, but kids are smart, and they would catch on to the fact that I'm sad because I can't get have a biological child, and they would likely infer that they were a second choice (when in fact they would not be a second choice for me). Does that ramble make sense?

I also take issue with the cultural issues surrounding international adoption (which is what we would do because we want a very young child), especially because of my studies in postcolonialism. Sorry for the jargon here, but the implications of a cross-cultural adoption are staggering to me, especially since I come from a HIGHLY patriarchal, WHITE, and CONSERVATIVELY Christian culture. A Chinese, black, aboriginal, or Hispanic (to name just a few examples) child would more than likely be treated 'differently' by our community. Perhaps just a few comments and stares. (I don't think my dh and I care about a baby's skin colour. We are a touch more enlightened than that.) But I'm guessing that a deep-rooted racism would rear its ugly head. And I don't know if I can justify raising, for example, an aboriginal child within my Christian culture if he or she would have been raised with traditional native beliefs, had he or she been blessed enough to remain with blood relatives. To my mind, if I had that child, that may be cultural genocide. However, as witnessed in the horrific aboriginal childcare cases in my home province, maybe the love of a good parent - despite skin colour - is better than a paid caregiver. Well, I don't really have to ask that question because I know what the answer is: a loving parent is a loving parent, despite culture, race, or creed.

I don't know. It's very complicated for me.

"So why not adopt an older child via domestic adoption?," you may ask. I'm a little bit afraid of that, having taught children who were being cared for by the state, and who were available for adoption down the road. They often have so many needs, such as Fetal Alchohol Syndrome. And that is so tough. So very tough on the child.

Ugh. I don't know. I have 50,000 questions, but no answers.