Recently, I've been reading the book Bliss To You by Trixie Koontz, dog (as told to Dean Koontz).  It's a fun little book that really makes you think about things as you follow the steps to achieve bliss (according to Trixie). 

One of the steps is to figure out why you've been sent to earth; what your meaning in life is.  It could be to raise a kid who later saves hundreds or, maybe, it's to rescue abused dogs and find them good homes.  Those were a couple of the examples in the book.

But it got me to thinking.

What is my life's meaning?  I used to think it was to have children and be an awesome mum.  I mean, that's been my life's dream since, well, BIRTH!!!  But...apparently life has a different plan for me.  And, most of the time, I'm okay with that.  But every so often...

I realize that, although I keep telling myself this, I am too old and too fat to ever have a baby of my own.  I mean, sure, there are women who get prego and have kids at my weight...but, in my mind, I could never do that to a child.  I don't want a baby to grow up with a mum who can't keep up, or who has health issues (not currently, but it can happen as I get older and if I get heavier), or even just a mum who's at least 10 years older than the norm.  I KNOW that these days women are waiting longer to have kids...often into their 40's.  And, maybe, that will eventually be me.  But there are other issues that I have to contend with besides just being fat....being infertile.

Most of you know this about me.  I've tried rounds of Clomid, charting temps, etc. etc.  But my problem is not infertility, itself, but the cause of it...polycystic ovarian syndrome, also known as PCOS.  Side effects of this are obesity (got that one covered, and then some!), infertility (check), excessive body hair (yeah, I have to shave my chin every day -- check), insulin resistance (check), amenorrhea (no periods, or very, very infrequent -- check), no ovulating (check).

Most of the time I try to tell myself that it's okay that I'm not going to have a baby.  But who am I really trying to kid?  Myself?  Because my SELF knows that that's not the case.  I YEARN for a baby.  I want a baby so bad I can taste it.  My arms have that perpetual emptiness that longs to be filled.  My heart weeps, hurts, feels that unrelenting, heart-rending, solid, constant anguish that only infertile women who want a baby this much can feel.  And I weep.  Almost daily, I weep.  I weep for what has been and what has been lost.  I weep for what is and what will be.  I weep.

I've considered adoption...but I need to lose weight for that to happen.  And yes, I'm surely and slowly losing it...but by the time I'm down to something more reasonable will ANY birth mother want to give her child to me, to us?  I hear about young girls in their teens who get pregnant and abandon their baby, or keep it and subject it to abuse either physically, mentally, or both.  I hear of young girls who have babies, period, who aren't ready...and really don't want to keep it...but they do due to outside influences.  There are people, much like my sister, who really should have never given birth, who have babies and abuse them mentally, on a daily basis.  I hear of people who have friends who had a baby and gave it to someone else...that easily.  No wait lists.  No wondering if someone will choose you to raise their child.  It just happened.  But it doesn't happen to me.  And god, I do wish it would.  I'd be such a great mum...and my husband would absolutely adore a child.

But...we have none.  And no luck.  So, we resort to adopting dogs.  And we do love our puppies, very much.  But it still hurts.  And it doesn't quite fill the ache in my heart.

Dammit, I deserve to be happy.