I read that feelings of anxiousness and irritability, even sadness, accompany bringing another life under your wing and accepting the heavy burden of responsibilities that accompany it. I often preach that the meaning of life can be found in accepting responsibility and when it becomes too much for one individual to handle, that is when the process of delegation should begin. Problem here is how does one delegate out the responsibilities of parenthood?
They say that postpartum depression is when the symptoms of accepting this huge responsibility of “parenthood” last longer than two weeks. I can say that four years later I still get anxious when I am at work and I look at my phone to check the time and see his picture that I set as my screensaver. I can’t help but to wonder what exactly is he doing while I am away. Even though I can gauge within reason what it must be I can’t help but to wonder if he is happy.
The first two weeks that this tiny creature entered our lives was certainly more heavily laden with days, nay, hours, full of anxiety and fear than seem to accompany the hours and days of our now present life. Perhaps not as far as the amount of time, per se, but certainly the intensity of that time. There were times where I just felt nauseated from the amount of constant stress and worry.
It has been said that the average human can only go so many days without sleep. I know that for the first two weeks I never did more than take a nap or get a moments shut-eye. Constantly getting up at all hours of the night to go and check on the little guy just to see him sleeping soundly. Sometimes I think I even felt aggravated that he was doing all the sleeping and I was doing all the worrying. With the fear, anxiety, and sleep deprivation all running together, I am not sure I always knew exactly how I felt. Oh, and don’t forget the nausea! I found that I was hurrying through my day, even leaving things undone, just to get back home.
I remember when I first brought up the word “adoption” it was glossed over for no particular reason I would say. Perhaps I was just putting it out there in the universe to see what would happen. Two years go by and it becomes obvious that perhaps I was doing more than just talking about adoption. Maybe I was serious?
One day after work I came home and she was sitting on the couch looking at her phone. She informed me that she had been giving some thought to my idea of adoption. Was that what it was? My idea? Maybe I had been heard after all.
“Come look. Here’s one,” she would say days later while scrolling up and down on her phone now full of photos of the potential candidates available for adoption.
“They’re all so ugly,” I would say to her dismay.
“No they’re not! Look at how cute!” she would inform me. This was the situation I encountered each day after work for about two weeks. Even if I came home late and the extended family was over for dinner I could feel a loud hush blanket the room as I walked in. I knew they had been looking at photos and talking about the adoption process.
“How was work?” someone would always ask.
“Good.”
I suppose that when it comes to seeing the cuteness in things that are skinny, fat, tiny, or grubby, I am not the person to go to. She and I could not agree on any particular option even when she would ask my opinion and I had no idea what hers was. It was just different tastes no matter how you sliced it.
“Ok, which one of these three?” she would ask. I would scroll.
“This one,” I would point out to a nonplussed mom-to-be.
“God, what is wrong with you!?”
One day, as was typical, I pulled up to the house and walked in through the front door. I noticed the Zinnia’s needed to be watered.
“How was work?” she said ever so typically.
“Good.” I walked over to the refrigerator and opened it to hint that I was hungry. She wasn’t moved. I closed it and moved in on the pantry. She never looked up.
“I found something I want you to look at.” I walked over and sat down in the chair beside the couch with a bag of Doritos. She shows me a photo and my jaw dropped.
“Why this one! It is so ugly!” I wasn’t accustomed to calling them “he” or “she” when I couldn’t even tell what they were yet. She hated this. I already knew she had chosen it because I was not able to scroll the other photos. No. She had her mind made up and I could tell.
“Because, Jason. He needs love. Look at him!”
“I am! He is so skinny! Is he sick? What’s wrong with him!?” I had yet to eat the first Dorito.
“Nothing is wrong with him, he just needs love.” Her soft, I am in control voice starting to take over. I hated that voice. It was like talking to a therapist.
I have to admit that sometimes women know how to play the game and what she said next really was the reason I laxed my stance and took a closer look.
“Jason, just look at him. I know you and I know this one needs so much love and I know that only you will be able to give it to him.” I grabbed her phone once more. Something I never would have gotten away with under any other circumstances. She was letting me feel like it was my decision.
Adopted.
Apparently he was found on the street. He had been hit by a car, 2 broken ribs, broken tail, diaphragmatic hernia, organs out of place, hookworms, sickness, cold, starving, still retains a BB in his x-rays from a pellet rifle, among other things. It took two years of doctors, specialists, ultrasounds, and money, lots and lots of money, to find something he could eat that wouldn’t upset his stomach. I have had him for 4 years and only in the last 8 months does he finally look like a healthy boy should.
I promised him the best life that he could ever have and I will always put him first and I will always feel anxiety, worry, stress, perhaps even nausea (mostly after the vet bills). Sometimes I wake up at night and pull him a little closer and kiss him. He takes a big sigh and stretches out when I do and it always makes me smile. Say hello to Sprocket, everyone. My 4 year old little boy.
Thanks,
Think Dragon
To make donations please email jasonholliman1982@gmail.com
Sprocket.
Plz ask him to return my heart.