...beyond the pale...



Everyone dreams.

The kings and queens, the migrant workers...the average caffeinated confessor.

Everyone dreams.

And for the most part every one of those dreamers wakes to a reality quite different from the fluff and fiction in dreamland.  The dreams of youth vanish into the ether of adult responsibilities.  The dreams of newlyweds alter as romance meets reality.  The dreams of mothers-to-be mildew with soggy diapers and spit-up-stains.

 And somewhere along the way the dreams begin to change.  The young adults begin to dream of home-ownership or promotions.  Newlyweds dream of vacations to capture those lost moments of romance.  Mothers concoct daydreams of uninterrupted sleep, or sipping coffee while it's still hot. 

The dreamers remain...though their dreams may fade and dim...

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When we are young we plan for the future...or so we think.  We announce to curious relatives what we want to be when we grow up.  We proclaim to guidance counselors what our passions are.  We make lists of our youthful strengths and weaknesses.  We choose schools based on who we think we are...at 17.  And very often, we have it all figured out before it can even begin to exist. 

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Growing up as an adoptee certainly impacted my sense of self and identity.  I did not have genetics at my disposal.  I couldn't look to my mother to see where my skin-colour came from...or find in my father my scrawny build.  Rather, I was afloat.  If someone picked on me for my large nose or pointed out my dusky complexion, I had no defense.  There wasn't a 'team' behind me of relatives with the same bony elbows or long toes.  This odd assortment of genetic particulars that made up a whole me was wholly unrelated to anyone around me. 

How I longed to be an average.  If I could but blend in... 

And I was curious.  Curious but unwilling to admit it.  Curious, but not wanting to ask...for fear of hurting the feelings of those who had raised me...for fear of seeming ungrateful... 

So I kept that curiosity silent.

The summer after my senior year I met my birth-mother.   I met half-siblings.  But that's another story.

This story is about what happened when the curious girl grew up.  Because this story is mine, not theirs. 

I married young...comparatively.  The majority of my friends from high-school and college are still unattached.  Single and childless.  I jokingly describe myself as being on an accelerated path...first to marry, first to parent, first to... 

Clearly if you've been reading along this blog of mine you know how that chapter ended.  The new chapter is Single Motherhood. I'm not sure if that's a chapter...or the whole book.  Perhaps what went before was simply the introduction.  At any rate, that's my moniker these days...Mrs. Single Mami.  And it fits.  As the parent of a special-needs child I've knowingly and willingly made the choice to delay my own life in favour of being hands-on.  Gone are the dinner dates and girls-night-outs.  For now the payoff is more than worth it.  My son's autism diagnosis has gone from the grim and gruesome "Severe"  to "High-Functioning" in recent years.  We've developed quite the team...the two of us against whatever comes our way.  "Go Team W.!"

But this life...all of its challenges and rewards...has come at a price.  The dreams I had as a young adult, a newlywed and a mother-to-be have hit the recycling bin in order to create this piecemeal existence.  There are little bits and pieces here and there that I can still almost identify.  But the daily grind has done its job admirably...polishing out the unnecessary and unattainable. 

Until, that is, someone or something comes along to remind me of an old dream. 

It seems this past year that the universe at large is conspiring against my created peace of mind.  Time and again I'm reminded of who I was and what I wanted when I got married.  That whole curiosity thing?  Rears it's ugly head again. 

Because you see, what I wanted desperately was family.  Lots of family.  A way of making up for growing up without.  I wanted more children.  Not just one.  Not just this solo solitary one.  I wanted a whole house-full of rambunctious little people with my dna stamped all over their faces.  I wanted to see what I was made up of imprinted in the little children I dreamt of.  I wanted a daughter...at least one...

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I'm content...for the most part...with this one child.  He's just miraculous enough to fill my mind and push out all those other dream-children.  And the reality of him easily outweighs the fantasy of any others. 

I'm the first to declare that this may be the limit.  This good may be the best there is.  This may be the whole book. 

But time and again, someone will come along and suggest or hint or ask..."Don't you want more?"

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Playing on a two-man team,

~Leanna