Hurrah to 2013.
So, the 'Bubonic Plague' hit the household just in time to ensure a poorly, sniffly, vomity, diarrhoeay time was had by all over Christmas. Joy to the World etc etc...
This, however, was not the low point of the festivities. That point came when DH decided to drop the 'I'm not sure I want to go forward with applying to Adopt' bombshell as I was polishing off my 15th pre-Christmas Quality Street. To say I was shocked was a bit of an understatement. I had thought my main concern was DS's apparent lack of enthusiasm; I was unprepared for the fact that my husband was in agreement with him.
You'll be delighted to know that I handled it with maturity. By maturity, I mean that I completely ignored that he'd said it, squished it firmly into a box and quickly threw it to the back of my mind. And steadily became more and more resentful. And cross. Adoption scares me too; I wasn't sure where the path would lead us either but I wasn't being ridiculous and communicating that to him now was I? Why on Earth would I do that????? Tsk!
Instead, I continued my silent tirade. I couldn't bear to confront him because I really didn't want to know what he had to say.
Every year, DH and I spend our Wedding Anniversary in London. We got married at Christmas and I just love Oxford Street with all the Christmas lights and hustle and bustle. I look forward to dropping DS off with his grandparents and heading off, first class (free bacon butties don't you know...), for our weekend away together. This year was no exception - I was really looking forward to it. I wasn't expecting that the 'bombshell' would have such an effect. I felt really unsettled and just had no wish to speak to DH - I could do the 'what will we do for lunch?' conversation but the, 'will we have a chat about your worries while we're alone and have the time?' conversation refused to materialise. Romance was not so much dead as deader than dead and I spent most of the weekend wanting to come home.
Eventually I knew I had to bring it up. So I asked him and once again found myself surprised. DH apparently doesn't think he'd be a good enough dad.
This is the man that actually wants to spend time with his son - not through me bribing him or pestering him - he genuinely enjoys it. The man that sits with DS and patiently runs through his spellings and cursive writing (far more patient than I could ever be) with him. That spends hours hacking through the woods, swinging on the park, searching the internet for another swimming pool to go to at 7.30am on a Saturday morning when the local one burnt down, making number plates for his go kart...And bike...And scooter... He's a fantastic dad! So why does he think he wouldn't be again? I have to be honest that I remain a bit confused about it all. Not least because if he thinks he's rubbish, where does that leave me?
DH tells me that he's often found it frustrating when we've had difficult times parenting DS; when he seems unhappy or his behaviour seems out of control or he's just being a usual, challenging, 6 year old and that because of this, he worries that he wouldn't cope with a child that had issues and/or challenging behaviours. I get where he's coming from, it worries me too, but I'm a big believer in pushing forwards and seeing how things pan out. Making an application and having a conversation with a social worker does not mean we would have a bundle of joy delivered to our doorstep the week after (quite the contrary I imagine...). It would mean that we would gather more information. And then a bit more. Until it feels right. Or not.
On a plus point, DS seems to be asking questions around it all. I haven't pushed it with him and I think it's worked in that he hasn't felt 'forced' into thinking about it. He's not sure about it all (which is fine) but he does want to know more about it.
I can't say that any clarity has been achieved just yet but at least DH and I are discussing it again. My only worry is that the longer we procrastinate, the less 'right' it might feel.
But then que sara que sara I suppose...
Oh and Happy New Year :o)