These are the comments and questions that live in my head on a daily basis. Can anyone relate? Just me? Am I normal? Please tell me yes.
Hey, popular media, how about you make some movies where one out of every eight of the characters is struggling with infertility. Be relatable or something.
Oh, look! Another movie preview about an accidental pregnancy that ends with a convenient love story between the biological mother and biological father of the child. I will now punch the wall and attempt to get my hands on that movie script so I can light it on fire.
Whatever. I barely watch television anyway. Let’s get some stuff done. GROCERIES!
*In baby aisle* Hey, large companies who produce baby products–I realize you don’t want to “rock the boat” or anything, but maybe society as a whole would have an easier time understanding transracial adoption if you like…put colorful families on your packaging. Just a thought. I’d buy them. And then maybe fewer people would stare at my family when we’re out in public. Thanks for your consideration.
Speaking of…..do those people staring at my family not realize I can see their eyeballs? Ugh. Just ignore them and check your phone or something.
Ah! Look! Another healthy twenty week ultrasound in my news feed! PRAISE. Guess I’m headed to the gym’s punching bag later. Ugh. Now I feel guilty. BE HAPPY FOR OTHERS, JORDAN.
Wait, no. Your kids died and all of your ultrasounds came straight from the fiery pits of h–okay. Yeah. Giving myself a break. I think people call that grace?
Yes, giving myself grace for the fact that I am happysadangrymad about all the ultrasounds all up in my feed. *deletes all social media apps and throws phone into trash.* Enough of that. Let’s just go to the park. Get some fresh air. Relax.
Oh, no. Another park playdate with a group of moms complaining about their pregnant bellies while they chase their other zillion trillion biological kids around. Oh, no. They saw me. They are talking to me. I am now included in the conversation. Seriously? This again? Pregnancy complaints and husband bashing. Think fast. They are looking at you. Say something.
“I mean………I wish I was pregnant and I really like my husband.”
Quick…..act like it’s time to get Shepherd back for his nap. No, wait, be sassy and tell her you’ll take the baby off her hands if it’s too much trouble. No. Don’t be dramatic. Just go home. This is why you don’t like the park during peak hours, Jordan. Remember this. On the way home I ponder why all the billionaires in the world don’t just fund all the adoptions.
Why can’t I be a billionaire so I can fund all the adoptions?
*Spends rest of day thinking about how to become a billionaire.*