I’ve been wondering for the past couple of days just why it is that God doesn’t want me to have a little one (of any species) in my life to love and nurture.
Our struggle to have a child has been well documented and probably doesn’t need further comment at this point, but what you may not know is that I am a life-long animal lover. My mom had two Shetland Sheepdogs when she met and married my dad, so I was born into a home with pets. My first dog was a crazy (and probably mentally handicapped) poodle named Peggy who came to us when I was four. Sure, she would occasionally corner me on the patio and growl if I moved, but mostly she was sweet and loving. I could fill pages with names and stories of all the animals that brightened our lives and ultimately broke our hearts along the way.
Our family was one of those that considered their pets a true part of the family. They lived in the house with us. They shared our sofas, our beds, our lives. They were never allowed to run loose. Their needs were factored into the decisions we made. It wasn’t unheard of for us to stay up tending to a sick dog rather than leave it at the vet alone overnight. A bit extreme, perhaps, but that’s the way we were.
When I graduated and moved out on my own, I purposely didn’t get a pet. I was often gone, working and traveling and just being a young. I knew that I didn’t have time to devote to properly caring for a pet.
Our family was one of those that considered their pets a true part of the family. They lived in the house with us. They shared our sofas, our beds, our lives. They were never allowed to run loose. Their needs were factored into the decisions we made. It wasn’t unheard of for us to stay up tending to a sick dog rather than leave it at the vet alone overnight. A bit extreme, perhaps, but that’s the way we were.
When I graduated and moved out on my own, I purposely didn’t get a pet. I was often gone, working and traveling and just being a young. I knew that I didn’t have time to devote to properly caring for a pet.
Somewhere along the way, the allergies I’d had as a child returned with a vengeance. When I had testing done, I was found to be severely allergic to cats and moderately allergic to dogs. I’d suspected it, but it was hard to hear because I’d hoped to get a pet once O and I got married.
About a year later, a young mama cat had four kittens in one of our barns and they decided to call our place home, so we’ve been caring for them ever since. But because of my allergies, I have to wear a mask to pet them, and then immediately wash up once I come inside. I love them, but I can love “on” them like I want to. Plus, they are roamers, returning home mostly to eat, so they don’t really need me.
Last month we tried to get an outside dog – a 3-year-old boxer mix named Bo. Bo went back to his owners a couple of days later because my asthma was acting up.
Then last Saturday afternoon, I walked around the side of our house and there was a tiny black and white kitten sound asleep on our back steps. It took one look at me and raced into the woods. I couldn’t find it so I went inside, hoping it would return because it was clearly too small to be on its’ own in such a big world. Sure enough, when O got home from the golf course a few minutes later, we peeked out the kitchen door and we could see crazy kitty fur poking up over one of the steps. O said, “Are you sure it’s a cat? It looks like a dead possum?” and Possum was born. We tried to corral her and O ultimately grabbed her by the tail as she was squeezing into our heating/ air conditioning unit. She was terrified and starving and I fell in love. Our vet said to give her kitten milk replacement and pedia*lite until he could see her on Monday, so I sprung into mommy mode. I can’t even tell you how malnourished she was. You could feel all of her bones and she was lethargic and couldn’t even meow. Poor little one.
We made her a “home” in our large pet carrier and put her on the porch under a ceiling fan. I held her off and on all weekend, and fed her the milk replacement and some canned cat food which she ate like a little pig. Almost immediately I noticed a difference. She was more aware of her surroundings, meowing a little bit, and grooming herself. And affectionate?!?!?! She would butt me with her head and flop over onto her back to have her tummy rubbed.
The vet told us on Monday that she was about six weeks old, and weighed one pound two ounces.
It was immediately clear that we were going to have to find a home for her. She’s just too small to be turned loose outside right now. A raccoon, a coyote, or even a large bird could easily have her and be gone with her in a second. But if we keep her caged until she’s larger, she’ll be completely unprepared to live outdoors and take care of herself. There’s also the matter of how our outdoor kitties will react to her. They are pretty territorial. And of course, with my allergies she can’t come inside to live with us.
Happily, one of my dearest friends has agreed to take her. She already has a 13-year-old cat whose kidneys were damaged during the pet food recall of several months ago. She thinks it will be nice to give him a companion, and has named her new kitty “Bella” – very fitting. My sainted husband will be spending his Saturday taking Bella to her new mom in Kentucky, about an 11-hour round trip drive. I, of course, can’t go. Damned allergies!
Though I am thrilled that Bella will have a wonderful home, I am so sad to have to send her away. She has been such a bright spot in my life. I’ve loved spending time with her, sitting in our rocking chairs with her, playing with bits of ribbon, rubbing her tummy as she looks up at me with big green eyes. I’ve even enjoyed giving her medicine to her and getting up to check on her early in the morning. For the past week, I’ve had a little creature to love, to care for, to nurture. And tomorrow morning she will leave and my heart will break . . . again.
So here I sit feeling like a failure. My body won't create a baby to love and nurture and care for. That same body refuses to allow me to even properly love and nurture and care for the little creatures that come my way. My mothering instincts are so strong, yet for some reason God doesn’t seem to want me to use them. Sure, I get fleeting opportunities now and then, but they never stay. They never ever stay. I don’t know why.
We made her a “home” in our large pet carrier and put her on the porch under a ceiling fan. I held her off and on all weekend, and fed her the milk replacement and some canned cat food which she ate like a little pig. Almost immediately I noticed a difference. She was more aware of her surroundings, meowing a little bit, and grooming herself. And affectionate?!?!?! She would butt me with her head and flop over onto her back to have her tummy rubbed.
The vet told us on Monday that she was about six weeks old, and weighed one pound two ounces.
It was immediately clear that we were going to have to find a home for her. She’s just too small to be turned loose outside right now. A raccoon, a coyote, or even a large bird could easily have her and be gone with her in a second. But if we keep her caged until she’s larger, she’ll be completely unprepared to live outdoors and take care of herself. There’s also the matter of how our outdoor kitties will react to her. They are pretty territorial. And of course, with my allergies she can’t come inside to live with us.
Happily, one of my dearest friends has agreed to take her. She already has a 13-year-old cat whose kidneys were damaged during the pet food recall of several months ago. She thinks it will be nice to give him a companion, and has named her new kitty “Bella” – very fitting. My sainted husband will be spending his Saturday taking Bella to her new mom in Kentucky, about an 11-hour round trip drive. I, of course, can’t go. Damned allergies!
Though I am thrilled that Bella will have a wonderful home, I am so sad to have to send her away. She has been such a bright spot in my life. I’ve loved spending time with her, sitting in our rocking chairs with her, playing with bits of ribbon, rubbing her tummy as she looks up at me with big green eyes. I’ve even enjoyed giving her medicine to her and getting up to check on her early in the morning. For the past week, I’ve had a little creature to love, to care for, to nurture. And tomorrow morning she will leave and my heart will break . . . again.
So here I sit feeling like a failure. My body won't create a baby to love and nurture and care for. That same body refuses to allow me to even properly love and nurture and care for the little creatures that come my way. My mothering instincts are so strong, yet for some reason God doesn’t seem to want me to use them. Sure, I get fleeting opportunities now and then, but they never stay. They never ever stay. I don’t know why.
Some days it doesn’t matter as much. I throw myself into caring for myself, my friends and family, and especially my husband. But really, there is only so much nurturing that a 46-year-old man needs.
As O pointed out a few days ago, I’m doing everything I can to change this situation. I’m seeing an RE. I’ve also just started shots in hopes that eventually my allergies will be cured. That’s all well and good, but I am so tired of hoping for SOMEDAY.
Oh, and to add insult to injury I just got a call from my gyn. My period is 7+ weeks late so I went in for a beta HGC yesterday to confirm that I wasn’t pregnant before starting my next round of meds. I’d peed on countless sticks and knew my body was just screwing around with me once again, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a tiny bit of hope. Silly silly me, to have hope.
As O pointed out a few days ago, I’m doing everything I can to change this situation. I’m seeing an RE. I’ve also just started shots in hopes that eventually my allergies will be cured. That’s all well and good, but I am so tired of hoping for SOMEDAY.
Oh, and to add insult to injury I just got a call from my gyn. My period is 7+ weeks late so I went in for a beta HGC yesterday to confirm that I wasn’t pregnant before starting my next round of meds. I’d peed on countless sticks and knew my body was just screwing around with me once again, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a tiny bit of hope. Silly silly me, to have hope.
Another negative. Another dream gone.
Today I feel barren. I’ve never been able to say that before, but I do.
Oh well, I guess I'll go hold tiny Bella before she goes away too.
