I’m taking a break from picking up the house. Madison is in the swing, Noah is (supposedly) cleaning up his playroom. Today J’s mom and kid sister are coming over and I also have an appointment with the baby psychic (only she wouldn’t like me to call her that — I’ll find out the actual name for what she does at my visit and let you all know).

I’ve been really busy for the past couple of weeks and it’s caving in on me. The other night I was a puddle of tears and couldn’t figure out why I was so miserable. Then I remembered that I’m an introvert and that as an introvert, even the most fun socializing wears on me terribly.

I’m an introvert who functions as an extrovert. My mom’s theory is that I taught myself to do this because I grew up sandwiched between two more out-going siblings and otherwise I would have gotten lost in the shuffle. Maybe that’s true. I do remember spending time sitting in my closet with the door shut to get away from the noise. Anyway, people who meet me are surprised that I’m introverted because I can be very gregarious. It takes a lot out of me though; I feel like I’m performing and afterwards I’m exhausted. It’s easier if I have an assigned role like project leader or party host.

This is a hard part of parenting for me because not only is there my time with people that I need, but I also need to facilitate my kids’ relationships if merely by driving them here or there and greeting the adults at the other end. You know, small talk. Noah’s introverted, too, so it could be more difficult but still our social lives are entwined. I used to think it wouldn’t be as challenging if he were in school but now I see that it would just be a different kind of challenging. The mothers I know who are involved with their kids’ schooling — and I would be — do even more dashing about than I do.

I’ve taken to wearing my iPod if I’m doing chores as a coping mechanism. Music recharges me in a major way and having this little room of music going while I do dishes makes doing the dishes something I very nearly look forward to doing. I’ve also been walking in the evening when time allows (and the ellaroo, my friends, is the most comfortable way to transport a baby even on long walks — I highly recommend wraps for those with aching backs/necks). These things help. But I mostly have to tell myself that my life isn’t as bad as it looks, that it’s my shutting-down method of reacting to stress that causes me to fold into myself, that tomorrow will be a quiet day and I won’t have to leave the house if I don’t want to.

More and more I see the power of learning to accept myself just as I am (thank you, Fred Rogers!) and making room for the way that I need to do things. It doesn’t help to wish I were less shy or more naturally outgoing but it does help to give myself space for a nervous breakdown after a raucous evening of homeschooling events. And it helps even more to be able to see that how I’m perceiving things isn’t necessarily how they are.

Like the mess below with the comments. Part of that came about because I’m feeling kind of put on the spot lately in regards to any and all adoption issues. I’m suddenly feeling like a poster child for open adoption and I certainly don’t feel up to the task. I’ve got IRL friends and virtual friends who send me any and all adoption stories that they come across online or in the paper and ask me for my instant opinion. I have other people who laud me as some kind of super hero adoptive parent and others who think I’m delusional and it all seemed to come together — in my mind — on this blog.

The truth is that I don’t know if open adoption will be best for Madison any more than I know that homeschooling will be best for Noah. I think those things will be. I think — based on my reading, my values, and my heart — that it’s the only way I could live my life. But I have my doubts and my insecurities and I get tired of defending those choices although I also think it’s my duty to do so. I mean, if I put an entry up and get a response, well, I have a responsibility to hold up my end of the conversation. At least I think I do. It’s part of the challenge that I’ve set for myself on this blog. But I also get tired. This isn’t theory to me — it’s Real Life. Madison isn’t an experiment; she’s my kid.

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