The Current Underlaying...

I've mentioned a few times on this blog that I've always had a tendancy towards the melancholic side of things... inspired by Dexter(sorry! You know I'm totally obsessed lately!), a "dark passenger" if you will (only mine doesn't make me kill people - it just makes me overanalytical and slightly woebegone). But like him, it has made me feel isolated, alone, as if I had this secret that the rest of the world didn't understand.  And like him,  I didn't know where this comes from, but I've recently discovered that it might just be genetic.

Before I get into full mode on this post I'd like to say this:  I know that some of the women I follow on Twitter are in the process of filling out adoption papers.  This post is about the other side of that, the side of the adoptee, and I just wanted that to be known up front in case it's too sensitive for some to be reading right now.  

I am adopted, you see, so those forms that you have to fill out at a doctor's office are quite a bit shorter for me - never able to fill in the blank spots where it says "family history". Until now.

In Ontario, until June of 2009, adoption records were closed.  Meaning I knew nothing.  Nothing at all - even though my Mom (though adopted, she's still my mom, 100%) knew a bit.  She kept me sheltered from what little she knew until recently, when I began to express a litte more interest.   Not that I didn't always know I was adopted, but I didn't know the particulars.   But last year, when the laws around adoption in Ontario changed, and I knew that I would actually be able to get somewhere without becoming Nancy Drew (was gonna put Deb Morgan here, to continue on the whole Dexter thing... too much?), I approached my Mom and she gave me the documents she did have.  She had the report from the Children's Aid about my birth parents and their families, and when I read it I would be lying if I said I wasn't shocked at all the similarities.  It was like I was reading a document written about me.  Their hobbies, their tendancies, and what struck home the hardest was my birth mother's "tendancy towards the melancholic".

I had never even used the word melancholic to describe myself before.  I always used "depressed", "down", even "manic" at times, but never that particular word.  It's wierd, because after I read that sentance about my birth mother, I realized that melancholic really is the perfect word for me. It makes me feel not so... depressing! It sounds more romantic, more soft, less whiny. 

So, although I now know my birth mother's name, her birthtown, and how she met my birth father and conceived me, the one thing that I think about and am most grateful for knowing is that I am melancholic - just like my birth mother, and that is ok.  I'm not sure how much farther I will take my curiosity.  She lived in a small town about an hour and 1/2 away from where I live, and I've been playing with the thought of going there to see what I can find out - but again, that's a bit too Nancy Drew for me.

I may just settle with what I've got, which is much more than I had before when I was floating around not having the slightest clue as to why I was the way I was. 

My Newest Distraction

I've been kind of out of circulation on Twitter today and yesterday because, in addition to my severe Dexter addiction, I have also re-started an old project that I began when I first quit smoking about 7-8 weeks ago. (so kicking myself in the pants for not noting that exact date now! I really didn't think that it would stick... ) I knew right off that I would need to find something to do with my hands (keep your mind outta the gutter, people!) so I started knitting a baby blanket. 

Now, since I am on a Clomid break, and not in the full swing of TTCing, because of various reasons (money, identity crisis, to name a couple) I thought I had to change the direction of said blanket. Because it's just depressing me, and remind me of the unsurities that I  am dealing with. 

I have however already purchased a great array of wool, suited to a baby (boy or girl colours) and have already thought up the scheme for it.

So, while I am not twittering, I am making a blanket that is, or is not, for my future baby. And if it has to sit, along with my secret IKEA baby blanket, stashed away in the back corner of my linen closet, so be it.  At least I'll be ready - and it kind of makes me feel pro-active again.   Like, ok, so we're broke, and I can't be on Clomid, or do the trigger shots, or the progesterone after... but I CAN eat better, continue to not smoke(which the knitting TOTALLY helps with by the way), try to excersize ( which I have yet to manage to do- by the time I walk up the big hill out side our building after a dog walk, I'm officially K.O)... and, I CAN make my spirit baby a blanket. 

Pictures to come :)

A Shortie... but a goodie :)

To my faithful followers -

I have been M.I.A for 2 days because I have been stuck in Dexter Heavan.
Episode after episode I sit, glued to my tv, waiting to see who will be next on Dexter's radar. (Btw, he is the yummiest serial killer EVER).

Loved this...
Masuka, "You are offending my people!" and stalks away angrily.
Quinn, "Who are his people?"
Angel, shrugging, "Who knows? Small scientists?"

I just love the dialogue in this show.  If I could write like that I would be a millionaire. Cagillionaire in fact. 

oh - side note.... I am writing a blog for my uncle - well, kinda.   I'll explain more in detail in my next post, but for now, if you'd like, you can check it out at: http://juriandthebears.blogspot.com

And now... D is back from his dog walk, and we are back to our little Dexter cocoon.