grieving for what will never be.

OK, I'm sobbing right now. I don't know why I picked now to start blogging again, after over a month of silence... I guess I just need some extra help in processing some stuff. Writing out my feelings always helps me feel better.
I've been ravenously researching adoption lately. For hours at a time, some days. Because I've learned that due to a number of factors, it is very unlikely that Tim and I will ever be able to have biological children of our own. It would take a lot of very expensive medical intervention to even try. For a long time (ever since we got married, in fact) I've been kind of in denial about that. I thought we'd just save up and find a way. But the fact is, even if I was able to get pregnant, it would almost definitely be a difficult and high-risk pregnancy, with a high chance of losing the baby, due to my numerous lifelong hormonal problems.
I'm finally coming around to face reality on that topic. It helped when I ran some tests for my naturopath and discovered I'm not even ovulating right now. That was a cold wake up call.
But I'm grieving a lot. I'm grieving the loss of what will never be. The child we most likely can never have, who has my eyes and Tim's curly hair. Who will inherit some of our little quirks and peculiarities. Who carries some of our family traits. Who has my artistic bent, and Tim's passion for Truth. I'm grieving for that child, shedding a lot of tears lately. Tim has been so good and understanding to me. I feel like I see little children and babies and pregnant women everywhere I look. Every time I go to the store, I see all the little children in the shopping carts, and I love them. My heart aches with how much I love them... and how much I want one of my own. Sometimes I have to look away because my eyes start to fill with tears.
But my love for the children in the shopping carts also gives me hope. I can love, fiercely and passionately as a mother should, a child who is not biologically my own. I really don't care what my future children will look like. I love all the shopping cart children, no matter their hair or skin color. I think all of them are so precious and adorable and kind of wish I could take one home. But I know those children already have parents who love them. But I also know that somewhere out there, someday, will be a child just as precious, who doesn't have a family to care for him or her. And someday, when we're ready, after I've finished grieving for what cannot be and have moved on in my heart, God will bring that child into our lives.