The adventure begins...

There's so many things I should be doing....but I hate the word 'should'. Sitting here surrounded by boxes on the precipice of our next big adventure. Everything has happened so fast but I am humbled by how committed R is to living his dreams, to following his heart and I am following with my mind wide open. Getting snagged on the emotional stuff though. R found a little houseboat on Gumtree and we have - recklessly and impetuously - bought it with all our savings. When the survey came back depressingly realistic (more problems than I care to mention) we faltered and wondered what in the hell it was we were doing. But somehow, the magic of the sunsets on the water, the dream of living more simply and the pure history of our little 1920s cruising yacht has soothed us, rocked us back into believing. And I do believe! I believe this will be the beginning of something magical. A change is what we need.

We are packing up our beloved cottage, allocating one tiny box of 'stuff' for our new home which is, after all, only 30ft long and incredibly compact. All the furniture and accumulated clutter of our married life must go so I am sorting through things, laughing at memories and lighting paper fires in our woodburner. So freeing to let go of the things we think define us...but terrifying too - who am I if I am not my possessions? My photos, my books, my letters? (Okay, I'll admit it, the aforementioned items are going into my mother-in-law's loft until I can make firm decisions.)

The craziest and most emotionally dangerous decision is re-homing 2 of our beloved cats. Other TTC pet-owners will understand that deep connection we have with our animals, how truly they support our soul and pick us up from our darkest places. When I took our dearest feline friend M to my brother's house to live, I cried as if my heart would break. In those tears was all the frustrations and sadnesses of the last 3 years. I felt wracked with guilt, consumed with grief. The bed felt empty without her purring presence. And finding a home for our littlest cat has proved a journey in itself, fraught with anxiety. Many's the time I've thought 'can I do this?' Am I really the person I thought I was if I can re-home soul individuals who have loved me unconditionally through the turmoil of the last 3 years? M is happy, revelling in the attention of a full house at my brother's. Of course she is happy. This is my shit.

In the midst of the upheaval, we went to India and were seduced by the epic magic of the place; the sacred rituals, the beautiful people, the complete and utter culture shock that left us reeling for days on end. On a dusty 8-hour bus ride I conceived the idea that we might adopt from India, so saddened were we by the abject poverty some children live in. As breath-takingly beautiful children with kohl-painted eyes peeped surreptitiously at us over bus seats, we fantasised about bringing our child back to their homeland, immersing ourselves in the religious culture, taking her to bathe in the great Mother Ganges, learning Hindi....

On return to England, we were overwhelmed with the bureaucracy such an adoption would entail and the cost was far more than we could afford. So, we decided to adopt from home, from here so that our child might be able to have a relationship with their birth family if they chose to. We had always promised ourselves we'd give it 3 years and, like that, 3 years is up. It's not long by many's standards but we knew we couldn't take the uncertainty for much longer and it feels like we will finally get to live our dream of being parents. On Sunday, I suddenly realised my period was 3 days late (after deciding on adoption I gratefully put away the thermometer and the charts....freedom from their depressing tyranny) and urged R to buy a pregnancy test just so we could put that thought quickly from our minds. As he was in the shop and I was waiting in the car, I felt the low dull ache that signifies the beginning of my period, so as I saw him rushing back to the car I knew that dream was over as soon as it had begun (so funny how it happened just then). But it afforded us both brief, private moments of pure, delicious fantasy, imagining the little stick saying 'yes, against all odds and in the 11th hour, you are, indeed, going to grow a baby of your own!' Dreams....

Finally having something to tell all my postnatal and pregnant clients has been an enormous relief and wards off the endless questions of when we are going to start a family (people often erroneously believe that the reason we've delayed it is because I have witnessed what they perceive as the difficulties and struggles of early parenthood - the number of times I have had to feign laughter and change the subject are too numerous to count). I found myself blushing the first time I told a client as I saw her face registering the years I have supported her through both her pregnancies, but it was okay. For me, at least, but I hope it doesn't make people feel too awkward. Still, if people are going to ask blunt questions, finally I can give them blunt answers!

Down on the beach last night, with the glorious white moon's reflection dancing on the waves, I was filled with a sense of awe and wonderment. I had met up with some friends and told them of our plans but I found myself saying 'we've decided to adopt because we can't have children' and those words jarred like jagged glass. My friend T took me gently aside and reminded me that what I affirm becomes my reality. Of course, I know this. I've always tried to avoid saying 'we can't have kids' etc. because I know I'm putting down layers deep in my psyche but there it is, my deep belief, rearing its ugly head. The way T speaks is so wise and slow and gentle - she looked into my eyes and said 'I am going to be stern with you now, listen to what you are affirming,' and she told me again about friends of hers who have miraculously become pregnant from nowhere.... And in my heart I want to believe her, but then again I want to be a mother with my whole being and if adoption is a route to that reality, I wholeheartedly take it.

We are waiting for a call from our social worker. What he/she will make of our new living arrangements is anyone's guess but I'll keep you posted. When the process begins, I want to commit to it and not secretly be trying to conceive in a kind of back-handed manner. So, deep in my heart, I know that a chapter is coming to an end. In every sense as I sit here surrounded by boxes in our marital home. Things are ending, skins are being shed to make way for the new and I feel like an observer, watching it all. The calm abiding witness. Everything seems very dream-like as I pack up our things to go to charity and Freecycle. When I touch down into the real, the rawness of the rollercoaster ride overwhelms me and I can't stop crying. But not bad crying, just releasing, releasing, releasing crying. Letting go....

The adventure begins.....