I met my now husband twelve years ago at our local watering hole. It was known for karaoke on Sunday nights and he was a karaoke fiend. I had worked as a bartender for a sixteen hour shift and had been promoted at my office job, which started bright and early Monday morning. I stopped in for one drink, which was unusual for me and wound up striking up a conversation with Joe. My husband is an enthusiastic charmer with charisma to spare when he wants to use it and all I wanted was to talk all night.
I only had one issue. At twenty three years old, I knew I wanted a child. And I made sure Joe knew it as well.
But Joe already knew he couldn’t have children. Not without expensive medical intervention.
We dated, we moved, we got new jobs, we lost new jobs. My father died. His father died. We bickered, we got in financial trouble, we moved again, we sold a house, we got out of financial trouble, we got new jobs, we got a two bedroom apartment, we discussed foster care, we met new family, we bought a house and then we got the expensive medical intervention.
It didn’t work.
The doctor’s tried to get us to try again, and spend more money. Joe and I decided that I would study and get my professional certification. Then we’d decide.
In the back of my head was the fact that I’d wasted ten years of my life, struggling for money, for jobs, for schooling and I’d finally made it professionally, but I was just too old for kids. Women have that ticking time bomb called the fertility window and mine had closed.
A week before my final test, we had an interview to become foster parents. That was the easy part. . .