THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, November 29, 1994 TAG: 9411290046
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY PAM STARR, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Medium: 68 lines
SHE HAD ash blond hair and light brown eyes and was holding her new daddy's hand as they walked down the street past my parents' house.
``Oh, that's Sabrina,'' my mom whispered. ``They just adopted her from an orphanage in Russia. I think she's 3, but she's small for her age.''
I ran over to the side of the deck and yelled hello. The little girl stopped, smiled broadly and beckoned to me. When I approached Sabrina, she crouched and held out her skinny arms.
How cute, I thought. I scooped her up effortlessly, delighted that she immediately clung to me. Tears sprang to my eyes when Sabrina rested her head against my shoulder.
All I kept thinking was ``I want one.''
I'm one of those women who admire babies in the neighborhood, parks, malls and restaurants and come over to the parents to coo and smile at the child. My baby radar, as my husband calls it. He says I can sniff out a smelly diaper better than a bloodhound can track down an escaped convict.
I can't help it. I love children, yet I've never been pregnant. Doug and I have been married seven years and started trying to conceive about two years ago after I went off the Pill.
We did all the right things, according to those infertility books, but nothing ever happened.
My mother, ever hopeful, clipped articles on infertility treatments out of newspapers and magazines, and mailed them to us regularly. She even sent us a Mexican fertility statue after a trip, as a semi-joke.
Last year the gynecologist determined that endometriosis was causing my infertility and suggested I undergo a diagnostic laparoscopy if I was really sure I wanted to get pregnant. I was, but Doug has always waffled. I started ``baby'' talking a year after we were married, but Doug didn't buy it.
``We don't have enough money,'' he'd say. ``I want to enjoy you to myself for awhile.''
It was even harder to convince Doug after he began teaching high school, and would come home exhausted. Every so often, he rattled off a never-changing list of reasons why we shouldn't have a baby: They're too expensive. We'll never have time to ourselves. There's too much crime, violence, pollution, etc., in the world to bring a child into it.
And I countered with: We could afford a kid if we quit eating out all the time. We probably have too much time to ourselves and have become too self-absorbed. Maybe our child would be the one to really help improve this world.
Adoption was never an option for Doug. ``I don't want to raise someone else's kid,'' he said.
He bought me a pug puppy five years ago, hoping it would make up for the lack of a baby. It did for a time, but I just transferred my maternal instincts to the dog. We've had to deal with a spoiled little brat ever since who insists on being hand-fed and held all of the time. She even thinks her name is ``mommy's baby'' or ``daddy's little girl.''
Pretty bad, huh?
But I thought I was handling the situation all right until that fateful day in July when I came face to face with Sabrina. That precious child, so innocent and loving, made me realize that the hollowness in my soul was directly linked to my childlessness.
I went back to Doug after relinquishing Sabrina to her father.
``I want one,'' I said, with tears still smarting my eyes. ``Please, I don't want to wait anymore.''
Tears came to his eyes, too, as he put his arms around me.
``You're right,'' he answered. ``I want one, too.'' by CNB