When you don't get "the call"

During this quarantine, I've started watching Hoarders.  There used to be a time that I couldn't do it.  Just watching a few minutes of an episode would literally put me in anxiety attach mode.  For days afterwards, I would fearful that I was a hoarder and that everything needed to be tossed out immediately.

Tiernen and Darryl both forbid me from watching it.

And for a long time, I didn't.

But now I've started again.  Watching, not hoarding.  Of those of you who know me or have been to my home, you know I strive for minimalism.  Long before Marie Kondo was at the height of popularity, I wanted to have a house that was clutter-free, with clean lines and all that happy bullshit.  

And for the most part, I've done a good job.  For someone who loves books, I have very few on my bookshelf.  It isn't that I don't read.  I DO!  It's just that after I read one, I give it away.  Very rarely do I keep books.  I probably have less than fifty total on my shelf, and those are the ones that are super important to me.  Maybe I like the idea that if I had to pick up and move, I could pack all of them in one or two boxes and still be happy.  Who knows.

Anyway, I don't fear that I am a hoarder anymore.  Now I watch it and think, "wow, I'm doing a damn good job." Sure there are things I could improve on, but that's anybody.

If I didn't already mention this, I have a lot of animals.  Prior to Misha's passing, I had six cats and two dogs.  I admit it is too many, and Darryl and I have both decided that as they pass, they won't be replaced.  The goal is two cats.  

But I do see myself having hoarding tendencies in one area that is also potentially dangerous, and that comes to babies.  I only had one biological child because a) I was single, b) I couldn't afford it, and c) I hated being pregnant.  But honestly, there was a time when I wanted to live on a farm in Maine and drive a Suburban and have six kids.  For a long time, that desire faded, but now, it's back.  Okay, maybe not the Suburban (gas hogs... can I have a really large Prius?)

When I find out that someone "gets a call" to foster a baby, I'm jealous.  It doesn't matter that I have two babies at home.  I want more.  Kaylie is almost 11 months old and the fact that in a month I am going to have to put the Baby Brezza back in storage makes me want to cry.

So you can imagine my delight when, last Monday, The Agency called and said they had a FIVE DAY OLD BABY that needed placement. I was giddy.  Giddy.  In my mind, I was planning on rearranging the bedroom so I could fit the pack n play in my room, like back with Baby N was here last year.  I was thinking of the newborn diapers and clothes I had stashed in the attic.  

I was literally putting on my shoes when I was overcome with hoarder guilt.  Yes, guilt.

Friends of mine (who I met when they became foster parents to Baby O and eventually W) desperately wanted a baby. They wanted to eventually adopt, and the goal, the dream, was to have an infant from the hospital, a newborn.

Here I was, two healthy, happy babies, and I was going to scoop up and hoard a third.

I felt extremely selfish.  

I was making plans to pick up the newborn when I said to The Agency rep, "I need you to call XXX first... if they won't take the baby, I will."  She was stunned... "Oh, okay," The Agency lady said.

I immediately texted my friends and said, "You are going to get a call.  Newborn baby boy.  If you don't take him, I will."

They took him, except him was a her.  They are in love with this little one.  I feel both great about it and horrible.  Does that make any sense?

I called Darryl on his break and told him.  He said that letting the XXXs take the baby was a good idea because they wanted one so badly.  She will probably be freed for adoption because her mother had other children in care and apparently there is some mental illness there.  I am jealous.  

Is it possible to feel really good and really bad about a decision you made?

Another foster friend told me it just wasn't meant to be and that I'm a good person.  Yeah, okay... still sucks though.

I made Darryl pinky swear me that the next time they call for a newborn, we can take him or her.  He said okay.  It's rare to get those calls.  I know this.

My friend sends me pictures of the little girl I almost got to foster.  I'm so happy for them, but I'm sad and selfish and stingy and grumpy and angry for me.

Does that make any sense?