The phone calls will stop if I return the Resource Family Home Profile.

I don’t know why it is taking me so long to complete less than half a page. I have no desire to be a foster parent. Being a foster parent means remembering that the placement is temporary. Fostering means knowing that in a day or week or month the child(ren) in my care will leave for destinations unknown. Plus, I get attached too easily and don’t know how my son will respond to kids coming in and out of our home. And yet, the calls with tales of the 21-days old African American boy or six-weeks old baby boy in need of immediate shelter are tempting.

Sometimes I dreams about my next child and feel haunted by the calls. Is the universe trying to send me another precious gift to love and possibly adopt? Should I say “yes”, rather than pause before eeking out a pitiful “no”? After disconnecting the call, I feel bad. I think: may be I could put a crib in my room, make arrangements to take the baby to work with me or get an older child and skip the diaper/teething stages altogether. May be.

May be I am in the midst of the mommie jones matrix and my judgment is compromised. Not known for being especially practical, I do have moments of clarity. This is one of those moments, ’cause I don’t have space for another baby, extra money for daycare or additional time to do any more than I already do in the allotted hours of each day. Saved by prudence, I push my reluctance aside, write I do not wish to participate as a foster parent, seal the envelope and personally serve the postman.

Though my hand written explanation feels contrary to my mission of familial expansion, it is a necessary decision.