Although I was brutally honest in my post yesterday, I neglected to share one detail. I didn't necessarily need to memorialize it here to have it 'count.' I'm not proud of what I did and usually, if I'm going to have a come apart of that nature (although I've never done it before to that level), I usually do it when I'm alone and not in the presence of someone like my husband (whom I have to see every day until death do us part).
On the way back to town from our meeting with M3's therapist, I lost my stuffings. Snot running. Sobs racking. Tears rolling. And then? The anger. The unmitigated anger at the one entity whom I hold accountable more than any other for the decision to adopt and the one who, although kept a watchful eye while Hubs was in Iraq, seemed to be playing some kind of not-so-funny practical joke on me now. I'm not proud to admit it, but I called out God. Not just a "Oh, God, why has thou forsaken me" kind of woe is me moment, but an all out "Meet me at the flagpole after the dismissal bell if you dare" kind of call out. I'm not proud to admit that, but honestly, my faith has been shaken to its very core during the past year.