Try, try again?

I received an e-mail from the agency whom we fostered through, about an upcoming event. The event was an opportunity to meet children available for adoption. We were unavailable for the event, but I wouldn't have attended anyway. We had been to one before and I likened it to a gang bang. Craft tables and games were set up. Pizza and soda was served. Adults would crowd kids they were interested in, leaving others to play alone. I found it artificial and humiliating. I wanted to leave immediately.

Anyway, I responded to the e-mail and the woman wrote back:

"I am glad you responded I have wondered if you would be interested in another placement and if so what age range and gender you would be interested in."

Punctuation was hers not mine.

I took a day and wrote this:
"[we] are still interested if it's the right fit for us.

Do most adoptive placements start as just fostering?

We would like a girl or boy (siblings would be fine), ages 3 to 12. A teenager might be work in the right circumstance. Our last placement was at therapeutic level and still placed with us and we realized that we were way in over our heads."

She suggested that we look on a photo listing website, but there are always the same kids listed and I can't help but hope/wish that there are more kids available. I asked but she did not answer. She did say this:

"Most adoptions do come out of foster placements...Thanks for letting me know and I will be in touch if a kiddo comes along that seems like a good fit."

I don't expect to hear.

Our plans

The plan:
1. Finish some house projects.
2. Heal.
3. Become a couple again.
4. Attempt to foster/adopt again.

These are our immediate plans. I wax and wane on my feelings about being a parent. At times I feel renewed, and other times I experience that drowning feeling when I was a foster parent: utterly helpless to what was happening before me. Maybe I just suck at this parenting thing. I found myself saying things and acting the way my father did, and I didn't like that. I felt like I had reactive detachment disorder. I couldn't help but feel that our foster son's attachment to us equaled ours to him. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

It makes me feel sad, and guilty, and selfish.