Feeling So Imperfect and Wondering if that is O.K.?

Last Saturday, I got up at the crack of dawn and drove to a community college I had never been to before, clutching a form letter in my hand, my prized possession, that reminded me that I was really doing this and told me to go to room 301B. I arrived at the campus at 7:45 A.M. for the class which began at 9:00 A.M. I followed the signs and located the correct building. Then I searched for the elevator and finally the classroom. Only the workers who were setting up for another event were present. Other than that, it was a ghost town.

I sat down and began writing out my grocery list, and even began planning lessons for school the next week. Suddenly, I noticed time was slipping by and nobody else was coming. I began to panic. I made sure to be extra early because this class was the first of six that would start me on the road to being able to adopt two children which I became aware of by watching Wednesday's Child. After waiting and hoping for twenty-some years to become pregnant and have a child of my own, I finally realized that it was not going to happen, so I got to the location extra early in order to make sure nothing would go wrong with doing it this way. And still it did.

By the time I found the correct classroom, a completely different room number than what my letter read, the class was already full. I felt my heart sinking to my ankles. I complained quite vocally, and even though the woman in charge insisted they had contacted everyone to tell them of the room change, I held my ground. "You didn't contact me." I also began to pray nonstop.

There were five "late" people. The social workers let us stay, saying that some people might opt out of the classes once they heard all of the requirements. One woman did, and that left one space. I was number two in line. During the break, I went up to the woman in charge to ask what to do in the event that I did not get to stay. She informed me that they were working on it. Within a few minutes, the social worker walked back in and announced that the couple in front of me could stay, and so could I. I looked up and thanked God for the answer I desired, and my heart went out to the two women who were asked to leave because the class was full.

I sat there for hours listening to the requirements, knowing that I would be a good mother, a loving mother, and knowing that I would provide joy and enrichment to my adopted children's lives. It wasn't until I got home that I started to freak out again.

I began to wonder if I can keep my house clean enough, my laundry done enough, my yard clipped enough, keep the plumbing from busting and the floor tiles from cracking and the paint from chipping and the dust from settling and the cleaning chemicals well hidden and the medications under lock and key along with the knives and kitchen scissors and sharp art supplies and ...oh my! My mind was going rapid-fire with doubt and making mountains out of molehills.

I know that I used to be able to do everything. I was superwoman at one point. However, my job is stressful and requires hours of work beyond quitting time, and I am in a Master's program, and my mom is aging and not very independent anymore. Can I still find it in me to do everything perfectly?

So, this weekend was the first weekend that I set out to plan further in advance for teaching my class, to do what I had to do, and to delegate more of the catering business responsibilities to my employees. This weekend was the first time I told myself, "Girl, you are just getting over this big botched surgery. You are good and you are strong, and you will get there if you take it moment by moment. One thing at a time."

The thought of not being able to adopt the children scares me so that I am motivated to move mountain ranges if they get in the way. But to be perfect? Nobody's perfect, so why do I suddenly feel that I have to be?