Thursday, December 31, 2009

Moving Into a New Year

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings." *

So now it's time to talk of many things, as the Walrus says, but in a new venue.

Thank you to all who have come to visit and checked things out. Thank you to all of those who have lurked, who have commented, and those who have contacted me privately. For those who stumble across this location, feel free to look around (for I'm going to leave this up), then come and follow the story that happened when a dream came true.

I wish this venue allowed the adjustment of security on individual posts, because there is a portion of you that I want to share pictures with. I can’t do that here. It’s really the only reason I’m moving things over to the new place, because I actually prefer this interface and the ease of use, and the many ways to play with the layout.

Oh well.

To my followers, switch your reader to the new URL. The rest of y’all, put the new address linked above in your favorites list. Leave this page be on your blogrolll. I'm not taking this down... at least not in the foreseeable future.

See you over there!
* "The Walrus and the Carpenter," Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll, 1872

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Christmas Prayer

Lord, in this holy season of prayer and song and laughter, we praise you for the great wonders you have sent us: for shining star and angel's song, for infant's cry in lowly manger. We praise you for the Word made flesh in a little Child. We behold his glory, and are bathed in its radiance.

Be with us as we sing the ironies of Christmas, the incomprehensible comprehended, the poetry made hard fact, the helpless Babe who cracks the world asunder. We kneel before you shepherds, innkeepers, wisemen. Help us to rise bigger than we are.

Wishing all of you a blessed and radiant Christmas!

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Sometimes Brevity is Best

Email to DH over the course of the day: your son has been taken over by a gremlin today. wtf?

His reply: Bad little monkey.


My usually mellow little man has been a fussbucket today... at breakfast with friend A, and while I got my hair cut later. He's always slept through these things.

Then again, who am I to complain? He's sleeping through the night. Paybacks...

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Random Thoughts, Holiday Style

Tree up, check.
Stockings, check.
Shopping… mostly done.
Laundry… riiiiight
Feeling festive? Not really.

This is the second year we haven’t had a Christmas party. Last year we went to Vail during Christmas week, and there was no way I was going to try and pull off a party and have everything ready to go for a week away, on top of the money issue. This year, an even better reason to defer – The Boy – but it still feels weird. My heart hasn’t been into dolling up the house since nobody’s really going to see it.

I have always been one to have a lights extravaganza in the front yard; this year, I have no energy or time. I usually have lights all up in the trees, here, there, and everywhere. This year? I have the nativity up and some basic lights, nothing more.

And I’ve been in a blue zone, too. (and yeah, that’s going to be my new Internet home, take a look).

It feels weird. I don’t feel like myself, and I want to snap out of it.

On the other hand, we have the greatest reason in the world to celebrate. If someone had told me at the end of last year that not only was I going to have a couple of dream destinations fulfilled (DC and Ireland), but that we would be parents by this time this year, I would have told them to GTFO and GBTW, EABOD and… yeah. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that The Boy would be here, our lives changed forever, the center of happiness and celebration and light.

Side note: at this very moment, I have put The Boy down on his stomach… he HATES HATES HATES it, with the power of a thousand exploding suns. He needs to do it, for his neck and upper body strength and other wild hair reasons. Any suggestions? I do have the surfboard, but I think it props him more than it forces him to hold his head up. The back of his head is getting a bald spot and I think it’s getting flat, too. Poor kid.

It’s amazing I have to think about that. I never thought that I would be thinking about tummy time, formula, diapers and just the thought of travelling with an infant, and sleeplessness and the incredible journey that this has been. My heart melts when DH is chanting “peanutbutter-jellllllly, peanutbutter-jellllllllly!” while holding The Boy in the air, or just camping with him on the couch while watching a movie. And, while it’s irritating and obnoxious in her shrill NJ voice, I take pride in MIL saying to The Boy over and over, “it’s graaaandmawww” (the look on his face when she practically yells that in his face is priceless), mostly because I was beginning to think that the day would never come.

I am relieved that while he had a really rough start in his first week, he is perfectly healthy. However, I despise that stupid growth percentile that pediatricians foist on parents from the first visit – while The Boy is 8 days older than his cousin J, he was born three pounds lighter and with birth issues, and has continued to be three pounds behind as they both begin their third month of life. That will even out as they both journey into their first year – so why be crazy about it? Why give nervous nelly parents more fuel for neuroses? I just don’t care; I’m happy no matter how tall he turns out or whatever, as long as he’s healthy.

I love my goofy little boy. :)

Friday, December 11, 2009

Send Some Lovin' Jeny's Way

Jeny and her husband are going home without baby after all of those uplifting updates. Send her some love in their shock and heartbreak.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

PostSecret Poignancy

Posted on November 29, 2009:

No, I didn't send it, obviously, since we know who The Boy's mother is. But the sentiment expressed runs deep: I want her to know that our son is happy, healthy, loved, and the center of our lives, hopes and dreams, too.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Time's A-Flying

Last Wednesday night, I was having my me-time at Starbucks, addressing Christmas cards, and was updating my journal… well, at least my calendar. I looked, looked again, didn’t believe it… so I went to the paper stand where the last forlorn papers from that morning were sitting.

Yep, it sure was. It was Wednesday. Already. Where in the hell did the week go? I’m telling you, the most surprising thing about parenthood is how the time races when you’re not looking.

Wednesday. December 2. Already.


Not only is it December already, but The Boy is now eight weeks/two months old… and just too stinkin’ cute! Eleven pounds, one ounce.

And so strong! Our pediatrician was really impressed. I personally believe that he’d walk right out the door if his kneecaps were developed.

We got the minute entry last week saying that our finalization date is in April. I had hoped, as previously posted, that the court date would be earlier, but also was realistic about how chronically backed up the court system is. But, you know, six months for an adoption, from filing the Petition to finalization, is about right. I’m not complaining.

The good thing is that our case worker called not only to check in, but also to let us know that since The Boy was placed with us at birth, we're eligible under the new court rules for a 90 day hearing, which would bring us back to February. I'm having the office look at it.

I know I’m being ambitious by thinking of rolling his christening and the finalization celebration into one day. Why not, if we can finagle it? Thank God in the morning and party for joy in the afternoon.

Why not?

We’ll see. The best laid plans…

During a break in feeding him last week, I heard that dangerous little gurgle from below, and knew what he had done… But it was that beatific smile of relief on his little face afterwards that made me think, Uh Oh… and I was laughing at his most obvious pleasure that he’d had a bowel movement… now I know what my friends meant by “look out for that smile!”

So, I was cleaning him up, as it an impressive blowout… went to wash my hands, came back, grabbed another wipe just to make sure that he didn’t have the spitup residue on his skin, and also not smell like spitup (which had happened a few minutes before the blowout). My hand registered the coldness of the wipe, but I didn’t warm it in my hands first as I usually do.

When I put that cold wipe on his chest, he completely lost it. His infuriated reaction made me laugh so hard… happy and gurgly to supremely pissed off in .2 seconds! He was so pissed off! I was apologizing to him profusely – I didn’t mean to do it! – but I was laughing at him and his expression at the same time, and I about peed my pants. He’s so funny.

And I just melt when he does his chatters and coos and billygoats, and gives his little smiles; it’s just so beautiful. He is beautiful, and perfect. Truly a gift.

Naturally, I’d love to share pictures more than I do, but I’m sort of gun-shy about that. It’s not a new thought, and I really wish Blogger had the option to change the settings on individual posts so that I can share. I don't want to go completely private, so...

This is why I’ll be migrating over to at the New Year. The new site will have all the prior posts and comments, but they will give me the opportunity to share The Boy with those who have watched the journey from the beginning. It will give me the freedom to preserve his privacy and our own, yet allow me to share with those of you who have been here for the long haul. The criteria will be that one leaves a valid email address and also has a blog or website – not negotiable. I know I’ll lose some folks for those posts, but that’s what I have to do.

It will also be an amalgamation of this and my other blog; it won’t be just adoption topics. You’ll get to hear me blather on about current events, occasional politics, football (and specifically the Dallas Cowboys… yeah, I know, I know), religion, home life, everyday happenings, cooking, and so on.

I won’t be deleting anything here so it will remain a source for those who are on the start of their journey… paying it forward, if you will. I just can’t run two blogs at the same time anymore.

Okay, going to run and give The Boy some tummy time. Happy Shopping!

Thursday, December 3, 2009


How can I not share this?

[pic removed, 12-31-09]

The Boy refused to budge from sleepyland and resisted all attempts to be wakened; so, Santa improvised, and isn't it just the darlingest pic? I also liked the fact that Santa had a Southern accent and was just the nicest guy around. We chatted for a bit and I had a nice time.

This excursion rocked because I just happened to hit a time when there was absolutely NO LINE. There were kids in front of us, but not many, and the lull happened just as I peeked to see if it was worth it. Got in, nobody behind us, got in and out without waiting. It was great.

Of course, I'll pay for this in the years to come when he's screechy and terrified and just the way the little three year old was in front of us. But today... well, sometimes you're just meant to be somewhere.

Tomorrow is his eight week checkup. I'll post more later.

Monday, November 30, 2009

We Interrupt This Blog for a Very Important Message

I wrangled with this topic a lot over the course of the last couple of weeks. On one hand, one shouldn’t pay any mind to those looking for negative attention. On the other, such blatant name calling and judgmental bullshit needs to be addressed.

I was thinking about writing about the specific issues brought up so delicately (ahem!) by my uninvited guests, but then that lowers me to their game. Why in the hell should I justify myself to people who come to my world and treat me like shit without provocation? I don’t allow people who are disrespectful to me or mine in my own house in real life, so why should I give the time of day to angry, judgmental, irrational people who apparently do not have the ability to leave a non-inflammatory comment on my blog?

These people who haunt other people’s blogs and constantly leave inflammatory comments are generally referred to as “blog trolls.” Disagreeing with someone’s position on any matter is not trolling. However, when someone posts something that is deliberately insulting and inflammatory, with a recognizable thread of some sort of hysteria and the poster has a penchant for picking on the blogger or his/her readers on every post, then yes, that’s trolling.

But if the idiot posting the flame bait is harping on a specific stance on some subject, I like to call such persons “shit disturbers.” Such people (who are a form of blog trolls) cruise blog lists of a specific topic, looking for a fight. And that is what my beloved rude visitors do – they’re looking to pick a fight. They’re also almost always anonymous, which reveals an interesting streak of being chickenshit to boot. Oh, there are a few who have the hubris to leave their trail, but most of them post a name – probably fictitious – but no email and no other internet home. They just drop by to elicit any response, preferably negative, and attempt to bludgeon this community with the emotionally charged opinion they’re going to force on everyone else.

Cram it, I say; keep your opinions (to which you are completely entitled, btw) in your world and stay out of mine. I do not come to your world and call you names and pass judgment on you.

If you are an adult, you should have the ability to post a comment without resorting to insults, belittlement, derision, emotional flame baiting, judgmental blather or hostility.

We all have the right to post on our pages without being bothered by those who make a point to annoy, abuse, threaten, or harass, especially when these people have not been sought out by this community or deliberately provoked by same.

If you cannot control your fingers on the keyboard in my world, go away. Take your poison elsewhere.

Otherwise, I do welcome thoughtful discourse, even if you don’t agree with me or my friends in the community. Rational discussion is useful and enlightening, where both sides take away something , even if nobody ever changes their mind. Some of my best friends are my complete opposite in every way and topic imaginable, and it's the ability to have a rational and friendly discussion that makes it so much fun and makes for such great friendships.

That said:

We now return to my regularly scheduled blogging.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Thankful Beyond Belief

It is appropriate to recall my blessings. I used to be more religious than I am now, thanks to a bunch of sanctimonious people who act contrary to Christian behaviors, but anyway... while I’ve never really gone far from God, I never take for granted the blessings that He has seen fit to shower unworthy me with.

• Even though she’s been gone almost four years, I am thankful that I had the mother I did. I miss her fiercely, now that The Boy is here and could REALLY use her advice and help. Thanks to her, I know how to cook well, to shop well, and I had a great maternal role model. I miss you, Ma, every day.

• I’m grateful that I have a dad who has been a great sounding board with the trials and tribulations in the last couple of months. I get it all out, he opines, then says, “Wanna do lunch?” God, I love my dad.

• Chocolate is the thing that makes the world go ’round.

• I still don’t know how the miracle came about, but DH is the finest man to walk this Earth. One misstep and we would have missed each other. It’s a miracle.

• There are no words to describe my heartfelt gratitude and my admiration for the woman who placed her son with us. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And I am grateful we had the opportunity to tell her that.

• I’m thankful for family and friends who, upon The Boy’s arrival, didn’t flinch; they have accepted The Boy with open hearts and overwhelming joy.

• I have a roof over my head, in a decent neighborhood safe enough that nothing happened when I, in my brain dead exhaustion, forgot to close the garage door overnight last week.

• I realized a dream this year when I went to Ireland with the in-laws. While there was emotional baggage that came out of it, I’m still grateful I even got to go and see my ancestral country.

• In this difficult economic environment, I am deeply grateful that DH has a job and a decent-paying one with benefits. These days, I don’t take it for granted.

• I’m grateful for God’s saving grace, for large and small miracles, for His patience, love, inspiration, and mercy, even though sometimes I can be pretty unlovable. Thank You.
• Cats rule. I have two of them. They rule us.

• There was a time I didn’t think we’d have the luxury of me staying home with our then-future children. I get to stay home for The Boy, and may even work out a way to work from home.
• My antecedents from England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Germany, France, Norway and the Netherlands – thank you for coming to this country so that I can call it mine, too.

• I’m grateful for dear friend T, who has saved my sanity in the midst of her own ongoing marital issues. I couldn’t have made a couple of these weeks after The Boy’s arrival without her.
• Kiltlifter beer, how I miss thee… but with The Boy, such pleasures shall be foregone.

• We live in a country that allows the freedom of choice, of religion, of speech, of party. Never forget that there are still countries that jail someone walking the street for no reason whatever.
• We have generations of men and women who volunteer to join our military. Thanks to all of them, past and present, family and friends and complete strangers.

• I would never have been so well informed if there weren’t infertility and adoption bloggers. Thanks to everyone out there for your time and efforts… you really do help others.

• Football should be the national religion. I’ll go into official mourning when the season is over.
• Turkey should not be relegated to once a year; it’s fun to make. However, the thought of roasting turkey in the hellish heat of summer in the Valley…. *shudder*

• I’m grateful for the sunshine that warms my hair, and for the rain that cleanses the desert and makes it smell oh so glorious.

• I’m thankful for seat belts and air bags. My late mother said that if there was even the most primitive of seat belts in 1949, her father would have lived through the car wreck that killed him.

• I’m grateful to those inspired ones who wrote down the Books for the Bible.

• Ectopic pregnancies are strange things – they force you to put things in perspective. It’s a skewed universe where one is actually grateful to have had one.

• Thank God I don’t have to eat pumpkin pie. HATE the stuff. I’ll have chocolate chip apple cake instead. Yum.

• The random eye contact and smiles from strangers always warm my heart – it means there’s still hope for mankind.

• Despite having had my knee reconstructed when I was 19 (and scoped five years ago for cleanup), I am, by some miracle, still pain free. This despite years of hiking for a living, basketball, being overweight, and being told that I have incipient arthritis.

• I’m grateful even for the trolls that haunt these blogs, who, by their rabid attacks, remind me that a) we have the freedom to write what we think in this country and b) those of us who adopt realize just how precious and important adoption—and life—is. Go back and read the previous posts comments for some pretty funny troll-fu. Why is it that they never leave an email or blog link? I’ll post more on that later.

• I’m thankful for you, every one.

This list could go on forever.

Have a safe and happy Thanksgiving!

Monday, November 16, 2009

The Week From Hell, Part Six (Friday 10/9) – Going Home, Finally

If you comment on this post (and I'd love it if you all did), feel free to ask any questions that I didn’t cover/answer adequately. I’d like to know what’s running through your heads after reading this saga.
I remember distinctly, as my head hit the pillow that Thursday night, the thought, “F can whistle for her supper for all I care right now.” The past two weeks had been heart- and mind-wrenching, and as a result, we were both physically shot. F didn’t give a flying damn about the hell DH and I had been through this week, on top of the roller coaster last week; oblivious is a better term.

Go fly a kite, I thought wearily, reminding myself to do the pics sometime the coming weekend, and fell asleep.

So, finally, the day had come, a day neither of us thought would come at the rate things had gone: bringing The Boy home. It was still surreal, as it had happened too fast with no preparation, but my heart was just bursting with joy.

I did sleep well. When I remembered the previous night’s conversation with F (she had pushed it, after all, saying that it was imperative, as if BM’s grandma was dying; I asked if she were, and she was not - why was she being so rudely pushy?) as I showered early on Friday morning, the resentful thought had surfaced in my head that, you know, with all the drama this week and OUR trauma in this whole mess, Grandma could wait a few days.

I couldn’t help but think that if Grandma had actually given a damn in general, had given a damn about her children and grandchildren; and given a flying damn especially about BM in these last many months as the girl agonized about her decision, BM would never have felt it was necessary to place her child for adoption. Specifically, BM had made it clear to F that she didn’t “want these thugs raising my child.” Wow. It was a powerful statement that made everything crystal clear to me.

I reiterated to myself the decision I made last night, that the pics could wait until I get out and about on Sunday. I was beat, tired, mentally shot, you name it, and so was DH.

And today, this Friday, was an extremely important day.


I got to the hospital extremely early… like six or six-thirty, with DH to follow after when I finally got a green light from someone and a time frame. I naively thought that, by being there, I could push things along. The BM’s attorney laughed at me the night before, saying “Yeah, right. You won’t be out there until noon, at the earliest.” I could try, though.

It was with great elation that I saw, for the first time since we first met The Boy, that he didn’t have that monster heplock in his arm. He was free! Oh frabjous joy! The nurse on shift beamed – they took it out after the last push the night before, and he’d been perfect since then, zeroes across the board on the assessment. The newest development? He was ravenous. Fantastic! I was right, the antibiotics were really messing with his appetite. I gladly allowed him to stuff his little face while I waited and waited.

I did a lot of sitting around that morning. He was taken for his hearing test; the Ped came in and gave the green light, and also (finally!) did the procedure as previously (un)mentioned. So while they took him to do that, I went and got a drink; came back, and he was done. The nurse, D, also was kind enough to do the second metabolic screen mandated by the State right there before release so we wouldn’t have to worry about it later.

HSW dropped in. She asked if everything was all right re F, and I said that she’d made that request last night. I told the truth: I was too beat to think of putting anything on a thumb drive and printing it out and, besides, I’ve been here all the time. I was also quite frank and relayed the story F had given me. “If Grandma had cared months ago, we wouldn’t be here,” I said, and expressed that it would just have to wait a few days. HSW thought that eminently reasonable, since at least SHE was aware of the chaos and emotional hell we’d been through. She expressed her congratulations, and said that she’d see me in a little while, when F got to the hospital.

The the time came: I called DH to come on down, and then I could hardly believe that I could FINALLY dress The Boy in anything other than boring hospital tops and a diaper. The original outfit I had gotten – size 3 months – just wasn’t going to fly, as he wasn’t yet six pounds. I don’t remember where I went (things are so fuzzy still), but I did find a NB onesie with tiny lions and tigers and such on it, plus mitts for his sharp little nails… but I never did find socks that fit him. The ones I had were HUGE, but they worked for the moment.
I had never seen such a beautiful baby in my life. I couldn’t believe he was ours.

I just sat and stared for the longest time. It was a miracle.

The closer to noon, and then as it passed noon, the more revolving-door-itis we had. Ped came in, congrats and good luck and goodbye; nurses in and out for final checks and good wishes, and there was a lot of paperwork to sign. There were some others that popped in and out that I just can’t recall. Finally, HSW came in with F, hellos exchanged, and HSW left. I was sorry to see her go; I was, and still am, really grateful for her help.

D, the nurse, came in. Checked my band against The Boy’s one last time, and removed the baby Lo-Jack. F had our camera at the time, and took a zillion pics. D finished, F handed back the camera.
And then it started.

“Do you have the pictures for BM?”

I told her honestly that I hadn’t had the time (I mean, hell, she called me at 5:30pm the previous night – if she’d called me in the morning and given me half a chance, I would have done it while I was in and out of the hospital yesterday. Duh.), that I slept all night and was here early today, but that I would get some printed by the end of the weekend and send them. She said snippily, “If I had known that you wouldn’t have them today, I would have brought my camera and done it.”

I patiently said that I had not guaranteed anything last night, that I/we had had a rough week, etc. Again. For the 785636th time. I said that I had promised that I would do it, but to give me a day or two, and I’d drop them immediately in the mail.

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” she snipped.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” I said wearily, too tired to pick up the gauntlet she had thrown down. “There just hasn’t been time or place, and I won’t have time today— ”

“Well, it’s just not negotiable,” she interrupted in the snottiest of tones. She stood there, arms crossed, in a snit, openly belligerent.

Yes, indeed, ladies and gentlemen, she was intending to pick a fight over something that she wouldn’t have a chance to give/send to BM until the following week.

Apparently nurse D saw that I was going to let F finally have it after all the shit she’d pulled in the last two weeks, and, God bless her brave soul, interceded. “I think we have a camera and a printer… let me see… I’ll be right back.” And she scuttled out of that room faster than we could blink.

I simmered, saying nothing. DH was livid, and just stared at her. It was a very uncomfortable five minutes as we signed her paperwork and tried to figure out how to adjust the car seat to fit him. I was very, very, extremely PISSED at this bitch, and my jaw was clenched. How could she be so callous, so rude, so insensitive to the week of hell we’d been through over something so piddly as a couple of pictures that she couldn’t possibly get to BM anytime soon? On THIS day of all? I promised I would do it, and am happy to do it, but God, couldn’t she give me just a little space?

D deserves a medal. She found the camera, which had juuuuuuust enough battery juice to take about three pictures. I bless her even today. She completely defused what was going to be a really ugly situation. Later, DH would say angrily, “I hope I never have to deal with that bitch ever again.”

D also puzzled with us over the car seat (F, with all her placements, couldn’t figure it out either), and brought in another nurse, who did know.

Finally, FINALLY, all was done. D walked out with F, DH and me. All through the long corridors to the front, and then the ceremonial pass to F connotating the transfer of guardianship from the hospital (who can only release to a SW or to an attorney in this state), then pass to me. Thank Yous and Congratulations were exchanged, and off DH and I went to FINALLY put The Boy, in his car seat, in my car (which had the base). DH kissed me and said, “See you at the house,” and off we finally went to take our new son home.

But the drama doesn’t stop there.

I had pleaded with DH earlier on that Friday to fend off his parents for just one more day. We really needed the down time, just DH and me and The Boy. That was another battle front we’d been dealing with all week – his mother was on this rampage. First it was the breastmilk, then it was the cats, then it was bitch bitch bitch about visiting at the hospital, then this, then that. It was always (and is always, still) something. With the hospital issue, when DH finally got it through her head that this particular point was beyond our control, she then insisted that they visit as soon as we got home with The Boy.

When we finally got home and breathed for a moment, DH said, “Do you want me to put them off for another day?” I think exhaustion was finally hitting him, too.

Knowing the hell that would ensue if we called them off this late, I said to let them come; let’s just get it done. We decided to give ourselves a few hours of a breather, and DH called them and gave them the time they were to show.

I had my small revenge on her, though – as soon as I knew the time the ILs were coming, I called my dad and said to come on over an hour before them. I needed ONE calm, quiet person before Jersey-accented hell broke loose.

When I handed the baby to him, Dad quietly called The Boy by the Latin version of his name, and for some reason this pleased me immensely. He said half-jokingly that he just doesn’t have the arm strength to hold the baby too long (remember, he's 80), but he did for quite a while anyway. It was nice and peaceful and a needed balm to my frazzled nerves.

Dad needs daylight to drive with his mild cataracts, so he looked at the clock and said he’d best be going. He kissed me and the baby, shook hands with DH, and closed the front door behind him. I needed that peace, and hoped for about 10 minutes in between.


Not 10 seconds after Dad closed the security door, I could hear MIL’s fishwife voice cutting through the front of the house. I could almost hear my dad cringe; I know I did, and wished I could flee like he did. God!

To make this section shorter, I’ll just say that they were here for FOUR HOURS. And during that time, MIL continued to nag us about breastmilk, the cats, and so on. I was dying to kick her out of the house by the time they finally left.

Needless to say, I was exhausted.

The weekend we had to ourselves until Sunday evening (10/11). That’s when MIL and FIL came over, bearing food. SIL also came with presents from an extremely expensive boutique. She and her mother bickered over what THEY were going to call him. There’s nothing more annoying than two obnoxious, self-centered women from New Jersey bickering over something so inane. I am so tired of their disrespect.
I have never missed my mother so much as now, with The Boy's advent and the crises that have come with it.
I want my mommy.

So, now you have the story of how we survived this living hell. Much of it on the hospital end was beyond our control, but Ped's crap, MIL’s constant badgering, and F’s insensitive bullshit caused so much heartache that we were just toast... so much of it was completely unnecessary.

It has taken almost a month before DH and I have wound down enough to relax and actually start enjoying The Boy; he’s now six weeks old and all is well, as long as DH's mother doesn't interfere. We were just so strung out that we were on autopilot the first weeks of The Boy’s life. So sad. It shouldn’t have happened this way. So much unnecessary games, bullshit, and drama.

I know that if his birth had been normal and his release normal, I know that we would have handled his sudden advent better emotionally; yeah, we would have scrambled, yeah, it would still be stressful, and yeah, MIL would still pull her shit, but without the added burdens of his health scare and the external drama, we would have taken it all in better stride.

At least there’s a happy end to the story, and I’m so very grateful for that. There is no blessing given without some sort of payment. I know that it has made me stronger, and certainly wiser. If/when we do this again, I know what to prepare for and what to not allow from various factions.

Thank you all for staying tuned, and for your prayers, thoughts and commentary… and a special thank you to you many lurkers who continue to check in according to the handy-dandy little map in the sidebar. I’d love to know who you are, and why you’ve stuck with me, but honestly, I’m too grateful for you taking the time to stop to really question it.

Thank you all for caring.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Part Five: The Week From Hell – Thursday 10/8

I got to the hospital around 8-ish on that Thursday morning – and by God, I was so damn tired of the drive by now – and retreated to the nesting room with our sweet son (DH was back at work, but would take tomorrow off if he was to be released). This morning, for me, the little one wasn’t his usual peaceful self. I think he was having issues with the antibiotics, as had been my thought from the first day they pushed them.

Saw the Ped this morning. He explained away pushing the morphine, saying that the dose wasn’t enough to cause problems. I expressed the fact that we were NOT happy about it, especially after yesterday's assurances that he wouldn't do morphine. Ped's response was essentially “meh” – we weren’t here to see it and he was (supposedly), and it was his call, and he was going to continue with the morphine protocol. He did his residency at Johns Hopkins, eh? How low did he graduate to land himself this shitty spot?

No wonder hospitalists have such crappy reputations.

The poor baby. I never understood why he had these horrible scores any time we weren’t there. I believe they use the NIDCAP assessment; whatever they used, it is completely subjective; if the nurse has no patience, and doesn’t have time to deal with a needy baby, then yeah – she’s going to mark him up. The Boy got dinged yesterday (10/7, morphine day) for the most bizarre stuff that the succeeding shift scratched their heads on.

Exhausted from the merry-go-round of the last two weeks, I went off-site to go get some lunch and could hardly see what I was eating. I was heartbroken that The Boy was still on morphine, and pissed that the doctor didn’t seem to give a shit.

Here is the curse of being an adoptive parent of a newborn in a medical situation: until you leave the premises, handed the child by the hospital and then the facilitator (or whatever the procedure is in your state) and are then, at that moment, the child’s legal guardians, you have NO POWER and NO SAY on anything that happens. You are not consulted, you are not called, you are not advised because it doesn’t matter; the hospital technically is the guardian of the child and adoptive parents are completely powerless, and are essentially privileged visitors.

That was a rude lesson, let me tell you. My fury at that realization sapped whatever energy I had in reserve.

I went to the bank after lunch because a certain procedure (which I’m not discussing in this post) is not covered by insurance and I needed to get a cashier’s check, as the Ped said he’d do it as soon as I got back. I went to the house where I thought of taking a short nap, when the Ped called me and said to get to the hospital if I wanted it done today, and I said I’d be right there. I gathered the stuff I wanted to get and returned to the hospital.

The drive is only fifteen minutes. Ped was nowhere to be seen. He stood me up! The nurse at the front desk said he got a call and had to go – lunch, she seemed to think. But he just called me, not fifteen minutes ago! What the hell? I was madder than a wet hen. Asshole.

So I stayed; I was going to take a nap at the house but not now. No point. Since the nesting rooms were horribly uncomfortable, I didn’t nap there either. So it was that when DH came after work, I was completely shot (although the good news was that The Boy was taken off the morphine in my absence, a HUGE load off my mind.). We sat with The Boy for about 45 minutes when DH insisted we go downstairs and get something to eat.

It was just as well, as my cell phone went off just as we returned The Boy to the special care area. I think it’s deliberate that there is no cell reception in the nursery, which is fine with me. The last thing anyone needs in there is a damned phone.


I knew it was the facilitator, and I made the conscious decision to not call her back until after I had finished my meal. There wasn’t anything she could want that was that important; HSW had checked on me earlier in the day to make sure I was okay and she reassured me yet again. So whatever F wanted, it couldn’t be too crazy.

So when DH made his call after dinner, I made mine. Long story short, BM had finally told her grandmother what she had done, and grandma wanted pics. Did we have any, and could we sent F some to pass along?

So it was an innocuous, reasonable request, especially with BM grieving (she’s a tough girl, but nobody’s that tough, and I could see where grandma was heartbroken too); no problem. I replied that I would try to get some printed, but it wouldn’t be tonight. I would do my best to get some done. Was it possible to bring some tomorrow at the release (which was still the aim, according to the nurses/Ped)? Possible, but not probable; I was exhausted and I planned on going home then being here early tomorrow to catch Ped one last time in case of a surprise, plus HSW, and the hope of being released earlier rather than later tomorrow. I said I would try.

I went back upstairs to let DH in with my band, and I went home to sleep. He would stay with The Boy for an hour or so past my departure.

Little did I know that tomorrow I would regret acquiescing to F’s seemingly innocent request in my exhaustion.

Up next, the last installment of The Week From Hell, Part Six: Friday (10/9)

Friday, November 6, 2009

Part Four: The Week from Hell – Tuesday (10/6) and Wednesday (10/7)

Goodness, but we have a rash of good news in our circle!! These last couple of months have been crazy but happy in blogland. Congrats all!


Called the wonderful woman who’s pinch hitting for me at work… she’d left a message for me. Long story short, we have to resubmit the damned Petition. I knew I should have insisted that Boss leave that section alone! Damn.

Have your drink of choice and some munchies? Good. Here we go.


I was at the hospital at a decent hour on this day (10/6), a little after seven-ish according to my muddled memory. I timed it so I wouldn’t get kicked out for shift change, but also to make sure I met HSW at a decent hour, since I didn’t know when she made her rounds. I also hoped to finally meet the pediatrician assigned to The Boy.

I had just turned that last corner before pulling into the hospital lot when my phone rang; it was my sister, checking in. But even this wasn’t as tame as it seemed on the surface – she was demanding pictures! Like yesterday! And I snapped right back at her. Sheesh. I love her to pieces, but when she wants something… she would do the same thing when my new nephew was born eight days after The Boy, demand pics from #4B and YSIL. I felt bad for YSIL, because she had a c-section incision to deal with and my sister was demanding pics now now now! Amazing how much Sis has forgotten in the dozen years since Hellboy was born…


And I was glad I did get there at the hour I did – not only did I see HSW, but I also finally met the pediatrician. The ped dropped into the nesting room first. He was youngish and sorta cute in a way, a hospitalist assigned to The Boy (I have no idea if he delivered him – in fact, I have no idea who did). Ped has a great bedside manner. He was open, conversational, and explained things.

But it was a bit of a shock to learn that he’d ordered the antibiotics regimen not only for the meconium, but also because BM’s amniotic fluid was, in his word, “foul,” with pus (the sheet I would receive upon The Boy’s release had “foul smelling amniotic fluid” scribbled on it). Also, it was because BM had no idea that her water had broken, as she merely thought she wet herself… so they had no idea how long her membranes were ruptured. It was nice to know WHY, finally. It only took three days to tell me. I wonder if they were waiting for the TPR to be signed before telling me anything.

But then Ped dropped a bomb, also: because of all of those circumstances, he was deciding to play it safe and extend the antibiotic regimen, meaning The Boy was now going to be released on Friday.

My heart dropped.

HSW came through about twenty minutes after Ped left, and we talked for probably an hour. Upon meeting her, I immediately felt better. She was calm, in control, and would turn out to be a wonderful listener. I told her what had transpired with F, understanding that HSW couldn’t say anything about BM’s position on anything. She said that she’d never dealt with F before… and agreed that her behavior was quite strange… but she took a zillion tons of stress off of me when she said one thing before our conversation was ended:

“I do not see any reason preventing you taking The Boy home on Friday.”

My heart rose.

I had advised DH that, up to this point and until we have actual facts as to what The Boy may or may not have been exposed to, to not really say much to either of his parents. Why? Because they both (but MIL especially) tend to go completely bonkers over something where there’s nothing to go bonkers about. Thing is, he had to talk to someone with all this drama, so he did confide in his father about all that was going on.

The problem with that little scheme is that FIL is a sieve in that regard. Even if you threatened him with gaol or torture or death, somehow he’d manage to let the cat out of the bag. Apparently, on Monday night, FIL and MIL were getting ready for bed and talking about The Boy, and FIL just couldn’t help himself. He was saying things in a roundabout way when MIL caught his reluctance. Yep, he told her everything that DH had said to him in confidence.

Apparently she went completely batshit. Screamed, ranted, raved, and FIL was totally in the doghouse. She was pissed at DH, too, because he hadn’t told her. Why tell her, tell anyone? We didn’t know anything yet…

So we had her burning up the phone lines all day, so we had this crazy crap on top of her manic insistence on obtaining breastmilk for The Boy, plus her nagging about visiting at the hospital (no… not our rule, no choice in the matter).

In contrast, I had lunch with my father that day, and told him everything… but he’s a different sort of person: reasonable, calm, collected, cautious. He was supportive, and quietly so, and therefore a balm to my frayed nerves.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

On Wednesday, DH had the day off. Of course, when he had scheduled it, we had thought The Boy would already be at home. Instead, we went back to the hospital after coffee. The little private rooms were taken, so we had to spend our time that morning in the cramped side nursery, where there was a mother of twins trying to nurse behind the screen. Not terribly convenient, but it worked.

We caught the Ped again, who said that barring some sort of curveball, The Boy would be coming home on Friday (YAY)! There had been moments of concern about his reluctance to eat, restless sleep, etc., where they’d come close to pushing some morphine to calm him down. However, since his scores were coming down nicely, Ped foresaw no problems in this regard.

I commented I’d heard the meconium test wasn’t back yet.

He flipped through the chart. “Nope, here it is!... T. HC only.”

So BM hadn’t lied (which in our gut, as previously posted, we didn’t think she had), and there had been nothing to get all worked up about, nothing for F to get nutty over, and nothing for MIL to freak out about.

How do you spell relief?

Wednesday was, of course, TPR day. In Arizona, the birth mother has 72 hours after birth to change her mind. No adoptive parent in this situation relaxes until they get word that it is signed. There was nobody I could call to see what was going on. All I could do is cross my fingers and keep my attention on my new small friend, with whom I had completely fallen in love.

As we did on Sunday, DH and I left after lunch and went home for awhile, leaving The Boy peaceful and quiet and us with lighter hearts: he would be coming home soon! We did some chores, we napped, DH fielded his mother’s harangue about breast milk again, and then we went to Outback for dinner before returning to the hospital for the evening. After all, what was the rush? It’s a cruise from here on out.


We get there and were devastated to find that, in our absence, The Boy had “amped out” pretty badly, and they resorted to pushing the morphine. The nurse we met about this was not the one from the morning shift. All I could mutter was “[the doc] said he wouldn’t push morphine!” and DH was really really pissed. The nurse was kind and sympathetic, but quite powerless; Ped was a hospitalist and when he’s off the clock, he’s off the clock – they are not on call, period. No other doctor would dare overturn another’s orders.

We retreated with The Boy to one of the rooms. “Poor baby, poor baby,” I said over and over as I fed him; DH steamed. It was as if there was some sort of diabolical conspiracy to keep The Boy from coming home with us. What in the hell?
I have been in a medical situation that called for morphine – and I know how addictive it is and its side effects, and therefore knew this development threatened the slated Friday release.

My poor sweet pumpkin.

I did get one good piece of news this day: the TPR and all related affidavits were signed today.

How was it that these events and behaviors occur when we were not there? The Boy has never amped out on me/us in all of those endless hours alone with him, not once. How was this possible?
Anger and frustration were the order of the day.

We went home rather late, reluctant to leave The Boy.

Up Next, Part Five: The Week from Hell – Thursday

Monday, November 2, 2009


Mrs H asked how long The Story is. Truth be told, I’m not really sure how many parts it will have, since I haven’t written it all out yet. All I know is that when I started to write it, it just grew a life of its own, and I knew I had to break it up. We’re to Monday, and we took him home on Friday afternoon (10/9/09), and there wasn’t a day where there wasn’t drama.

So, use the intermission to make a potty run, grab some Jujyfruits and a Coke, and stretch your legs.

I guess the important thing is that he’s home with us. We’ve already had our post-placement visit, and the Petition has been filed as of last week. That means, generally, a court date sometimes in late January or early February, but since the Courts are so overloaded and the State has huge budget issues, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s scheduled even later.

At this particular moment, I have a small boy crying it out downstairs. I made the mistake of letting him sleep too long earlier this morning and I’m paying for it. He has to tire himself out now. He’s fine – fed, burped, dry, danced with for a bit, conversed with, and put down nice and warm – and I have several things to do.
Just as I finished this post and went to proofread it, he went quiet. Ni-ni, sweet pumpkin...

The thumping headache I have this morning has to do with MIL and SIL, who have the bit between their teeth regarding a shower. I made the request that it be a low key affair here at my house; they have blown me off and are planning this ridiculous thing at a place that’s too expensive, with no separate room for such an event, in a place where parking is atrocious. They have blown me off and badgered DH, who has taken a stand on the matter and will continue to. The two of them have also decided to not consult me on date or time, but make it convenient for Princess Entitlement, my n.iece, and not me or, most importantly, The Boy. Excuse me? Grrrr…

I’m going to put the kibosh on the whole thing. Now, if their hearts are set on some sort of fancy affair, then make it the Gotcha Party when we get a court date. THAT is a reason to go whole hog, and something I can get my heart behind.
In the meantime, I'm going to work with T (remember her?) and plan on that low-key affair with a small round of friends I wanted in the first place, since MIL/SIL refuse to honor my request. Do NOT fuck with me when I don't get any sleep.

I’ll post the next installment later this week or on the weekend. Let’s see what happens.
Oh, and I pulled the pic of The Boy from that previous post. I don't want anyone snitching that pic and... you know. It happens in our little circle all too often. : (

Thanks for all the good vibes and commentary on The Story so far. See? I told you that F. was a pain in the ass, and that it’d make you mad, too. And that's part of the reason why it takes to long to write - it's so exhausting just thinking of her crap...

I’m heading down to get some Aleves; this thing is a monster.
Later, gators.

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Part Three: The Week From Hell - Monday

As of late Sunday night (10/4), and despite the nurses saying that The Boy had swallowed meconium and was on a three day course of antibiotics for it, we were slated for a Tuesday release. So we knew we had to be in a controlled panic to get a slew of necessities that would tide us over until things settled down. Well, I would have to be. DH had to go to work Monday.

In the late afternoon on Sunday, I had texted my boss and told him of The Boy’s arrival. “Awesome!!!” was his response. That was everyone’s response to the news. :)

Monday, October 5, 2009

This was going to be my round of errands on Monday: coffee at S__b__, Wally World, and a scouting mission to Ikea to see what they had in cribs and dressers, because BRU and everywhere else are complete rips for cribs. After that I was going to head to the hospital and spend time with my new small friend.

However, the phone rang while I was having coffee and reading the paper. It’s Boss, who is going out of town for the week, in panic mode. “I need you here!” and he put it in such a way that if I didn’t get there, the whole office would collapse. No argument that The Boy needed me countered his attitude. Resentful, and knowing full well that if I’d given birth he’d never have bothered me (that double standard where adoption was concerned vs. birthing a child was rearing its head already), I went to the office, got there at a little after nine.

You know what I did that was so earth shattering other than tying in with the lady covering for me? Not a damn thing. He sat and talked politics on the phone the entire morning. I was SO ENRAGED that by the time I left at noon there really was steam coming out of my ears.

As I stormed out of the parking lot, I could hear the voice of my mother echoing in my head – there were times where she’d mutter constantly “I’m ___ hours behind!” I suddenly knew, at the age of 37, and with her gone 3½ years, what in the hell my mother was furiously mumbling about all those years. I stormed to Walmart, ran through Ikea and had only half an idea of what I wanted, then I went home. I did various things here and there, and sent out pics via email to friends and family. I was just finishing up posting in FB when my cell phone rang. It was Facilitator.

The phone call started rather innocuously. I had stated in an earlier post that she was out of town when the baby was born, so she asked for the stats and info and wanted to know if all had gone smoothly Sunday morning. Then she started getting weird. In a weird, roundabout way, she mentioned that the hospital so.cial wor.ker (“HSW”) had talked to the charge nurse, and that The Boy might have been exposed to more than what the BM admitted to. When I asked what did that mean, and what gave the nurse reason to say that, she got squirrelly, and didn’t answer directly. Instead, she asked the worst question in this situation: “Are you still committed?”


To be fair, the question in itself is innocuous, but combined with her weird, roundabout answers and evasive responses when I asked for specific information made me get all weirded out. It also placed the worst scenario in my mind, that somehow The Boy would be yanked from us and placed in other hands, or that the hospital would somehow deny us access to the boy. By the time I hung up with her, I was freaked out – what was wrong with The Boy that caused such a statement to be made and such bizarre evasiveness? Was he lethargic? Was he abnormal in some way that they didn't catch before? Was he having seizures? What?! I ran downstairs, grabbed my keys, and hotfooted it to the hospital, tears streaming down my face as I drove. What had happened while I was at the hospital, and why didn’t they call me?

I get there at about two or so (so much for being there at 930-10a), and The Boy is as peaceful as can be. I asked the nurse, “K,” what was going on, and she said he’d had a rough night – not feeding well, not sleeping well, so they’re going to keep a sharper eye on him. They gave us a “nesting room” and I sat there with the boy, in tears, wondering what in the hell was going on, and why Facilitator had questioned our commitment, and why didn’t she answer questions directly?

I was tired, pissed off at Boss for wasting my time, pissed off at Facilitator for her shit, and beginning to be strung out from the seed of doubt planted by Facilitator. I fed and rocked the boy, talking out loud all the while.

DH walked in at about 5:30, and saw my face. He asked what happened, and I told him about how The Boy might have been exposed to more, and that there might be complications but Facilitator didn’t say why, and was evasive and frustrating. He listened to what had unfolded, and he stepped out of the nursery and out to the lobby to get some reception.

He came back ten minutes later, highly pissed off. He asked for The Boy, held him close, and rocked, rocked, rocked, silent as can be. In a few minutes, he told me that he had pressed for information that he sensed Facilitator had, but Facilitator had been equally as evasive as she had been with me, had questioned his commitment, and added a new twist, essentially saying, “well, if you’re not committed, we’ll have to find someone else and he’ll probably wind up in foster care.” DH, so kind, quiet, and mellow, was extremely pissed off by this form of emotional blackmail.

Never, ever, not at any time had we ever wavered in our love and commitment to The Boy. As soon as we saw him, we were in love, and he was our son. We never have expressed to anyone anything other than full commitment to him. So,


He told her to quit asking that question, it wasn't a matter of commitment, and answer his (our) questions, to please tell us what she had heard from the HSW that caused her to question our commitment. We were also asking so that if The Boy was indeed exposed to something hardcore, we could care for him correctly, and prepare for the result of said possible exposures. She evaded again, and questioned his commitment once more. DH did something he has very rarely done: he hung up on her. That’s why he was so extremely pissed off when he came back into the room.

As we dissected both conversations, his and mine with Facilitator, he just continued to rock The Boy. We agreed that we never got the vibe that BM lied at any time, and that it was a possibility that Facilitator was projecting things upon BM that just weren't true. Despite our suspicions, I was trembling with fear and fury. DH was madder than I’ve ever seen him in our dozen years together.

As we both simmered in rage and fear and dread, I had an inspired idea: I went back into the nursery and asked K if she could join us for a few moments. She kindly obliged after finishing what she was doing. Together, DH and I told her about our separate conversations with Facilitator, and the issues we were having with her, and the complete lack of information. “She stated that the HSW spoke to the charge nurse this morning, but refused to say more.”

K’s eyes opened wide. “Why, I was the charge nurse this morning! This is what I told HSW…” (oh, what luck!!!) She proceeded to explain exactly what had happened overnight and then exactly what she had said to HSW. I knew that K could see our agitation; I was physically trembling and DH’s eyes were snapping. “Keep in mind that the meconium test isn't back yet... so we don't know anything yet.... I’ll tell you what, as soon as we’re done here, I’ll put in a message with HSW so you can speak with her tomorrow.”
Edited to Add: So now I was like, why didn't Facilitator just say she didn't know? She had refused to say "I don't know, I don't have that information. I can only tell you what HSW told me." What's so hard about that? Why did she have to be evasive and turn things around on us? I just don't understand.

We continued to speak for about another ten minutes, and K did her best to put us at ease… when you consider she has no say in what happens. We did feel better. By the time I returned The Boy to the nursery, I felt the best I'd felt since eight thirty that morning.

Edited to Add: DH left before I did. When I got home, he told he that he called Facilitator back and had a wee chat with her, and said to not ever question his, my, our commitment again - it is not at issue. So tired, frustrated, strung out, we went to bed, hoping that things would go smoother from here on out, still on track for The Boy to be brought home Tuesday.
Next Up: Part Four: The Week From Hell - Tuesday.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

The Story, Part Two

So, to continue the story...

I went to bed at a decent hour and fell right asleep. This is rare for me, as my brain is usually going 348972926 mph and it takes me at least an hour to finally doze off. I was thinking mostly about my evening with T, her thoughts, her advice, then ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ... DH stayed up late, but I don’t remember him coming in; that meant I was dead asleep by the time he came to bed.

Sunday, October 4, 2009 – 2:45am (or so)
We were both dead asleep when the house phone rang. Since we don’t generally give that number out, when a call is received at some sort of ungodly hour, we know it’s something serious. I couldn’t find a damn handset that had a charge, and when my cell phone rang, I knew that it had to be Facilitator’s backup, since Facilitator was out of town.


“Allie? This is L___, with Agency? Just want to pass along that the baby is already here, it’s a boy, and all seems to be well. Congratulations! Go ahead and head on down to [hospital].”

“Oh, wow. Oh. wow. Awesome!” Half-asleep, I was surprised.

“Just let me know if you have any questions, I’ll be happy to help you.”

“Uh, yeah, I have a question – what do we do?”

And this has been a sticking point through the process: what do we do from whatever point they’re launching us from? Here, you’re certified, see ya! The baby’s born, have at it! Well, dang it, where do we go, what do we do?

I got the answers, and L___ politely ended the conversation and presumably went back to bed. I stood there, bleary eyed, then remembered I needed to get DH up, now that the baby was actually born. He had slept through the whole thing. “Honey?”


“Babe, wake up. That was L___.”

He murmured, “I figured.”

“[BM] had the baby already. We have a son! Come on, get up.”

Since there was no rush to be in the delivery room, we both showered and dressed, then went to the hospital. We got there a little after three (no traffic, natch), and parked. Well, how in the hell do we get in there? We had parked near L&D, but the area was clearly marked FOR PREGNANT PATIENTS ONLY… so we took a walk to find the correct entry.

The cool, breezeless pre-dawn morning was gorgeous, as October usually is in the Valley, with a full moon and stars punching the sky. It was peaceful, and DH and I were completely calm, in step with the lovely night. No panic, no rush of emotion… probably because we were so surprised at how fast it had all happened that there hadn’t been time to absorb it all.

After wandering three-quarters around the building, we wound up going through the ER and wended our way to the L&D desk. I explained who we were, and that (at that point) we only had the BM’s first name. The nurse was extremely nice – let me find out what’s going on, please have a seat over there, coffee will be ready in about ten minutes, etc. We sat on the little step in front of the shuttered nursery windows as she went to confirm with BM who we were, and call L___ to confirm that we were indeed the adoptive parents.

We sat there for about fifteen minutes when we got up for a moment. I just happened to look up, and there BM was, waving at us with a smile as she was being wheeled towards her room. It really touched my heart. She was looking for us! She said hi, we said hi, asked how she was, if everything was okay – sort of trite, I suppose, but the nurses weren’t stopping for us. They whisked her off to her room.

We returned to the uncomfortable little step after grabbing some coffee at the nurse’s station. From what I could gather, the nurses were still trying to get ahold of L___, who had most obviously gone back to bed. I can’t say I blame her, really. It isn't her case, she's just pinch hitting... but it would have been nice for her to leave her phone on.

In the end, it actually wasn’t too long. The Boy was born at about 2:30am, we got the call at about 2:45, we got to the hospital at about 3:15 or so (yeah it’s not far at all), then at about 3:45am, the nurse got the information she needed, and I was banded as BM’s “significant other.” We received our instructions, then pushed the button to be let in.

Meeting "The Boy"
We were buzzed in, and led to the little sub-nursery that I would later learn was the “special care” nursery; at that point I had no idea. Some of the incubators had hand-knitted blankets on them - I thought it very sweet. The nurse handling The Boy briefed us. We washed our hands obediently, then were led to his little cot.

There HE was, sprawled sleepily under the heat lamps (and not an incubator or the blue lights for jaundice, thank God), clad only in a diaper. The first thing I thought upon seeing him was “He’s SO TINY!” (about 5-1/2 lbs) and then, after studying him in his sprawl, Steven Wright popped into my head: “Day One: still tired from the move.” Completely silly and inappropriate, I know, but there it was. I giggled.

The silly moment passed, and DH and I merely stared in astonishment. The surreal was now real. We just stared in awe. We both held him for the first time that morning, then went down to the cafeteria in the basement while they did shift change. We returned afterwards, continuing to stare at him and hold him in awe.

Since he was only known to the hospital as “Baby Boy [BM’s last name],” the nurse turned to us and asked, “What is his name going to be?”

We replied in all honesty that things had happened so fast that we hadn’t ever gotten that far, although we had a pool of names we'd been generally bandying about. “We’ll have one when we get back,” I said, when DH and I departed to go home.

We got to the house and started to finish clearing what would be The Boy’s room. Then we went into the home office and kicked names around. We didn’t want a name too close in the family (i.e. grandparents, aunt/uncle) Many of you figured out the first name we agreed on in a previous post, but we also kicked around Christian, Robert, Scott, Brendan, Stephen, etc. One of these wound up as his middle name. We wound up picking what he is, and besides, The Boy looks like what his name is (you know how that goes…).

Now that we had a name, we made the round of phone calls. After all, how can one really announce the baby’s here when one doesn’t have a name? Of course, MIL turned the names we picked as credits to her, but they had nothing at all to do with her, personally; whatever. We have, however, gotten a great response on the names we picked. My sister calls The Boy by both of his names, she likes them so much.

Up Next, Part Three: The Week From Hell

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

The Story, Part One

Bummer. I lost a follower. I hope that I didn’t offend him/her. I’m sorry if I offended, even inadvertently – but I have to tell the story; I can’t hold back how we got here.

Good news like this, especially when our profile hasn’t been out that long and get a placement, will hurt someone no matter how I couch it. As anyone on this journey knows, once your profile is out there, it’s out of your control. Believe me, we’re as shocked and surprised as anyone else!

Hokay… The Boy is napping after eating, and I've only had pinches of time in which to write The Story. Hmmm… let me see. Told that, told that… hmmm. Let’s do topics.
The Call
Ayup, I posted about the facilitator calling on Monday 9/28/09 that a young lady liked our profile and would like to meet us, the impartation of information, and my subsequent meltdown.

The Unhelpful Advice
As soon as DH told his mother, she started in on the old wives’ tale of cats harming babies. She also started pounding on – not politely suggesting, but full-on, all day every day nagging – about feeding the as yet unborn (and unplaced) child breastmilk from a bank. WTF? We haven’t even got the baby in hand yet! Give me a break!

The Meeting
11:30 on 10/1/09, which I already wrote about in a previous post. Very nervous on the drive in to the meeting. Contrary to the expectations of Facilitator, PBM was calm, polite, and had a great sense of humor. Things go well, including PBM changing her mind about not having anyone in the delivery room – she said clear as day that she had no problem with me being there. She gives the green light. I am so calm on the drive back to the office that when I get there, even Boss remarks upon it. I get out of work late but still get a chance to scout out things at Buy Buy Baby (which rocks, btw) and Target. I buy nothing.

In hindsight, we should have seen the conflict with Facilitator coming. She was strangely threatened by DH; he made her nervous. No idea why. He is the most gentle, kind, mellow person on the planet.

The Panicked Scramble
As of that date, we now had a match and had to get some things. I did more scouting on Friday (10/2), bought some little necessities like onesies.

On Saturday morning (10/3), we shoved his desk into my home office, and we’re back to both being in one room as a home office, as it used to be. The guest room is still a disastrous dumping ground that I’ll have to fix sooner rather than later. What would be The Boy’s room was then cleared of crap and cleaning up began. We wouldn't finish it today.

Later on Saturday, we bought a pack and play with the crib insert and, after research on the Consumer Reports website and other reviews, bought a Graco travel system. The fact that the Bed Bath and Beyond coupons are accepted by Buy Buy Baby (love the name of the place – refreshing honesty) is a wonderful thing.

It felt very odd and unreal to be there with DH - not for other people, as it's been for for years, but for us, finally; he expressed as feeling like he was a character in a play, and this not being real. I myself felt like a poser. It was all very strange.

As of Saturday night, we had only told that small circle I referred to in another post: the parents, a small pool of people on his side and a small pool on mine. It was a need-to-know basis until things actually looked as if they were going to happen. I did, however, finally run my oldest friend down and she met me at the Target near her house after she got off of work. SHE was the one I needed to talk to, the one I know understands. While I was telling her the saga thus far, I was picking out bottles, binkies, PJs, lotion, wipes, and so on to have at least the basic things.

I said to her, dear T – dear friend who I’d trust with my life – that my gut is telling me that BM won’t make it to the 10th, and, worse, that we won’t make it through the weekend. Said gut feelings were also telling me it was a boy; this is how I'd felt on Thursday, and I told her so. She was the first one to give me sound advice, as she has two boys of her own.

We sat at a Crapplebees for another hour after shopping. What I had to admit, though, was that after the roller coaster ride since Monday, I was completely tapped. I was shot mentally, which rolled into the physical. “Get some sleep,” suggested Madam Captain Obvious.

Actually, once I got home and putzed around on the compy a little, I went to bed and, rare for me, fell right asleep.

To be continued.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Kreativ Blog Award

Both Rachel and Mary have nominated me for the Kreativ Blogger award. Wow! Thank you, ladies!

Things You May Not Know:
1. I have a mark on my face that is the same as my late mother’s, just on the opposite side. It’s neither a mole nor a birthmark per se, but just a raised spot on my right cheek. Mom’s was on her left. Obviously. Duh.

2. I blew out my knee my junior year of high school, then went two years (including my senior basketball season and my first summer in wildland fire) before getting it reconstructed. Only this week has any irritation been more than annoying; this week, I feel the arthritis. Rats.

3. I didn’t like asparagus until my sister-in-law grilled it… and I loved it! I was twenty seven. My dear mother killed it anytime she cooked it and thus turned me off of it, God rest her soul.

4. While everyone else in junior high and high school were drooling over Duran Duran, Michael Fox, the two Coreys, Anthony Michael Hall, Ralph Macchio, Rob Lowe, etc etc etc, I was hankering for Tom Selleck. I still do to this day. Tom Selleck is not only STILL HOT, he’s a class act. Nummy!!!

5. Facebook is so damned addictive. Probably my best idea yet is to decline every invite to Mafia Wars. Pillow Fight was bad enough, and I deleted it. Chatting with my out of state friends /old high school classmates is more than enough!!

6. There aren’t many things that freak me out, but the thought of anything sting-y (black widow, scorpion, etc) drives me batty. And, since we’re in the desert, I get a lot of sting-y critters.

7. My hair color is completely natural. It mystifies unfamiliar stylists at my salon, makes other people envious. I simply look at it as saving one hell of a lot of money.

Paying it forward:

1. Melissa of Be Still and Know

2. Heartmommy

3. M at Letters to a Birthmother

4. Wendy and Steve at Our Story: Our Journey to Adoption

5. Patti at Pep’s Thoughful Spot

6. Kelly at Uninterrupted Prosperity

7. Sissy at Two Plus One Equals Three

Here are the rules for this one:
1-Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
2-Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3-Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
4-Name 7 things about yourself that people may not know.
5-Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.
6-Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.
7-Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they’ve been nominated

Thank you very much!!!


About 3/4 done with The Story. Stay tuned.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

I Fell Asleep Before I Could Post This Last Night

... so forgive the reference to "today." This was written in snatches all through yesterday. I still haven't had the energy or time to write The Story.

And thank you everyone for your kind words and the cheers! They soothed my frustrated soul this past week before we brought him home.

And The Boy is a week old today... I hope that the road is much less rocky from here.

So here you go, yesterday's slated post, that was originally going to be titled "What's In a Name."


All Friday night, he was fussy; I would have thought that The Boy would be happy to be home. I thought he wouldn’t miss being poked, prodded, undrugged, drugged, undrugged again, antibioticked, woken up unceremoniously bothered on the hour, changed, bothered in a myriad of ways by a constantly changing plethora of hospital folks, and having long stretches of not being with us. But no, we were up all night Friday night to this morning. And he started eating every hour and a half/two hours suddenly instead of the three/three and half he’d been doing. It’s amazing what being off of antibiotics does for him. He is STARVING, always. That will be a discussion with the ped on Monday because I can’t seem to get enough anything in him to sustain him for more than two hours, now that he has an appetite.

Now, on Saturday morning, he is in the bouncer DH’s parents got him, for which I am grateful. I had made the desperate request because both DH and I were shot, and it was a purchase that wouldn’t break their bank (what, about $40?). Otherwise, we had nowhere to put him when we ate other than his crib, because there was no way I was going to lay him on the couch where he would squirm his way around and fall to the tile floor. The downside of this whole thing was that DH refused to fend them off for another day, so they were here at five on the day The Boy came home and stayed for over three hours. I was very frustrated because it had been a very tough week, I had been at the hospital at six that morning (and weren’t released until 12:30p or so – very long morning), and I wasn’t in the mood to entertain. I was, and am, so drained from the experience that I almost had nothing left for The Boy’s tough first night home. Anyway…. the in-laws were here for a very long three and a half hours (and they'll be here with DH's sister tomorrow... oh joy). I was very tired by the time they left, and very tired of MIL pushing an old wives’ tale and her agenda for The Boy. The worst part was that MIL didn’t actually burp The Boy, so he wasn’t very fun in the wee small hours of Saturday morning. Grr…

The smartest thing I did on Friday evening was having my dad come over earlier than the in-laws and have first dibs on holding him. My dad has an aversion to MIL because of her antics and obnoxiousness, and I can’t say that I blame him. Anyway, he got here first, and held his fourth grandchild for the first time. My dad is such a sucker for babies and The Boy had the same effect on him as his older cousins.

Hard morning for The Boy today (Saturday), hard morning for me – part of it was that, suddenly, the formula they sent us home with no longer satiates him, part diaper issues, part adjusting to a new environment. Then we realized a little too late that with his tininess NONE of the clothes I’d hurriedly purchased (Size 0-3) fit him. He literally drowns in them with his little arms and little skinny legs, making it difficult to ensure his safety and comfort. Leaving him with DH, and dog tired with no chance for a nap, I went out at noon to go to the local Carter’s store, because they’re the only ones I know for certain that have Newborn sizes that fit him (The Boy is not yet six pounds; I hope he is by Monday’s ped appt).

On the day he came home, we had yet another tiff with the facilitator, another part I will add to the story of his first few days of life. I personally hope I never have to deal with her again, other than paying the remainder of her facilitation bill.

Not ten minutes ago (it’s about 7:30 on Saturday night as I’m finishing this), my oldest friend, T, came by to see The Boy. She has two sons herself and gave me some of the most useful information I can use yet.

You probably have noticed that nowhere in this entry have I given a name for The Boy, mostly because this is, after all, the Internet. But I have… you just have to look for it. Shhhhhh... it's a secret!
Now, Sunday morning, I have The Boy in his bouncer. We switched from the premade mini-bottles of that enfamil nastiness to an organic powdered formula, and he's been quiet and snug for the last hour and a half. Hopefully this nixes that awful keening hungry wail because that nasty stuff wasn't knocking out his appetite. And he hasn't spit it up, a great sign.
DH thinks it should be illegal for any baby formula to have corn syrup in it. I agree. WTF?
OK, naptime for me!! Hang in there, I'll get that story posted yet.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Quick Update and Some Baby Candy

It’s been a crazy roller coaster. Up down swing drop wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee… *puke*

We’re so bummed… The Boy will not be coming home until Friday not only because of the meconium he swallowed, but also because I learned from the pediatrician today that BM’s amniotic fluid was, in his words (not mine!), “foul.” Apparently it was rather nasty with pus and all, so I’m glad after the fact that I didn’t witness his birth – I would have gone ballistic right then and there, and probably be carted off to the psych ward. For now, though, it answered the answerable, and I felt better.

The Boy had a rough day yesterday – balked at feeding, didn’t sleep, cried a lot, plus other issues which raised a certain level of alarm. That said, he’s been a champ at both eating and sleeping for over 24 hours now. We are very happy at his progress and hope it continues. I told him ‘hey, kid, you gotta eat to come home,’ and I guess he listened to me.

Added to the worry that he wasn’t thriving yesterday was the facilitator. Long story short (which I will cover in detail later), she made DH mad – and he rarely gets mad. When I elaborate on this point when I have time to write it out, I guarantee you will be as angry as we were yesterday, and I expect a shitstorm of comments.

Smoothing the waters from yesterday was the fact that a) I talked to the pediatrician on staff this morning, which filled in a lot of blanks, and calmed me down because so many of the question marks that COULD be answered without the test results (first poop, placenta) were finally answered; and, b) I spoke to the hospital social worker earlier in the day about the situation with the facilitator. I liked her a lot, right off the bat, and she told me as much as she could without violating her relationship with BM. She said to not worry – there was no reason she could see why The Boy wouldn’t come home with us on Friday.

Until I get a chance to post again, here’s some baby crack:


(and that's pretty sad, isn't it?)

Yes, he is very tiny, but perfect in every way.

I'll be back soon. :)

Sunday, October 4, 2009

"The Eagle Has Landed," or: The Most Amazing Day of My Life

Just a quick note saying that I never got the chance to be in the delivery room.

The baby was born today, October 4, the Feastday of St Francis of Assisi - an omen in itself.

I'll post the whole story when we actually bring him home.

Yes, him.


More later!

Friday, October 2, 2009

Surrealism, Adoption Style

Soooo... we met with the PBM yesterday. We had been warned that she was defensive and prickly and liked to cuss for shock value, but she apparently decided to show us her best side; she was responsive and sometimes even really funny. It went very well. We met, the facilitator went over what will happen at the hospital, fielded questions, and asked PBM to clarify her exposure to certain substances.

When I spoke to the facilitator on Monday, she said that there was no way I would be in the delivery room. Listen – I’m not one to insist on it. I used to be an EMT, I’ve seen my share of blood, guts and gore. And if PBM’s dealing with it in the best way she can in her circumstances, and doesn’t want me in there, then I’ll be the first to respect her wishes.

She did an abrupt about-face yesterday. She wants me in there. Facilitator asked her what f the hospital only allows two people, and she said that her friend was out and I was in. I wanted to just goggle at her in surprise.

For me, it was strange. I was pretty nervous going in, but coming back to the office I was completely calm; even Boss commented on how calm I am. Calm, but cautious. I think it’s going to go through; so does facilitator and Boss. Even DH is relatively confident about it. I think we can safely say that this is going through.


I swung by my dad’s house on the way home. We chatted for a little bit, then I said, “Well, Dad, I have to tell you that it’s very possible that you will have two grandchildren born within a short time span.”

His eyes went wide, then faded, then he did a triple take.

He smiled hugely.


I was hoping that DH wouldn’t tell his parents until today, but he said, “I had to tell someone.” So I’m on the phone with MIL last night and she’s giving me this shit about the old wives tale about how cats harm babies. I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes.

That’s the kind of shit I *don’t* need.


When I talked to my sister last night, she was surprised and then extremely excited. I asked for her help: my brother and sister in law are having their baby boy sometime this week also. Did she have any clue what they were naming their son? I need to know in case it’s a boy. Lord knows we don’t need two grandchildren named James. You know, she got all coy and crap, and it really pissed me off. I have no control over anything right now, and this is something I need control of, and she’s playing games! I’m so pissed.

No, I’m not close to my little brother (little, ha – he’s 35) or his wife. I’m not comfortable calling them, especially this close to her delivering. It’s going to be bad enough that my brother will get it in his head that we’re doing this to upstage them, when everyone else knows we have absolutely no control of this situation.
I just needed a simple answer – even an initial! Jeez! I just need to know. Why do people make stressful situations so hard?


So now it’s down to work: I’m going to start with a car seat and work my way around, as well as kicking around names and narrowing down lists. It’s all so sudden (yeah I know, Bri, I know! LOL), shocking, mind-blowing, and I’m still absorbing it, so if I don’t exactly sound euphoric, please forgive me.

On Monday I was stunned, Tuesday was the big meltdown, Wednesday was recovery from the meltdown, Thursday morning was tension and afternoon was calm and placid; last night was full of frustration from MIL and my sister. Now, today, I'm drained, and it seems a little unreal, you know? Today is like, 'is this really happening?' and I can't believe that I'll be actually buying a baby car seat (hopefully) this afternoon, then other things from there.

I mean, I can't believe that I'll be choosing an outfit to bring the baby home in.

Holy crap!

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Houston, We Have a ... Situation?

I have been in a state of meltdown. Yesterday was really, really bad. By the time DH got home, he looked at me and said, “Babe, you look horrible.”

I felt it, too. Here’s why.

At 4:35pm on Monday, I was slipping my feet into my blue flip-flops and getting ready to go anywhere that carried ESPN so I could watch my Cowboys. The phone rang; I glanced at the clock and, seeing that it was the half-hour, thought it was my father-in-law. He war dials, remember, and it’s usually at the quarter- or half-hour. So I turn towards the stairs to grab something before I leave, and the voice mail kicks on.

She says her name; I stop in my tracks.

She’s rambling on and I’m frozen. Finally, the trance breaks and I pick up the phone and say “S? You there? I’m sorry, I was upstairs.” Liar. This is my stock answer when I don’t pick up the phone.

“We have a young lady who chose your profile. Do you have a pen and paper?”

Our life may change drastically in less than two weeks.

I never did go and watch the game.


We meet the potential birthmother tomorrow. I’m not going to post details of her situation, to protect her as well as ourselves, but let’s just say that by all the indications, we might be parents in ten days or less.

I’ve been reluctant to post about it, true to my native cautious nature. It’s also partly because I was going through a mental meltdown, and couldn’t put two thoughts together if my life depended on it. Why? Because this possible match is a complete bolt from the blue – no warning, no preparation, and not a lot of information. We won’t get a lot of time to prepare. We’re not going to get all the information about her and the birthfather we’d prefer to have. We’ll have to scramble to get DH’s crap out of that room, gather some things, and have some semblance of a baby-ready house.

There are some substance exposure issues (although nothing hardcore) – one that I don’t think matters too much, the other I think I might be overreacting to. The PBM is the defensive, cagey sort, and isn’t elaborating on the information she provided to the facilitator. However, the facilitator has been working with PBM since August, so after thinking about it for about 36 hours, I think I’m okay with what she’s telling me. Yeah, my brain exploded, and it’s taken that long for the pieces to fall back together.

Yesterday I felt awful, especially mentally, and it spilled over to the physical. I didn’t sleep the night before last because my head was just spinning, disgorging all sorts of things that might need to be done and all the possible scenarios that might come to pass. There's just so much to do and I feel hobbled and helpless until we get the green light. I felt like puking at various points yesterday morning. I was also very glad that Boss was out of the office yesterday, because I was a complete mess. I had no attention span. I was trying to think my way through it all and try to do some semblance of work... ha ha. Riiiiiight.

At lunch I went to the outdoor mall near the office. DH called me on my way there and asked if I was all right; no, I wasn’t, not at all. My stomach had revolted (sorry for the graphics), turning to water – which, to me, is preferable to puking. We talked through certain points. We ended the conversation, and I walked into Paradise Bakery. I had a bagel, which made me feel a little better, considering I hadn’t eaten anything since the phone call the evening before, but I only had two sips of my Dr Pepper before I threw it away. Yeah, I was fluffed like a freaked out cat.

From there, I wandered Macy’s, just for something to do. I caught myself breathing funny, so I stopped in the middle of the store and told myself to chill the hell out. I was looking through the clothes department for me just to browse, to do something, but also gave myself permission to look through the baby department (Macy’s is the worst place for that stuff anyway).

But I’m paralyzed. I can’t buy clothes, a baby seat, a crib, anything. I can’t do anything until after Thursday, after tomorrow morning, when PBM says a definite yea or nay.


Of course, if this is real, if it really goes through, I’m not going to truly relax until the three day waiting period has passed.


With no attention span, I left work early yesterday. I was so spazzed out that I was almost manic. I seized upon the one thing I can do: I went to IKEA and bought a filing cabinet for the home office so we can consolidate things and get things moved in. I loaded this bitch of a box by myself, took it home, got it upstairs, and started assembling it. It soothed my nerves – it bothers me that I’m so helpless until after tomorrow, yes or no, that I needed something to do. Problem was, I was so exhausted by the time I got the first part done that I was getting frustrated.


I’ll have to cancel/postpone the trip to Indianapolis. I’m bummed, but this is most obviously more important. Duh. Hopefully Continental will let me reschedule, since it’s a non-refundable ticket and these are truly extenuating circumstances.


This morning I feel better. I actually slept. I told myself at the top of the stairs after I got ready for work that everything is completely out of my control at this moment, and to calm the hell down. I’m still having gastrointestinal issues from the stress, but that’s to be expected.


And no, we haven’t told anyone in the family yet; we agreed on that last night. I talked to my Oregonian adoptive father friend, one of my pals in Indiana, and to a friend from high school who I need as a prayer warrior outside of my personal goldfish bowl. DH has spoken to his boss (who needs to know anyway) and a friend. We agree that there’s no point in getting the families whipped up if this thing doesn’t go through.

Wow. Just.... wow.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Report on Friday's Meeting

Congratulations to Erica who is bringing home a sweet little boy named Robert! *backflip* =D
Well, the woman who had the wrong embryo implanted gave birth (c-section, actually) today to a healthy boy, and immediately handed the baby over to the genetic parents. What an example of selflessness… what an story of incredible heartbreak. Julie commented on it last week (and again as I was writing this entry), and I myself am not so sure that I would have gone through with it. Who knows what is in another’s heart?

Next stop, Lawsuit Land. :(


Friday was an interesting day. On my way to work via S___b___s, I swung by the printer’s next door. I made changes to the last page and needed to reprint. It was an independent place, not a big box place, and the owner himself waited on me. He found it on the thumb drive, and I requested 10 copies. I went next door and read the paper while they did the order (there was a lady in front of me) and then I returned. The owner asked, “Are you the one adopting?”

“Yes, my husband and I are.”

“It’s a wonderful thing to see people making a difference in the world,” he replied as he put the receipt in the bag. “I wish you both a lot of luck.”

That really made my day.


At lunch I left a few cards on the bulletin board at Einstein’s (a bagel place).

I felt rather brave doing that.


After work, I drove over to Boss’s pal’s law office (I’ll call him ‘Buddy’ for the sake of brevity). I pull the door open, and when I look up I see someone pass in the corridor. I think, I know that person. And as I’m thinking it, the head whips back around the corner – it’s a classmate of mine from paralegal school. All huggy huggy, kissy kissy… LOL. We survived the worst ever writing class – it was so dumbed down, so ridiculous (it was literally being taught at the sixth grade level!!), that M and I tended to walk out of class at the break. The prof – a municipal judge – tried to bully us into staying, but we usually rolled our eyes and walked out.

I was waiting for DH to get there, so M and I were all chatty in the lobby, catching up, talking smack, debating the merits of getting one’s bar certification (our state bar has a cert for paralegals, entirely optional). We were in the middle of that topic when DH walked in. I introduced them, and we continued talking. Then after a few more minutes, M showed us to our conference room.

The lawyer showed up about ten minutes later, about 15 minutes late. Didn’t matter – DH and I were catching up a little on our day. When he walked in, I liked Buddy immediately. We talked wickedly about Boss, who he’s known for over 25 years. Buddy’s wife has to deal with Boss in conjunction with some political groups they’re both active with, and so we BS’ed over that, too. We spent a lot of time shooting bull.

Buddy was easy, informative, and recommended that we NOT advertise in the N. ew Ti .mes (a local free publication). The Sunday-calling attorney only told us to be cautious when doing so, but Buddy was adamant – don’t do it. It has turned into a paper that the crazies are attracted to it, and call and hound people. I wasn’t planning to anyway, mostly because it’s turned into such a garbagey rag; but it was an interesting turn of conversation.

We talked about openness and the growing trend of completely open adoption. We talked about insurance and the various things within the statutes that apply and don’t apply. We talked about ICPC for out of state adoptions – he was pleased to be able to say that in ICPC situations, he can get his turned around in about twenty-four hours because a) he’s done it forever and b) he knows the folks at the ICPC office. Of course that’s here in AZ; he has no control over anything out of state. Buddy agreed with my impression that it generally takes about a week. “You have to have all the documents and put them in the correct order,” is how he put it. However, he told us of a worst case scenario of a placement in Illinois that took six weeks. SIX WEEKS. Can you imagine? DH about fainted. Buddy reassured him that it certainly was not the norm.

It went really well and I went away with a good feeling – I think it was certainly a reflection on how my day started. DH agreed about the good vibe.

My only disappointment is that DH, once again, was almost totally uninvolved, partially because he still hasn’t done his homework, but also because there’s yet another investment group interested in buying the company he works for, and the whole mess that it entails. But the laziness has to change; I can’t have him flipping out on me when push comes to shove. He has also not gotten out of that room so we can at least start doing it. So frustrating.

I spent most of today outside, and thought about how nice of a backyard we have for any future children.... granted, it needs to be leveled badly, before I finally break an ankle mowing the lawn. But still - it was rather gratifying.