If I was a praying person...

So, this has turned into the place that I ignore and then get back to only when things are or seem big.

Last night, birth mom sent a cryptic email about how much of a hard time she's having with this decision.  Court papers were filed yesterday for a hearing at the end of next week, so that might have something to do with her renewed anxiety.  PPD could also be a factor.  And grieving. 

What it comes to for us is this: we have no idea what will happen.

We have this perfect little girl right here in front of us.  We love her.  We've taken care of her for over two weeks, 24 hours a day, loving every minute and aching to know she's ours.  

This is a special kind of hell.  

I saw my baby's nose today

I haven't completely given myself permission to accept this, but I'm entertaining the possibility.  I mean, I have a basket of freshly washed newborn onesies and sleepers just to my left.  And there, in the next room, I can see the corner of the bassinet.  On the coffee table, a stack of children's books.  A few by Eric Carl, one or two Dr. Seuss and some random paperbacks from the bag of books purchased at the Value World last week.  

Today, we met with the whole family and, well, I can't even put in to words how perfect it was. We saw ultrasound pictures and I cried right there at the table.  I sort of fell in love with her parents.  Her little brother, too.  Little sparks of the future keep flashing in my brain.  I want to let them linger, throw more light and really catch. 

So, we have a birth plan.  We have baby stuff.  Hope, too.  

September 30, give or take, here we come.

maybe???

We have a meeting with a birth mom tomorrow at 3pm.
We are mildly nervous, going into it with very open minds except sure that we wont be chosen. I mean, who has the audacity to think that they are worthy of being selected out of a group of 14 families...that we would be some a birth mom's ideal family?
So, we go. Calm and honest about how this can go...so many possibilities.

la la la

we're just waiting.  reading and obsessing and waiting.

We fired one of our agencies after they repeatedly called us "non-traditional", "untraditional", called our relationship a "lifestyle" and were demanding our "coming out story" be included in our home study.  This agency encourages same-sex families to work with them...so we thought maybe they just didn't know how stupid they sound.  Like none of them have any gay friends, so they don't know how to talk to/about us.  Especially the coming out story requirement.  I argued our viewpoint a few times,  but they still demanded a story.  

I don't have the ambition or desire to write my thoughts on this any further.  In essence, it has nothing to do with our ability to parent or our family support as it is now, and is blatantly voyeuristic.  Straight people have a knack for feeling entitled to know all things gay. As long as they are asking with a smile and include the disclaimer that they think gay people are *Okay*, nothing is off limits. Of the three other agencies who have our home study, not one gives a shit about our coming out story, so I know that it is a weird and unnecessary question. 

What pisses me off is that my/our hesitance to add the story to our home study seems like we are ashamed or hiding something.  Really, though, anything subtle that might have been revealed in that story was directly discussed and included, just not in such a cheesy way.  "Hi, I'm Candace and when I came out, my dad asked me if maybe it was a phase." Gag.  That was one statement, followed by 10 years of unwavering support, love for my partners, and genuine effort to be the dad I need.  Had the "phase" part been forced, the rest of the story, the part that leads us to where we are today, would be sullied.  So, we politely told them to f-off.

Dead baby

At work, on Wednesday, I had my first patient die.
A 7 day old came up from emergency.
15 minutes later, his heart started to slow down.
Then we (I) did chest compressions for a half an hour.
Then we stopped.
We cleaned him up as much as we could.
Had to leave the lines and tubes in, though.
The mom and dad came in. How horrific.
They had time alone with the baby.
They left and we did other medical stuff that had to be done.
Then it was the nurses. Four of us, preparing his body, making a footprint mold of his sweet, tiny little feet.
I washed a dead baby's feet. And wrapped his little 6 pound body in clean blankets.
And put him in a plastic bag.
And I did think a few times, as I have when I take care of children with chronic medical conditions...do I want to risk this?

poop

freaky obsessive pre-adoptive person here.

Call #2 from the foster place. Not the kid we have in our thought bubble, just someone's goldfish.

I'd still do it. Turns out they don't need us to anyway, and we would have had to say, "no". I was ready to run to the store for a carseat and some diapers, though.

The little vessles of my mothery little heart are reaching out for all of the parent-less babies in the world. I'm reading Love in the Driest Season. I want all of those babies, too. I want to feed them with a syringe, fiercly defend them against the world, fight to make them mine, wrap their little spidery arms in weightless blankets and carry them home.

I want to quit my job, wander the globe, collecting all the children.
How can it be that there are so many? Why am I being so picky. Why am I so selfish and why do I think I want the happy little, managable and healthy family? I could do more. If I was willling, I could do it a hell of a lot faster than the 18 months I'm looking at waiting, and that's 18 months only if someone forgives my whiteness.

I could parent an AIDS orphan, push around a wheelchair, keep my autistic child from bashing its brains in (well, maybe not that one, but somehow, that's the one you just don't see coming!). I could take on foster children one or two or three at a time. Give them back if I had to, even.

Instead, I'm waiting around for that shiny new fully-formed, highest potential, sweet little baby version.

I think I do want my kid to be able to speak and eventually feed itself. Wouldn't mind if it might someday move out and have its own family.

See, look at all of those requirements! Do you know how many things have to go right for just those three things to happen?

Why not pick a thing that I know I could do...something that is big and important and hard, but something more immediate? That's how I like my things, you know. I'm wasting my life. 18 months is a long time for me. For the kid who is a little broken, it's a long time, too. And what do I do? I wait.

ranty

feeling quite bitter today.  and yesterday.  

have worked on the profile, 6 pages of brochure quality copy and photos for at least 20 hours. scoured our photos for just the right representations of our cute faces and fun lifestyle.  added some fam, some pets, a few of the homestead.

worked another 10 or so hours on the fucking pages and pages of questions that feel like an accusation that we are not worthy.

the adoption lady, in very nice font and after some generous compliments about the beauty of our presentation,  thinks we look pretty white.  maybe too white for a black birthmom to consider.  maybe not.  

who thinks i should just try to get pregnant and skip the part where we have to have an approved dissertation on whether 

a)we know and love enough black people (give us 5/10 on this, but we're trying to find more, shit) 

b)our neighborhood is black enough (about 25%, should count for 3 points, add another 3 for the fact that the rest of our town is more like 45-50%) 

c)our families have enough black people (...that would be zero, for those keeping score, but what are we supposed to do there, really? i think there were a total of 5 black/biracial kids in my whole school, where is my family supposed to find black friends?)

d)we will recognize that our black child is, in fact, black and not colorless (10/10, we got this one!)

again, very annoyed but that's probably hiding the fact that i am constantly near tears because i feel inadequate and like a failure as a parent before i even get started.  is this how it is supposed to feel?