Today, I realized that I need a child in my life. Right now. I know six and a half months isn't long to be waiting for a match, and two and a half years isn't long in terms of trying to become parents, but it certainly feels like a long time. I volunteer in the church nursery, and I enjoy it a lot. I want more of that.
Today, I signed up to be a Big Sister. I recently wrote in a post that you don't sign on to long-term commitments when you're waiting, but I'm making this one. It's for a year minimum, two days a month. We could still be waiting years for us to be matched, to become a mom and dad, but I can mentor a kid who needs a little extra positive adult influence right now. I want to take a little girl to the zoo, and make craft projects, and go mini golfing and to the park.
Why wait for that, too?
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
unsolicited advice
I'm not going to pretend I know what it's like to be a pregnant woman considering making an adoption plan for my unborn child. But I do know this: every stranger you meet thinks they're an expert on what's the best decision for you, and your life, whenever fertility or family planning is involved.
When we first starting trying to conceive, we got all the advice in the world. "It'll happen as soon as you stop trying," or "Just take a vacation and relax;" You name it, we heard it. When we announced that we were going to adopt, we heard a lot of "Are you sure you don't want to try IVF? Why not?" and then, "As soon as you adopt, you'll get pregnant."
I don't know why, as humans, we feel the need to give tidy little meaningless advice and solutions to the really difficult life issues other people, and usually strangers, are going through. How do you politely tell someone that you don't want to pursue IVF because it's very expensive, and it probably won't work, and you're excited about adoption, and it's a relief to put trying to conceive behind you and focus on something positive that gives you hope? And we certainly aren't adopting on the off chance that somehow, it'll spur the miracle that will give us our "own baby." Just hearing people say that, as though our adopted child won't be loved like a biological baby, makes me cringe. But I've actually found myself trying to justify and feeling judged about our decision not to work towards a pregnancy that has, medically, a .5% chance of happening.
I think I'm not so different in that regard from the pregnant woman considering an adoption plan. She's probably feeling judged, not sure what's the right path for her, getting a ton of unsolicited advice from people who never had to go through what she's going through. We've both struggled with questioning whether or not we can be someody's mom.
If anyone ever reads this blog, and she's considering us as adoptive parents, I want you to know there was only one thing anyone ever said that made me feel any better, and it wasn't advice. So I'm saying it to you: "I'm so sorry you're going through this. It really sucks."
When we first starting trying to conceive, we got all the advice in the world. "It'll happen as soon as you stop trying," or "Just take a vacation and relax;" You name it, we heard it. When we announced that we were going to adopt, we heard a lot of "Are you sure you don't want to try IVF? Why not?" and then, "As soon as you adopt, you'll get pregnant."
I don't know why, as humans, we feel the need to give tidy little meaningless advice and solutions to the really difficult life issues other people, and usually strangers, are going through. How do you politely tell someone that you don't want to pursue IVF because it's very expensive, and it probably won't work, and you're excited about adoption, and it's a relief to put trying to conceive behind you and focus on something positive that gives you hope? And we certainly aren't adopting on the off chance that somehow, it'll spur the miracle that will give us our "own baby." Just hearing people say that, as though our adopted child won't be loved like a biological baby, makes me cringe. But I've actually found myself trying to justify and feeling judged about our decision not to work towards a pregnancy that has, medically, a .5% chance of happening.
I think I'm not so different in that regard from the pregnant woman considering an adoption plan. She's probably feeling judged, not sure what's the right path for her, getting a ton of unsolicited advice from people who never had to go through what she's going through. We've both struggled with questioning whether or not we can be someody's mom.
If anyone ever reads this blog, and she's considering us as adoptive parents, I want you to know there was only one thing anyone ever said that made me feel any better, and it wasn't advice. So I'm saying it to you: "I'm so sorry you're going through this. It really sucks."
Monday, May 21, 2012
going, going, gone.
Last week was rough. I've been under a fair amount of stress with big deadlines at work, combined with my fundraising efforts and just the regular old upkeep and maintenance of a house and gardens. Then add a series of really discouraging and unfortunate events, and I'm feeling as though God has a message in there somewhere. I'm usually a very organized, responsible person. It's one of the things Doug teases me about most. But last Friday, I lost my wallet. I went to a bonfire and stashed my purse under a table, and evidently, when I pulled it back out, my wallet stayed behind. So I went all week with no debit card, no license, nothing.
Then Monday, my iPhone fell off the back of the living room chair and the screen shattered to bits.
Friday, I put the dog on his leash, and the D-ring on his collar broke, scattering his ID tags to the wind. (So we were both without ID. I know my address and he has a chip, so we were probably on equal ground, identity-wise).
Then, I spent Saturday morning putting flags on veterans' graves. It's been dry, so it took a lot of effort to push the flags down into the hard ground, and my wedding ring was cutting into my finger. I took it off, and put it in my pocket. And when I emptied my pocket to put it back on, I had 3 quarters, and lint. My wedding ring is lost, probably for good, and our personal property deductible is too high to replace it.
And that was my breaking point. I went home sobbing. Doug's a good man. In a little more than one week, I opened us up to potential identity theft, broke an expensive phone, even lost the symbol of our love and commitment, and he just said "That's why we have Lifelock," "Let's see what kinds of deals we can get on a re-furb," and "It's only a ring, not our marriage," respectively. And he hugged me. No yelling. No berating me for being irresponsible. If our roles had been reversed, I know I wouldn't have been so understanding, and that's a slice of humble pie.
Since then, my wallet's been returned. I found a simple, inexpensive wedding band that I like a lot. Doug found me a cheap Droid, and I don't love it, but it gets the job done. I've never needed expensive, fancy things, but this past week was an exercise in perspective. There are more important things to lose than a scrap of leather with some plastic in it.
And also? Broken iPhone screens are very stabby.
Then Monday, my iPhone fell off the back of the living room chair and the screen shattered to bits.
Friday, I put the dog on his leash, and the D-ring on his collar broke, scattering his ID tags to the wind. (So we were both without ID. I know my address and he has a chip, so we were probably on equal ground, identity-wise).
Then, I spent Saturday morning putting flags on veterans' graves. It's been dry, so it took a lot of effort to push the flags down into the hard ground, and my wedding ring was cutting into my finger. I took it off, and put it in my pocket. And when I emptied my pocket to put it back on, I had 3 quarters, and lint. My wedding ring is lost, probably for good, and our personal property deductible is too high to replace it.
And that was my breaking point. I went home sobbing. Doug's a good man. In a little more than one week, I opened us up to potential identity theft, broke an expensive phone, even lost the symbol of our love and commitment, and he just said "That's why we have Lifelock," "Let's see what kinds of deals we can get on a re-furb," and "It's only a ring, not our marriage," respectively. And he hugged me. No yelling. No berating me for being irresponsible. If our roles had been reversed, I know I wouldn't have been so understanding, and that's a slice of humble pie.
Since then, my wallet's been returned. I found a simple, inexpensive wedding band that I like a lot. Doug found me a cheap Droid, and I don't love it, but it gets the job done. I've never needed expensive, fancy things, but this past week was an exercise in perspective. There are more important things to lose than a scrap of leather with some plastic in it.
And also? Broken iPhone screens are very stabby.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
what else you got?
There seem to be two common recommendations while waiting out the wait. One is to pretend it's not happening, just live your life, enjoy your marriage, think of other things. This runs directly against the other piece of advice, which is to network, reach out, make it known that you're seeking to adopt, increasing your odds of being matched through word of mouth, prepare your home and yourself for the match that's coming.
I can tell you that it's very difficult to pretend you aren't waiting when you're saving...saving money, saving vacation and sick days, saving a room full of baby supplies. On one hand, you want to take that last single-without-kids vacation, but on the other, you know you might be sacrificing a week or more with your new baby by using up your paid time off. There's no maternity leave for new adoptive moms in a lot of states, and ours is one of them. Long-term commitments can't happen. So you set lots of little shorter-term goals. Run in a 5K, help out with the high school musical alumni production, maybe an overnight camping trip here and there. You only make commitments it wouldn't be a big deal to break.
The funny thing about this stage is that you feel like nothing's happening. You know you're getting closer, but you can't tell how far or how fast. So you talk about it, because it makes it more tangible, less surreal. And it starts becoming the thing that defines you to other people.
There's a lot more to us, though. I love working with my hands. I prefer sky-high heels and wear makeup every day, but no one could ever call me a girly-girl. I'm more comfortable shopping at Home Depot than the mall. If I see something I like, I rarely buy it. Instead, I try to design it, make it, or build it better than the original. I just started running, and did my first 5K, and I totally understand why lemmings do their thing. I'm a wealth of stupid trivia knowledge. I'd love to live in the country, and need open space to explore, because I'm claustrophobic. I love rollercoasters. My parents used to call me Snow White because I'm really good with animals. Just the other day, I got within six inches of a baby woodpecker, and fed him some peanut butter. I love comedies, and absolutely refuse to watch horror movies. I'm addicted to Pinterest, and would post my own projects, but I'm too impulsive to slow down and take before and after photos.
Doug loves fishing and would spend all day on the water, if we only had a boat. He goes hunting each year but loves animals more than anyone I know. He recently started learning to cook, and ten times out of ten, on his night to make dinner, he'll google the recipe for a gourmet meal rather than serve something easy like ham barbecue. He reads graphic novels (and gets annoyed when I call them comic books). He loves to tell a good story, and recognizes every pop culture reference he hears or sees. He's generous to a fault and loves giving gifts, so much so that he seems incapable of holding out for a surprise. He's competitive at games and most enjoys beating me. He's quick to apologize and to forgive.
We don't have a lot of common interests, but we can finish each other's sentences and we joke that we share a brain. I'm a little bit of a neat freak and he's a little bit of a slob, and we drive each other crazy, but we're happy.
One of my favorite memories of us, and the one I think sums us up in a nutshell involved an egg. Our first anniversary fell on Easter Sunday, and to commemorate it, we had a local artist carve a goose egg with the design of a Celtic cross (our wedding rings are from Ireland, to honor my heritage, since I took his very Italian last name). That egg made it safely through a move, and a major remodel, and then stood on a little clear stand on a shelf in our living room. Until the night I was dusting, and knocked it to the floor, where it shattered, Humpty-Dumpty style into a thousand pieces.
I texted Doug at work
Me: I'm so mad at myself. I broke something important.
Doug: Was it the egg?
Me: Yea, how did you know?
Doug: It's ok honey. It was fragile. Our love isn't.
Me: Aww. Now I'm crying again!
Doug: I'm glad you broke it. I always worried I would.
The next morning, I woke up, and on the shelf was a new egg:
And it was displayed on a peppermill.
...And that's why I love that man.
I can tell you that it's very difficult to pretend you aren't waiting when you're saving...saving money, saving vacation and sick days, saving a room full of baby supplies. On one hand, you want to take that last single-without-kids vacation, but on the other, you know you might be sacrificing a week or more with your new baby by using up your paid time off. There's no maternity leave for new adoptive moms in a lot of states, and ours is one of them. Long-term commitments can't happen. So you set lots of little shorter-term goals. Run in a 5K, help out with the high school musical alumni production, maybe an overnight camping trip here and there. You only make commitments it wouldn't be a big deal to break.
The funny thing about this stage is that you feel like nothing's happening. You know you're getting closer, but you can't tell how far or how fast. So you talk about it, because it makes it more tangible, less surreal. And it starts becoming the thing that defines you to other people.
There's a lot more to us, though. I love working with my hands. I prefer sky-high heels and wear makeup every day, but no one could ever call me a girly-girl. I'm more comfortable shopping at Home Depot than the mall. If I see something I like, I rarely buy it. Instead, I try to design it, make it, or build it better than the original. I just started running, and did my first 5K, and I totally understand why lemmings do their thing. I'm a wealth of stupid trivia knowledge. I'd love to live in the country, and need open space to explore, because I'm claustrophobic. I love rollercoasters. My parents used to call me Snow White because I'm really good with animals. Just the other day, I got within six inches of a baby woodpecker, and fed him some peanut butter. I love comedies, and absolutely refuse to watch horror movies. I'm addicted to Pinterest, and would post my own projects, but I'm too impulsive to slow down and take before and after photos.
Doug loves fishing and would spend all day on the water, if we only had a boat. He goes hunting each year but loves animals more than anyone I know. He recently started learning to cook, and ten times out of ten, on his night to make dinner, he'll google the recipe for a gourmet meal rather than serve something easy like ham barbecue. He reads graphic novels (and gets annoyed when I call them comic books). He loves to tell a good story, and recognizes every pop culture reference he hears or sees. He's generous to a fault and loves giving gifts, so much so that he seems incapable of holding out for a surprise. He's competitive at games and most enjoys beating me. He's quick to apologize and to forgive.
We don't have a lot of common interests, but we can finish each other's sentences and we joke that we share a brain. I'm a little bit of a neat freak and he's a little bit of a slob, and we drive each other crazy, but we're happy.
One of my favorite memories of us, and the one I think sums us up in a nutshell involved an egg. Our first anniversary fell on Easter Sunday, and to commemorate it, we had a local artist carve a goose egg with the design of a Celtic cross (our wedding rings are from Ireland, to honor my heritage, since I took his very Italian last name). That egg made it safely through a move, and a major remodel, and then stood on a little clear stand on a shelf in our living room. Until the night I was dusting, and knocked it to the floor, where it shattered, Humpty-Dumpty style into a thousand pieces.
I texted Doug at work
Me: I'm so mad at myself. I broke something important.
Doug: Was it the egg?
Me: Yea, how did you know?
Doug: It's ok honey. It was fragile. Our love isn't.
Me: Aww. Now I'm crying again!
Doug: I'm glad you broke it. I always worried I would.
The next morning, I woke up, and on the shelf was a new egg:
And it was displayed on a peppermill.
...And that's why I love that man.
Friday, May 11, 2012
finding something to celebrate
I've started to write this post a couple of times now, and kept abandoning it. But it's been rattling around inside me and I should probably just spit it out.
Mother's Day is a tough time of year for a lot of women. It's not like Father's Day, when Home Depot and Lowes are pretty much the only ones reminding you that dad deserves a little something. As women, we've got Hallmark, Jared, ProFlowers.com, even Giant Eagle shoving it in our faces. Holidays are always hard when you're missing a child, whether it's one you remember, or one you've only dreamt of, but Mother's Day is probably the biggest sore spot for all of us un-mothers, however we got to be that way.
Last year, my final round of Clomid failed the day before Mother's Day. Doug and I had decided early that fertility treatment past medicine was not the route for us, so in that moment, I knew in my gut that a pregnancy wasn't going to happen. Tests over the summer confirmed that I was correct. By then I was already resigned. I'd spent Mother's Day suffering through the worst of my grief.
But even in my suffering, I knew how lucky I am. Because as soon as I realized the Clomid hadn't worked, I called my mom, and she showed up at my door with a bottle of wine and a shoulder to cry on. She has been, and continues to be, my confidante and my best friend, my supporter and my voice of reason. At my very worst, and my very best times, she's always been there. Growing up, the house was tidy, the meals were homemade, my Halloween costumes were hand-sewn and my birthday cakes were always made from scratch. She did it all while holding down a full-time job, and still found time to read me bedtime stories each night. She set the bar impossibly high, and I can only hope I'm half as good a mom as she was, and still is.
I'm lucky for all the great women in my life. My grandma (God rest her soul) who had such a big heart, who gave to every charity under the sun, who was so insightful and kind. My Aunt Sue, who was my vacation mommy when my mom couldn't come on family trips. My mother-in-law Jan, who's incredibly thoughtful, who jumped on board with my Buttered Up Baby products, and has been selling like it's her job to support us and our dream. I've been blessed, and I know it.
So Mother's Day still makes me kind of sad, but this year, I've got a better mindset. I'm running in the Race for the Cure 5K. I'm fundraising for our adoption, and hoping that I can turn my lotions and scrubs into a little business. Next year, if we've been matched by then, I plan to put a portion of the proceeds from my sales toward another waiting family's adoption costs. Make this time of year a bit brighter for someone who might be having a hard time finding something to celebrate.
P.S. I have a couple new scents for sale! Chocolate cherry and herb garden didn't sell especially well, so they've been replaced. Check out the fundraising page to see what's new!
Mother's Day is a tough time of year for a lot of women. It's not like Father's Day, when Home Depot and Lowes are pretty much the only ones reminding you that dad deserves a little something. As women, we've got Hallmark, Jared, ProFlowers.com, even Giant Eagle shoving it in our faces. Holidays are always hard when you're missing a child, whether it's one you remember, or one you've only dreamt of, but Mother's Day is probably the biggest sore spot for all of us un-mothers, however we got to be that way.
Last year, my final round of Clomid failed the day before Mother's Day. Doug and I had decided early that fertility treatment past medicine was not the route for us, so in that moment, I knew in my gut that a pregnancy wasn't going to happen. Tests over the summer confirmed that I was correct. By then I was already resigned. I'd spent Mother's Day suffering through the worst of my grief.
But even in my suffering, I knew how lucky I am. Because as soon as I realized the Clomid hadn't worked, I called my mom, and she showed up at my door with a bottle of wine and a shoulder to cry on. She has been, and continues to be, my confidante and my best friend, my supporter and my voice of reason. At my very worst, and my very best times, she's always been there. Growing up, the house was tidy, the meals were homemade, my Halloween costumes were hand-sewn and my birthday cakes were always made from scratch. She did it all while holding down a full-time job, and still found time to read me bedtime stories each night. She set the bar impossibly high, and I can only hope I'm half as good a mom as she was, and still is.
I'm lucky for all the great women in my life. My grandma (God rest her soul) who had such a big heart, who gave to every charity under the sun, who was so insightful and kind. My Aunt Sue, who was my vacation mommy when my mom couldn't come on family trips. My mother-in-law Jan, who's incredibly thoughtful, who jumped on board with my Buttered Up Baby products, and has been selling like it's her job to support us and our dream. I've been blessed, and I know it.
So Mother's Day still makes me kind of sad, but this year, I've got a better mindset. I'm running in the Race for the Cure 5K. I'm fundraising for our adoption, and hoping that I can turn my lotions and scrubs into a little business. Next year, if we've been matched by then, I plan to put a portion of the proceeds from my sales toward another waiting family's adoption costs. Make this time of year a bit brighter for someone who might be having a hard time finding something to celebrate.
P.S. I have a couple new scents for sale! Chocolate cherry and herb garden didn't sell especially well, so they've been replaced. Check out the fundraising page to see what's new!
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