...In Which I Find Some Time for Me

Confession, ya'll: I pluck my eyebrows in the car because it's the only place I have to do so. And I only do it about once ever six weeks. So... yeah. When I paint my nails, I text pictures of the event to my friends. Just today, I took ten minutes to master the art of sock bunnery and was so proud, I texted it to the friends I knew would feign interest. Taking time to do things for myself is very, very low on my list of priorities (and I don't consider sitting on the stool in the kitchen, pinteresting on my iPhone while hiding from the kids "me time"). But that's something I'd like to change this year. The kids aren't in a constant state of AAAAACK anymore and I think I've got this mom-of-two thing down a bit more and I'm ready for a little Summer of George.

Damn tight sock bun, son. But worthy of mass text? Really? Also, judge not the walls. It was that way when we moved in (ahemfouryearsago).

I'm not gonna like, liposuction my double chin and lay around eating bon bons or anything looney like that.  I just want to do more things for me. Like remember to pluck my eyebrows more than once every six weeks. Or start saving for a new bathroom so I don't have to pluck in the car anymore <insert wishful dream bubble>.
This weekend, I'm supposed to go out with a friend to celebrate her divorce which by definition, means a hangover will be involved. So that's cool. Last weekend we actually got a sitter and went out with friends. Or I'll paint my nails more - and when they start to chip, I'll take the time to actually remove the paint instead of looking like a 14 year old girl for a month. Or I'll make shaving my legs in the shower such a commonplace affair, that I can stop announcing it, proudly.

Sometimes I feel like the only mom who can't hold her shit together. But I can't be, right? Surely there are other women out there who feel the need to document when they take the time to learn how to jam a sock in their ponytail, right? Right?

Go the Eff to Sleep!

A few weeks ago, Walt started refusing to stay in bed after we put him down for the night. He'd get up and just stand in the hallway over and over until about 11pm. We tried Nanny Jo's method of wordlessly plopping him back into bed. We tried yelling at him, we tried ignoring him, we tried taking toys away. Nothing works. I know it's just a phase but it's starting to annoy me. Ok, it's way past "starting" to annoy me. I'm totally irked by it. Neil and I feel like we don't get a single drop of time to ourselves day after day. It's wearing on us. Every time it happens, he knows there's no cartoons the next day and I will take his most prized toys, his wooden train set away. It still doesn't stop him - even though he's heart broken when he comes downstairs in the morning and his trains are gone.

Through this punishment, though, something magical has happened. He's only had one day over the past two weeks where he's been allowed to watch cartoons. And you know what? He doesn't miss them at all. He barely even asks me for them. He's like a recovering addict. Before this punishment routine began, if he went a day without watching Pocoyo, he'd be frothing at the mouth. But now, he could care less if he watches anything at all. I use to pop a cartoon on when I put H down for his naps so I didn't have to worry about W getting into trouble or hurting himself. But now that that's not an option, I come back from rocking H to sleep and W is curled up in a chair with a book, pretending to read. It reminds me of the end of the Cable Guy when the cable goes out and people rediscover life outside of tv. It's not like he was glued to the tube all day. But he definitely watched his fair share of cartoons.

So while I hate that we're still fighting the fight over bed time, I love that he's using his imagination 100% of the time during the day. He no longer tells me that he's bored (where on earth did he learn that, anyway?). He can just sit down with some cars or trains ad piddle away quietly for hours. I couldn't be happier.
Speaking of bored, how spot on is Louie CK? I'm so in love with him right now.

credit

Since none of our punishments are working, I'm faced with one last ditch effort. And it's a very scary one for me... no. more. napping. Gah! We'll see how it goes. When did your kids stop napping?

I think I'll be getting this book for Neil for Christmas, this year.

How did you decide what was right for you?

Here's a hump day question for you. How did you decide what type of adoption is right for you? Open domestic was a no brainer for us the first time around. If there's a "next time," I'm not so sure it would be so cut and dry, though.
There have been several occurrences recently that have caused me to dip my toes into the internet in search of direction for a (very) hypothetical fifth family member. First, our little Henry is turning one in a few weeks. I simply can't believe it. As most moms can probably relate, when your little one hits the big number one, there's a wishy washy wave of sentimentality. The baby is unofficially gone and somewhere deep in the recesses of your head (or tick tick ticking baby maker), you may start wondering if that's truly "it."
Secondly, one of my closest friends recently found herself in the mothering way for the third time. Her other kids are 3.5 and 1.5. This was a surprise, but a darling one to be sure. Our oldest kids are total besties and once H catches up to her middle child, I'm sure they're going to tear the neighborhood apart together. Now I'm not saying I'm trying to keep up with the Jonses at all. But you know the madness that can take over when you're waving adios to your kid's baby stage and someone steps in with a soft little baby. It makes another one seem like a really good idea for a hot minute.

 So here I am, at the internet researching all of my hypothetical options. I'm not too sure that three kids is right for our family. But I'm not 100% sure that two kids is the end for us either. Right now, we're still in the exhausted, overwhelmed stage of having a baby. And I think we're both in agreement that having another infant isn't for us. So that rules out open domestic adoption for right now (unless H's birth parents were to find themselves pregnant again, of course).

Next my thoughts went to adopting through the foster care system. But we don't want to disturb the birth order of our family. My research is limited, but from what I've found so far, it's hard to adopt toddlers or older babies through the system. So that would put having a third child on the back burner for as long as ten years. Side note: If you have experience going through the system, I'd love to hear about your experiences.

Our next option is international. This is looking more and more like the answer for us (except for the costs associated with it, which would be a struggle). I have a short list of countries I would consider adopting from, for personal reasons. Every time I look into international adoption, I get insanely overwhelmed with the amount of paperwork and waiting - as well as plagued with guilt for ignoring children, right here at home. But it's looking more and more like my next hypothetical child would come from an international adoption.

Now, of course this is all completely hypothetical. Right now, we're no where near making a decision about a third kiddo. But when it comes to family, I'm a planner. So this kind of obsessing is normal for me. If we do decide, one day, to expand our family, I want to be ready to jump right into the process.

On a super nutty side note, once every few months, I get the urge to throw all caution to the wind and just make a baby the old fashioned way. Then I remember that there's a 70% chance of shit hitting the fan again and I'm knocked back into reality. I'm passionate about adoption and believe in it, wholly. So adoption it is!

So that's where my head is this morning. And I know my husband is going to read this and freak out. Ha! No worries Neil... this is all hypothetical. I promise.

I would love some insight for people who have been there. How did you decide what kind of adoption would be right for you? If you chose international adoption, how did you decide on a country?

I don't know about where you are... but it's flipping freezing here today. I'm going to bundle the boys up soon and head out for a lunch date, downtown.We all need some fresh (albeit freezing) air.

Stuck in Maybe-Baby Limbo is the Pits

Here we go again. We got a call on Thursday from our dear social worker. There was a birth mother and birth father with a three month old that were looking to make an adoption plan and did we want to be considered for it. It turns out, we were the only people in our program to agree to be shown to her, due to the nature of her medical background (more on my feelings towards this later). She's taking the weekend and Monday to decide with her family and the birth father that placing with us is the right thing to do. So we could have a possible placement on Wednesday. Holy balls! We were just starting to get over the last disappointment and now this.

I have coined this period of waiting to see if a baby comes home with us "maybe-baby." And you know what? Maybe-baby is really starting to take a toll on me. I can't take much more. If this situation doesn't work out, I'm going to need a few weeks without any baby drama.

This baby comes as a major surprise to us. We've only been shown to African American or biracial birth mothers to this point. We've been preparing for over a year now to be a trans racial family. This particular baby happens to be Caucasian and we were knocked off kilter a little by it. It's weird for two white people to have to prepare for a white baby. But that's what we're doing. More on this later, as well.

We haven't told many people about this situation. But I feel like to stay true to the process, I needed to comment on it here. I created this blog to help others in the same situation. And to help myself get through this excruciating Wait period. So dear friends, this could be the first post marking my descent into madness. Haha... ok, that's a little dramatic. But who knows, at this rate, a few more weeks here and there of maybe-baby could have me going bonkers for sure.

I also need to add that I am fully aware that no amount of anxiety I am feeling can come close to matching what the birth mother is feeling. I can't imagine the pain she is going through. My heart is with her (even though we haven't met yet) during this agonizing time and I hope that our profile is comforting to her. If I could speak to her right now, I'd like to tell her that if she decides to place, we will love and honor her forever as one of our own and she will be with us always as we raise this baby she has entrusted to us. He will always know who she is and how much she loves him. That's how we roll.

So peace and godspeed to her and her decision. We're here, ready and willing.
Wish us luck and hopefully we'll have a joyful update later this week.

Starting over isn't so bad

Since the baby was born and the father decided to parent, things haven't been too bad around these parts. We were busy with incredibly warm beach days, grown up get-a-ways and little W's third birthday. All of which have been excellent distractions.
Wednesday night we scrambled to throw together a last minute weekend getaway. We gave the boy and the dogs to my parents and we took off to the Finger Lakes in upstate New York. We went there for a short weekend about four or five years ago and we fell instantly in love with the area. We're just two soggy winos at heart and it was calling me back. Loudly.
This was a very healing trip. Our hotel was warm and luxurious (by our standards), our suite was about the size of our home (ha!), the porch was cathartic and the jacuzzi literally healed my (broken) bones.

View from our hotel porch

On Saturday, we hired a chauffeur to take us around for the day to all the wineries on Seneca Lake.  We got soggy and stupid by 5:00pm. And we bought a LOT of wine. Like, a serious lot. That's all I can really recant from that experience.

This is me after about eleventy billion glasses of wine. Mmm... wine

Sunday was a quick trip to Kauka Lake for a visit to a few vineyards before the long trip down to pick W up at my parents. And what trip to wine country would be complete without stopping at super classy Bully Hill?
The ancient memory of twenty three year old Lindsay that lives deep in my head, somewhere was reveling in all their cheap-wine-splendor. Once upon a time, many a night was spent with a bottle of Bully Hill in the crook of my arm. And of course I had to get a few bottles of Sweet Walter. Because, well, that's my Little W! And by late Sunday morning, we were really jonesing for our own sweet Walter.

Bully Hill: Giving Young Lindsay headaches since the year 2000

By the time it was all said and done, we sloshed back down the highway with over three cases of wine of varying colors, flavors and fancy winey words we don't care to understand (seriously... you can't tell me the tannins of your table wine matter as you're downing Wegman's brand spaghetti in your sweatpants on a Tuesday).

Monday was our sweet W's third birthday. How that happened, I'll never know. He's been begging to go to the Franklin Institute to see the traveling dinosaur exhibit for weeks. So we took him there for his birthday. And it scared him to death. Like, little hands plastered over closed eyes the whole time, scared. I have to admit that the exhibit was pretty spooky. Lots of mood lighting and creepy noises gave it an eerie feeling.
So we showed him the rest of the FI, which he loved as much as I remember loving it as a kid. After a long walk down to Reading Terminal Market for his favorite food in the world (Amish pretzel dogs) and back, he decided that "the dinos weren't too scary and I'd like to try it again," which yielded the same, petrified results. Oh well. At least the kid tried. It was a good birthday, for sure. His favorite restaurant sang to him and he was up on an ice cream and present high until 10:15pm.

Now we're all home and our souls have been recharged and we're ready to jump back in and redo our home study and profile book et cetera et cetera. I can not wait to get The (next) Call. I'm so ready for W's little brother or sister. I'm not sobbing myself to sleep at night over this disruption, but I'm not 100% ok, either. I'm in a weird, emotional limbo place and I'm not sure how to express what I'm feeling. "It is what it is" is really the best way to describe it.  I'd like to take some time and try to write through my feelings some more, but I'm not quite there yet, from an organizational stand point. I'll get there.

What I can take away from this experience right now is that I am an incredibly fortunate girl. I may have the most amazing husband in the world and my son is just the sweetest thing on two legs. What else can a girl ask for?

Catharsis

Thank you, Global Warming for providing me with an unseasonably warm, tshirt/shorts/flip flops kind of day. It did wonders for what ailed me.
In the morning, W and I ran to our adoption agency to drop off checks for the updated home study (um hello salt in the wound!?) then we tossed a blanket, some fishies and juice boxes in my trusty old LL back pack and high tailed it down to the beach. I laid on the blanket and watched the waves roll in and W drove his trucks-du-jour through a maze of old tire tracks. We hunted for shells, dipped our toes in the frigid Atlantic and barrel rolled down the sandy dune hill (broken ribs and all). It was the definition of catharsis. The salt air helped to heal my wounds. I just wish Neil could have been there, too. But then again, someone needs to bring home the bacon.
My doctor, himself couldn't have prescribed anything better. I still smell like a mix of salt and SPF 50, and my hair's wonderfully unsalvageable.

 I'm almost ready to go to work tomorrow and field the endless barrage of questions. GAH.

Ok, now I'm ready.

The best part about today is knowing that as awesome as it was, it's not going to be able to hold a candle to what we just planned for this weekend. Stay frosty, friends <insert some kind of winky emoticon here>.

Back to the drawing board

Well that wasn't totally unexpected.
D had the baby on Friday and didn't tell anyone. Her social worker had to track her down yesterday. From what I could gather, the birth father decided he wanted to parent in a very erratic manner and wouldn't let her contact her social worker(?). That's just what I could gather from a short phone call yesterday. We'll hopefully learn more today. The baby's set to be discharged today and we don't know to whom yet (definitely not us, though).
While I'm not throwing myself on the floor and wailing in despair, I'm pretty torn up about it all. That little person would have had everything he ever wanted with us. I'm trying not to judge the birth father too much, but it's just the facts that this kid's life is going to follow a grossly different trajectory now. And my heart breaks for him. Not for us... but for him.

That's really all I have to say about it right now. This kid's life is screwed and it doesn't need to be. The birth father is being selfish and stupid.Maybe I'll feel some sorrow for us as the healing process wears on, but right now, our feelings are the least of my concerns. I just can't believe that some low life can slink in and destroy this kid's life because he has biological bonds to him. It's just not fair. Ok, so maybe I'm judging him a little. But whatever. The wounds are fresh and still bleeding. I'm allowed a few snap judgements.

Complete Freak-Out Mode

 I've been trying to write this post for two weeks but it keeps coming out with lots of OMGs and insanely long run on sentences because my inner dialog is on overdrive.
Baby's due date is fast approaching and I'm kind of in a freak-out tailspin.I have a very real feeling that D, our birth mother is going to change her mind once the baby is born. So while I'm trying to mentally prepare myself to be a functioning mother to two small children and reveling in some of the things that all moms enjoy (sitting quietly in the baby's room and smelling all the clean, tiny clothes), I'm also preparing for insane amounts of heart crushing sadness. It's a very strange mix of feelings. And I can't forget about my little man, W. How do you properly prepare a three year old for a baby brother when you're worrying that you may have to explain why brother never came home.
So lets see... what's eating me?
Baby's due date was recently changed from the 17th to the 26th of this month. Holy longest week of my life. We have a feeling D's not going to make it all the way until the 26th, so we've pretty much packed our bags and are ready to scram at a moment's notice.
I'm still feeling like there's a good possibility that she's going to change her mind once baby is born. But I'm trying to not dwell on that too much. HA!! Yeah, right.

Last Tuesday, everything boiled over when I slipped down my landing again and thought I broke a rib. I spent most of the day in the ER getting xrays etc. Nothing was broken but you wouldn't know it by how it feels. That was enough to send my emotions over the tipping point.  No kitchen, possibly no baby, banged up ribs... I turned into a screaming, sobbing mess. My husband suffered the brunt of it and my dear best friend had to listen to me rant and rave like a lunatic on the phone for an hour. If there is a heaven, there's a special place reserved for both of them.

My some good news is that my counter tops are currently en route to my house and they'll be installed by dinner. Hopefully my banged up ribs don't prohibit me from getting the sink hooked back up. Before and after pictures will be posted once everything's painted and the back splash is up.

Tomorrow's my birthday (holy big 33) so I get to pick dinner. What choices! March 6th, the day of my birth, begins our super awesome birthday extravaganza month. W's is March 19th, new baby's is some time at the end of the month and Neil's caps things off nicely on April 7th. It's a fun time in our house. Although W's totally getting the shaft on his birthday this year. We were going to have a big dinosaur themed party for him at a local museum but with all the baby stuff going on, it's just feasible. Luckily he's three and won't realize he's getting the shaft. Poor kid.

So that's things in a nutshell. I'm going insane during this waiting period and there's no relief in sight.

One Thing at a Time

Move over, darling husband and adorable son. I have a new love in my life. And his name is Mucinex. DayQuil (my former lover) can suck it. I forget important things like blinking and stopping at traffic lights when flying high on the big orange Q. But Mucinex? Oh that stuff is delightful.
Little W was out of commission for a week with a fever and ridiculous cough. It was breaking my heart to see him so sick. You think he'd return the empathy to me now that I'm on my death bed? Noooooo way. Kids are heartless that way. One more day of nonstop cartoons won't kill him, I suppose.
It's two weeks until opening night of the musical, so I'll likely see no empathy from my rehearsal schedule, either.
No rest for the weary.

In cheerier news, the baby stuff is coming along nicely. He has a dresser and it's chock full of clothes. I borrowed 20 gallons of newborn-3 month clothes from a friend this weekend, which was a lifesaver. So we're set. The diapers and linens are washed and in the drawer, the clothes are washed and organized by type and size (crazy much?) and the emergency gotta-run baby hotel stay bag is packed.

We still haven't gotten word when we're meeting D&A, the birth parents. Which is causing more than a little shpilkes and agita. But I'm going to remain in my zen frame of mind. If this baby is meant to be ours, he will come home with us. And if not, then we'll mourn the loss and move on. Because our little person will still be out there and we'll be ready for him or her. See? Don't I seem peaceful and content with the situation? I'm remaining peaceful, dangit!! Peaceful!

If I even begin to think about the work scheduled to be done in the kitchen next week (then the week after that we'll be without a countertop) or the musical's opening night in two weeks, my whole peaceful bubble is going to pop. One.Thing.At.A.Time. And now W's hand-me-down monster cold on top of everything is the mucousy icing on the cake. Thanks, little man.

Today will be full of tissues, hot tea, cartoons for W, packing up the kitchen for the eminent work being done, OTC deliciousness, and trying to make myself presentable enough to get changed in front of my cast mates for our first rehearsal in costumes. But first, I think I'm going to curl up in the fetal position on the couch for a few hours.

That Pretty Much Covers It

I don't have much to say these days. I'm getting tired of waiting. Plain and simple. I know I should empower myself and redo our profile and get the room ready for baby. But I just don't feel like it. I think a steady case of the gloomies has crept in and is keeping me from being productive. So because I'm in a woah-is-me kinda mood, here's a list of things hanging over my head in my black cloud:

Every time I think about starting our profile book over, I get so overwhelmed. I need to suck it up and take control. But blah.

Not sure if this is a local or national thing, but as you probably know, the homestudy now has to be done every 12 months. Grand. This partially annoys me (because we're on such a tight budget) but it partially excites me, too. At least I'll have something to do.

We're having our kitchen slightly redone in a few weeks. It's just bare bones aesthetic stuff that's necessary for the well being of our house (ok, and throwing a dishwasher in for good measure. Yes, we don't have a dishwasher. Gasp.). But we're still going to have to put the adoption on hold while it's being done. It should only take 2 weeks at most. But that's still painful for me. What if we miss our birth mother in that period of time? Guh. At least our kitchen will be (barely) in the 20th century when it's done. And at least we'll have a proper wall instead of a crumbling plaster mess. Maybe some before and after pictures will follow.

Little W has a monster cold. We've been waiting for him to come down with it for a long time. He's the last kid in our small circle to get it. And it's a doozy. He topped off last night with a 104.5 fever. But he's such a strong little tropper. Still smiling and polite and generally happy with life and sleeping through the night (and most of the day). I'm just waiting to come down with it, too. So being stuck in the house the past three days is not helping my mood.

So blah blah blah... I want my baby. That's really all it comes down to. I've been patient for a while now. And I'm having a weak moment. I just want to yell into oblivion that we've been waiting what I deem to be long enough and I'm tired of it and I want my little bundle of sweetness. I want my phone call.

I know I sound whiny and obnoxious. But whatevs. I'm allowed weak moments.