Let the Wild Rumpus Start!

We have more good news to celebrate. Tuesday morning, Dylan’s birth mother V. called us personally to let us know she was meeting with our adoption counselor and signing the papers to terminate her parental rights. She knew this was an important step and that it would bring us some comfort to know.

In fact, we danced around the front porch. Though Dylan has felt like our son since before he was born, it was a huge relief to cross this hurdle.

Since we have also received the necessary clearance from three different Cherokee tribes, we can now begin the legal process to officially adopt him, which should take between six and nine months. Technically, we are currently his guardians for the time being.

We’ve now sent an “official” birth announcement email to our extended family, friends, and colleagues. And TWO different "Welcome Baby Bashes" are being planned! We are so grateful to let everyone know about our darling Dylan, and it fills our hearts with joy that he’s been so warmly welcomed.

Fire Drill (Part III)

So, was the moment for which we've been waiting for years, and then months, and now weeks finally here? Were we about to become parents? We were on our way to the hospital with the expectant mom with whom we are matched, all thinking she'd deliver via c-section very, very soon.

When we met up with V. and D. at Fancy Hospital, she was out of breath. She explained that in the parking lot, she'd spied a car that suggested someone else was in the maternity ward, someone she didn't want to see. She was trying not to freak!

Heading upstairs, we approached each turn in the twisting hallways cautiously, peaking around to make sure V. wouldn't run into a situation she was really hoping to avoid. The elevator doors opened on the maternity floor and we could see and hear a big group of people stuffed in a little waiting room. We walked by them quickly and through the big double doors. V. squeaked, "They're there." But they apparently didn't see her. I tried to reassure her that they weren't expecting to see her here, and they were involved in their own drama.

At the end of the hall, there were four other very large, pregnant women in labor as well as assorted groupies lining the walls. Nurses were bustling around and it took a little while for V. to check in and get a seat; they rolled an office chair out. She was feeling uncomfortable, not just about avoiding people, but physically too. And she was getting nervous about what the next few hours would have in store. We tried to calm her down by chatting (probably inanely). For the first hour, I was interested in all that was going on around us...

But time wore on. I strolled the floor nervously and overheard a nurse on her mobile phone complaining about how incredibly crowded it was and how there were no beds left. (I did NOT share this info with V.) While we waited, two more women in labor (and their own entourages) came in. A nurse joked that they must have all been at the county fair and eaten something. Meanwhile, V. hid behind D. every time someone new turned the corner.

V. hadn't even been assessed yet.

Eventually, a nurse came and told most of us that we had to go to the waiting area. V. froze. We assured her we'd keep her apart from the people she didn't want to deal with. We went to the elevator bay and hung out there for awhile, seating V. in a wheelchair. After about 20 minutes, the nurse came back and rather gruffly told us that we couldn't hang out there, we needed to go to the maternity waiting area. We encouraged V. to explain to her why that wouldn't work. With some cajoling, she did eventually explain the situation to the nurse, who immediately became very apologetic. She told us we could go down to the waiting room at the entrance to the building, gave V. her cell number, and told her to call in 20 minutes to see if a bed had opened up.

Twenty-minutes passed. And twenty more. And twenty more. V. was getting more and more agitated....and M., D. and I were getting hungrier and hungrier (but we certainly weren't about to complain, since V. thought she shouldn't eat). During that time, in addition to calling the nurse and being told there was still not a bed, V. called her doctor, hoping he might be able to get her some attention, only to receive his answering service.

Finally, more than three hours after we arrived at Fancy Hospital, V. reached her doctor, and though he was there, he explained that they were over-crowded and encouraged her to go over to Mediocre Hospital. We debated whether it made sense to trek over there, since it was increasingly obvious as time marched on that she wasn't actually in active labor. At last, I think hoping to just get it all over with, she determined to head over there and see what they could do.

The emergency room's waiting area of Mediocre Hospital was packed, crowded with sick looking people, some even wearing face masks. V. must've said the magic word ("labor"), because the four of us were whisked into the emergency area. It's the first time I've actually been to a place that resembled the show ER! (Fortunately, no one came in while we were there with a GSW.)

V. talked with someone, filled out a few forms, and then had an aide wheel her across the huge maze of buildings. She talked with someone else and filled out some more forms, and then got wheeled to the maternity area where BINGO! she was given a room. A nice nurse asked her to disrobe, lie down, and strap up to the monitors. She did so reluctantly, expressing reservations that all of this would actually lead to delivery this evening. The nurse reassured V. she'd be back in 20 minutes to let her know what the monitors were indicating.

So, we settled in. Would you believe that "Sons of Anarchy," which D. described as a biker soap opera and his favorite show, was on TV? We'd never seen it, so it was interesting. But I was more fascinated by the monitors. One line was intended to show contractions, and sure enough, every now and again, there were little peaks and valleys. But more incredible to me, it showed and sounded a fast little heartbeat, and even better, crazy whooshing sounds every time the baby moved around. It was really cool! As V. had suggested, he is an active kid!!

Twenty minutes came and, you guessed it, went. Twenty more, and the nurse checked in, telling us that she had a call into the doctor, but it looked to her like the labor was not active and that the baby was in very good shape. Twenty more minutes. V. was getting really frustrated (and so were we). She asked about whether we should just leave. No one would make the decision for her. She was just about to give up when the nurse returned and told her the doctor had called and said she could continue to wait and be monitored further, or go home. She was done! She opted to go home.

Well, not really home. We were all starving! We headed back to the all night diner. She was annoyed and frustrated and disappointed and I think a little embarrassed. We reassured her that though we were disappointed there wasn't a baby to welcome tonight, we knew there would be soon, and that were were grateful for the extra time we got to spend with her.

M. and I briefly debated heading for home to save money and time. But it was so late and we were emotionally wrought. After hugging V. tight and encouraging her to rest, we headed back to the hotel and checked in again. We were a little numb from everything, and reviewed for ourselves all that had happened. There was a lot of strangeness, a lot of drama. But we still felt really good about V. and our match.

After M. did a bit of work remotely in the morning, and sending a deflated update email to key family and friends (and our house and cat sitter), we got back on the road, onto a highway we've come to know very well. Once we were back home sweet home, I blew off the urge to go into work in the afternoon and instead took a long nap.

Going back the next day was odd. The people who knew the details of our situation were surprised to see me. And I didn't feel like interacting much and explaining to those who didn't know what was up. I was able to make more progress on wrapping things up and on Friday afternoon, left my office with a clean desk and fairly clear conscience.

On Friday we sent V. an email, just letting her know that we'd made it home safely and reiterating that though we were sorry she'd been through so much in the last several days, we were excited about all the future has to hold and that we are so grateful to be matched with her. The next day we got a message back that brought tears to my eyes. V. said that she too appreciated the time we'd spent together, that she knows we will be wonderful parents, and that for the first time, she is feeling part of strong family.

So...we've been thinking that we'd be trekking back to her hometown for the c-section the doctor had previously suggested would be on Tuesday...assuming she didn't go into labor sooner. And she made it all the way to today, Monday, which means tomorrow is Tuesday. But what time is the surgery scheduled for? Should we head out this afternoon in time to have dinner with her this evening? We didn't hear from her in the morning.

I had kind of thought I'd leave work at noon, but without further word, I hung out and went to lunch with friends. Tick-tock, time wore on with no word. By the end of the afternoon, we were imagining all kinds of scenarios about why we hadn't heard whether there would be a birth - and whether we'd be at it - tomorrow.

When I got home, M. and I squeezed each other. Our nerves were fraying, and we were unsure how to handle it.

Finally, our need to know outweighing our desire not to harass her, we gave V. a call. D. answered, and sounded friendly and casual. Then he passed the phone to V. She said that they were just about to call us. She is so OVER the drama, and she again apologized for sucking us into the situation. She explained that she'd talked with the doctor's office today and they scheduled her for an appointment tomorrow about 10:30 a.m. At that point, the doctor will schedule a c-section; it could be for later in the day, or later in the week, or who knows?!

Things seem to be complicated by MediCal, and by his schedule and the desire to deliver at Fancy Hospital, rather than Crummy (not even Mediocre) Hospital. We still get the sense that he is really trying to help her out, and is trying to work the system within the system. Of course, it's not soon or easy enough for us and V.

Bottom line: there is no baby yet...but there may be tomorrow. So please stay tuned!

Fire Drill (Part II)

As I shared in my last post, though confused and anxious about whether the birth mom we're matched with was in labor, M. and I were exhausted and quickly fell into deep sleeps in our hotel room. We were startled awake about 2 a.m. by a phone call.

It was D.! He handed the phone to V. and she talked to M., but I could hear most of what she was saying. She was clearly agitated. They had tried to call us dozens of time over the last couple of hours. Where were we? Were we in a wreck? Did we know that we wouldn't become parents tonight?

Obviously, there was some problem with our toll-free number's call forwarding system. (Indeed, the next day when we checked the on-line call log, there were about 60 calls from D.'s phone.) AND we discovered the next day that I'd been trying to reach them on a number that was one digit off! So terrible. It's a wonder V. wanted to stay matched with us technodummies!

It turned out that V. and D. were calling from an all-night diner...about 30 yards from where we were in bed. We encouraged them to come on over.

Through a tired and sleepy fog, we listened to V.'s story of the evening. She was in pain and frustrated that her contractions hadn't shown on the monitor. She reassured us that all signs indicate the baby is doing well. After sympathizing for a bit, and apologizing profusely for the phone problems, we agreed to meet V. and D. at the same nearby diner for breakfast in just a few hours, before going to her OB as he'd instructed by phone earlier in the night's odyssey .

After a round of warm hugs, they left and we went back to sleep quickly.

D. called us the next morning when they were leaving the house, headed for breakfast and we met them at the diner a few minutes later. They both seemed better rested and V. was calmer. She was a bit sheepish about causing us to trek out there, but we assured her we were glad to do it. Then we followed them to the OB's office.

Unfortunately, her doctor wasn't there, but his partner and assistants were. After her exam, V. came out and told us that they thought she should return for her regularly scheduled appointment late the next afternoon and that it was likely that her doctor would send her then to the hospital to deliver (especially since he was headed out of town for the next four days.) Wow!

M. and I debated briefly whether we'd drive the 2.5 hours home that morning and return the next afternoon. Reasoning that 1. she might really go into labor before then and it would suck to have to drive so much in an even shorter period of time, and 2. if she didn't deliver the next day, we'd rather have only made the round trip drive and return home without a baby once than twice. So we decided to stay.

V. was eager to get home to sleep, as she'd been having trouble getting any rest during the last several nights. But before separating, we followed up an a something she'd mentioned earlier. She said she'd watched one of the recent "Adoption Diaries" on TV and liked how the birth and adoptive families had gotten together to have a nice dinner. She said it wistfully, believing there wouldn't be a an opportunity for us to do something similar.

With this new time frame, M. and I asked whether she'd like to invite a few friends to join us for dinner at a restaurant of her choice that evening. She seemed to like the idea, and we agreed to talk again after she woke up from a nap, but that we'd likely rendezvous at the Italian restaurant where she'd originally hoped we'd have our match meeting a few weeks ago. Then M. and I were on our own for several hours.

We went back to the hotel and napped ourselves. M. did a little work, we watched some TV. Then after a fruitless search for someplace still serving a good lunch after 2:30 p.m., we picked up a little picnic at the supermarket and ate at a nice park before heading into the near by hills. D. had told us that a beautiful river canyon was close by. He was right.

We drove about 20 minutes along the narrow road that became more twisted as we gradually ascended. On a Monday afternoon, there weren't many others on the road. The sun was beginning to get low in the sky and the light was beautiful. M. found a nice turnoff and we scrambled a bit (I wish I'd worn better shoes!) down the rocks to get to the river, which was surprisingly swift for this late, dry time of year. Of course, my photographer husband was in his element. And of course, I was getting anxious about being out of cell service range.

In the end, I think we spent long enough in the quiet canyon to feel we'd gotten away to a beautiful, natural place without risking a repeat of the previous night's phone contact crisis.

Shortly after we returned to the hotel, V. called. She said to M., "I hope you're not too mad..." which he reported caused him to catch his breath, "but I'm craving Mexican now." Of course we weren't mad...especially since that's one of our favorite cuisines!

We found the place without problem and saw that V. and D. were waiting for us as we pulled in. As we crossed the parking lot, we saw another couple, with the guy sporting a leather jacket with the name of D.'s motorcycle club on the back. So we introduced ourselves and were already chatting amicably when we approached smiling V. and D.

It was a nice meal. Mostly it was casual conversation, though occasionally V. would confess to being a little freaked out about what she was facing the next day. We had the friendly server take a few photos of us all, which I hope will make it into our son's baby book someday.

Since the evening was still young, V. asked us if we'd like to see her friend's tattoo shop. Since we know that this friend (I'll call him Doc Johnny), is an important person in her life, and that she spends a lot of time in the shop, we told her we'd love it.

I suppose now is a good time to say that M. and I always kinda assumed we'd become a trans-racial family through adoption. As it turns out, we won't (most likely, assuming this situation goes through). But, it is definitely a trans-cultural adoption!! One of the things we really appreciate about this situation - and I think V. does too - is that we have very different backgrounds. Despite that, we've found a lot of common ground. In fact, I think we are all enjoying learning about people who live very different lives - for whatever reason - than we do.

Doc Johnny and his tattoo shop were fascinating. It's packed (neatly) with totems he's collected from working all over the world. He is a true artist. He says that it's been a tough way to make a living and he wouldn't recommend it to everyone, but it's allowed him to support his family, travel to interesting places, and do something he enjoys. We looked through his big book of photos of his work, and I must say there were beautiful pieces...and I just can't grasp how some people can do some of those things to their bodies.

We explored the shop and learned more about tattooing for awhile, and then we received a high honor: an invitation to the "club house." Doc Johnny roared off on his big bike with D. and V. in hot pursuit in his big truck and us putting along behind in our little Subaru, listening to the local NPR station's classical music.

The motorcycle group's "club house" is a storefront in an old - though not extremely derelict - part of town. As I told D. later, it is what I suspect many boys (and girls!) fantasize about as kids...except it's not in a tree. It's a big open space with several comfy couches, card tables and chair, a big jukebox blasting tunes, an area to pull up their bikes, a trophy case, and a big bar with stools. Behind the bar, holding the bottles of booze, is a coffin.

There were about a half-dozen club members there, and I was delighted to see the ease with which V. introduced us. They all seemed to understand who we are and why she was bringing us around. They were polite and friendly. They offered us beer. V. told us there were plans for a meeting later in the evening. I asked her what they meet about, and she said that she'd been curious about that too. Then she found out it was usually just about coordinating an upcoming ride or something, and the last time these big, tough looking guys had an official meeting, it was to decide whether to get club hoodies or regular sweatshirts. Hee!

M. played a round of pool, and I chatted more, mostly with V. but also with some of the others. Since she said they'd wait for us to leave before meeting, and I could tell she was getting tired and couldn't leave until D. had met with his buddies, we wrapped things up.

D. and V. walked us to our car and we encouraged them to call us if they needed to be in touch before we'd planned to meet again at the OB's office the next day.

After marveling together for awhile about all we were experiencing, M. and I turned in and were able to sleep surprisingly well. In the morning (now Tuesday), we had the pretty decent breakfast at the hotel and decided to check out since we didn't want to pay for another night we might not need since 1. we'd heard that its not uncommon for hospitals to offer empty rooms to adoptive parents while birth moms are there, or 2. she might not deliver that evening after all.

We loaded the car back up ad headed to the County Museum, which is a large park with a collection of historic buildings from around the area. It was a great way to spend several hours. The weather had gotten a lot cooler and there weren't many people around. We could just wander. In fact, we left and got a good lunch (at someplace we'd researched in advance) and came back.

As the time for V.'s 5 p.m. appointment approached, we were staying pretty calm. We even spent about 45 minutes just lounging on a picnic bench, speculating on how things would go, talking about the oddity of the situation, and just holding each other close.

We got to the office a little early and M. posted a photo we'd taken several days before to Face*book. It's of us sitting on the back bumper of the car, with the car seat next to us and the hatch full of other baby-related items. It shows that we were ready to hit the road to meet our child!

He finished up just as V. and D. arrived. She and I confessed to feeling really nervous. The guys just kind of nodded in agreement. We waited together for a bit in the glitzy waiting room. A few other pregnant people came and went. I speculated that the doctor wanted to see V. last, so then he could send her to the hospital and meet her over there.

Finally, he called her in personally, greeting us as well. The exam didn't take long, and then V. re-emerged saying,

"Well, it looks like we're on our way to the hospital".....

Fire Drill (Part I)

Well....

Last Sunday evening, we were enjoying a delivery pizza and some good red wine with our friends Anne and Andy when the phone rang. It was V., who explained that she'd been experiencing painful contractions and thought we should stand by because "tonight might be the night." We told her, "no problem, we are ready to go!" She told us she'd call back if things seemed to be progressing.

We hung up and....squealed!!! And jumped around a bit!! The Raggedies were a good audience.

We tried to settle down to watch the big show: the season premier of The Amazing Race, our favorite. During commercial breaks, we scurried around, making sure we truly were ready to go at a moment's notice. M. watered plants and washed dishes. I can't quite remember what I did, other than run around, but I'm sure it was productive!

The first contestants had just made their way to Phil and the mat when V. called again. She said she couldn't take it anymore and was headed to the hospital.

Oh, boy!

We both jumped in the shower, checked and double checked our various lists, and we set off. Once on the road we did a few things:

- M. drove carefully but faster than usual, with intense concentration.

- I called my mom and told her we'd keep in touch when there was more news.

- I called M. sister and told her the same.

- I called the agency as instructed. The operator patched us through to the on-call social worker, who happened to be S., our adoption counselor. She sounded excited for us. I asked what we were supposed to do when we arrived, and she encouraged us to go on up to labor and delivery.

- I recalled some good advice I received on my wedding day: take some "mental snapshots" of special moments. This will make it easier to recall a few things in the blur.

We were a little more than half-way and just out of a mountain pass when we decided to run into a service station for a bathroom break and something to drink. Alas, we left the cell phone in the car. Fortunately, we thought to look at it when we returned two minutes later, and sure enough, there was a message from D. He indicated that he thought they'd be sending V. home, and asked us to call him. We tried to call him back but couldn't reach him. So begins a very sad part of the story.

Pulling into the parking lot at the hospital, we tried to call again. No response. Were they still there? We debated what to do. Ultimately, we decided to go in. Because it was about 11:30 p.m., we had to enter through the emergency room, which was crammed with sick and uncomfortable looking people. After inquiring, we were sent on up to Labor and Delivery.

The elevator doors opened on a calm, quiet floor. Behind closed doors, we could hear the occasional cry of a tiny baby. Some further exploration finally yielded a nurses' station where we inquired about her. They directed us to her room. So she WAS still there.

I knocked softly. No response. I opened the door slowly and whispered. No response. I went on in. No V! She wasn't even in the bathroom. Finally, a more in-the-know nurse clued us in that they had indeed released her about 45 minutes earlier.

So back to the parking lot in a quandary we went. We tried calling again.

Briefly we debated heading home. Then we decided better and headed to a hotel that M. had scouted out online. I called and found they had availability, in fact at a good rate better than advertised on the net. We headed over there, concerned about V. and not sure what to do.

We checked in and headed to bed. I'd just drifted off when the phone rang. But no one was there.

We were both sound asleep about 2 a.m. when the phone rang again....

Game On

Will it be tonight? Or in two weeks? I don't know about you, but my stomach can't take much more of this guessing. What's needed here is some premonition...and I ain't got none. What about you?

Taking a page from the play book of my blogging buddy Bobby at Those Two Daddies, I'm now announcing a Baby Birth Betting Pool. Have a sense of when the little guy might show up? Got a good dose of experience with such things and willing to take an educated guess? Or just unable to resist the urge to gamble? Well, now's your chance to put it on the line!

Here's how this contest is gonna work:

• Leave a comment on this post with the date and time the baby will be born. (And if you have a reason why you're putting your chips on that number, let me know.)
• "Price is Right" rules: person who comes closest without going over wins!
• You must post before we indicate we're on the road to greet him.
• At some point, I'll announce the big winner and the amazing prize (hmmm...that's still TBD; but trust me, it won't be fabulous but it will be fun.)

To level the playing field, I'll share all of the relevant info now.

• V.'s due date is Oct. 16th, but...
• Her c-section is scheduled for Oct. 6th, and...
• She and her doctor say it could be any time.
• The baby's been in position and there have been other signs of eminent labor (do the words "mucus plug" mean anything to you?) for more than a week.
• V.'s been telling us for about a week that she's experiencing contractions. But they aren't consistent.
• Our counselor has told us she can't count the number of birth mothers who thought they were going into labor weeks before they actually did. I suspect that once they feel good about the adoption plan they've made, they are eager to get it over with.
  
• V. told us tonight that she hasn't been feeling well. She has a cold.
  
• She went into labor with her first son almost two weeks after his due date.
  

Let the game begin. Now, good luck and have fun!

Emergency Preparedness

Urgent maintenance and repairs have been made, the gas tank has been filled, and the Subaru is packed to bursting. In it, we've got a car seat (still too superstitious to take it out of the box). We've got a Moses Basket that could cradle a little one for several days if we need to be in a hotel with the little guy while V. is still in the hospital recovering from her c-section. Filling it are some tiny adorable outfits, a few of which V. gave US at our match meeting, and a few of which our friends Marc and Jennifer gave us when they came over on Saturday with lots of wonderful hand-me-downs from their two wonderful boys. (THANK YOU!)

The baby's room now has a dresser ready to become a changer (a $250 Heywood-Wakefield sideboard steal!) and the rocker M. gave me for my birthday. The cat box and all of the artwork we still haven't hung since moving in in January are out and Marc and Jennifer's co-sleeper is in, ready to move to our bedroom when the time is right.

My wonderful friend and colleague Lisa couldn't resist plying us with a few useful baby items. (THANK YOU!) They and the few other things we've collected have been washed in sensitive skin detergent, folded and placed in the drawers. I've made some extra room in "my" closet in the room.

Lisa's got a key to the house and instructions to contact the former student with whom we've arranged to house and cat sit when the time is right. We're giving the cat lots of attention in preparation for being gone for awhile.

All of our electronic helpers (hassles?) are charged and ready to go: the cell phones, the cameras, the lap top. We have lists of family, friends, and colleagues - updated by my helpful sister-in-law (THANK YOU!) - ready to notify whenever there is news.

M. keeping the garden well quenched. The house is clean, and we're even keeping on top of the dishes, laundry, and bill paying.

A small, sentimental gift for V. has been ordered; I give it a 50/50 chance of arriving before we have to head out.

We're working late and hard to get on top of our professional responsibilities as much as possible. I've contacted my HR department and filled out my request for a leave of absence. I know who to call when there is a "life changing event" and we need to add a "dependent" to our insurance.

We've got a map of V.'s home town and know where the hospital is, the pro's and con's of various hotels in the area, where the Target and Traders Joe's are, and have even printed a (short) list of recommended restaurants from ChowHound.com.

We've canceled any upcoming plans to be more than a half-hour apart or further from home in the next few days. We've got lists prepped to remind us to lock the doors, set the AC, and bring the cat in if we need reminding in a state of panic.

But are we ready??? H-e-double-hockey-sticks NO!!

It's a Match!

Note: This post indulges those who've begged for details (yes, that's you, Mom). For others just hoping for a quick update, skip to the bottom.

Aug. 31 p.m.

M. and I go for a jog around the neighborhood. We return and he (fortunately) checks his email. He says, “Hon, come check this out. We got an email from a birth mother and it sounds good.” I’m skeptical. Truth is, we’ve received many messages from “birth mothers” over the months, and there has always been something off about them, such as the one that attached photos of “herself” that were obviously stolen from a maternity magazine. There are a lot of scammers out there…

But Matt was right. This email included some important details, including a full name (V.), a hometown (someplace a little more than two hours from us), and reference to things she liked about our profile. She also said that she was nervous, but knew open adoption was the right thing to give her daughter – who is expected in a few weeks – the life she deserves.

We hopped on line and hammered out this response:

Hi V.,

Thanks so much for your message! It is great to hear from you. We totally understand that you might be nervous. We are too! But it's great that you are reaching out and working to make a plan for you and your daughter.

We loved hearing that one of the things that attracts you to us is our traveling, because it is something we really look forward to sharing with our child someday.

What more can we tell you about ourselves now? Of course, we're really curious about you. How has this pregnancy been for you? Are you feeling okay? It's probably felt like a long, hot summer!

Feel free to email or call. We plan to be home for the rest of the evening tonight (we just got back from a run and now we're making dinner together), and after about 8 p.m. tomorrow night. We hope to hear from you soon.

Take care and best wishes,
M. and Kristin

We start to make dinner and the phone rings! We spend about 50 minutes chatting with V. At first it is a little stilted and awkward, but we all acknowledg that it is an unusual situation and laugh at ourselves.

We like the questions V. asks and we mostly ask her about herself – what she likes to do (photography, writing – sound familiar?), and her son, who will be two in December. Though she sees him often, her dad is “parenting” him, and she knows that it won’t be any easier for her with another baby.

We learn a little about the baby that she is carrying. She is quite active and already responding to music. V. indicates that she’s receiving regular prenatal care and that the doctors report her daughter is healthy. The mystery is due date: V. has been given two – one is Sept. 15 and the other is Oct. 28. (???!!!)

Before we go to bed (for a restless sleep), we send off another message:

Hello again,

We really enjoyed connecting with you by phone.

Of course, it is music to our ears that you are considering adoption and that you might want to get to know us better. We really do understand that this is an incredibly difficult and important decision for you. Know that whatever you decide - to parent or place your daughter, with us or with another family, we think you are a strong, brave, and compassionate person.

We'd love to continue to get to know you more. Would you like to plan another time to talk?

All the best,
M. and Kristin

Sept. 1.

In the morning, I call the birthparent intake counselor at our agency, as instructed, and let her know we've received "a contact." She says she knows V. has been in touch with another family. Uh oh! But she indicates that the situation seems to be "good" (implying to me that she thought it was legit.)

n the afternoon, another friendly email from V. arrives. Attached are four photos! She thanks us for helping her feel comfortable and not nervous any more. (So sweet!)

I send her back a message that says:

Hi V.,

Wow, [your son] is ADORABLE (and his momma is pretty cute too :) )! Thanks so much for sharing those photos.

You may have already checked out all the photos of us in the "gallery" on our adoption web site. We’ve also created an adoption video; its kinda goofy, but it might give you a better sense of who we are: [YouTube Video link]

How did your doctor’s appointment go today? Hope all is well. Were you able to get a clearer sense of the due date?

We’re glad you felt comfortable talking with us. We were nervous at first too. Lets face it, its a pretty unusual and awkward situation. So it was great that we seemed to connect about so many things. If you want to talk again... We don't want you to feel pressured to get in touch soon; we know you have a lot going on. On the other hand, if you are eager to keep things rolling, we want you to know wed be excited to chat some more.

Take good care,
Kristin

She writes back that afternoon, saying she'd love to talk again soon and sending along some more photos. She says her doctor's appointment has been moved to Friday, so still no clarification about the due date. She tell us that she's been stressing for months, but that now she is feeling calm and relaxed. She's talked with some other families, but none of them make her feel how we do. She thinks we'd be a great family for her baby.

Whoa!! Deep breaths. This is all going so well..and so quickly! We exchange more messages and plan to talk about in the evening.

But the call doesn't come...I spend another near-sleepless night.

Sept. 2

Then I get to work and log on! She's emailed apologizing for having phone trouble. She asks if we are excited about becoming parents. I respond:

Hi V.,

Thanks for your message. (I wish I'd thought to check my email last night!)....

M. and I are excited and ready to become parents. We've waited a long time, and have so many hopes and dreams for our little one. We've enjoyed our connection with you and are hoping that this might be a great match for everyone...especially your daughter.

Take care,

Kristin (and M.)

We suggest that she get in touch with a counselor at out agency who can "tell [her] more about the open adoption process and give [her] an idea about counseling and support available with no pressure involved." We encourage her to email or call us with more questions in the meantime, if she'd like.

In the afternoon the counselor tries to reach both of us but has to leave a message. She indicates that she's talked with V. (yeah! Follow through!) and done an "intake," which means she's asked her some of the sensitive questions it hasn't been appropriate for us to. We are delighted by the scant info we receive: no history of drugs or physical or mental health issues. We get just a little info about the birth father.

V. does email again, and asks some more good questions, such as why we want an open adoption. M. responds. Then later in the evening she calls and we both talk to her, this time for almost 70 minutes. It is an easy, interesting conversation. Except for...

She asks if we have any names in mind. I start to go into a spiel about having a long list, but wanting to narrow it down with our eventual birth family. At that point, I pass M. the phone and she tells him that she has a name she loves. Well, folks, it was, how shall I say...a name we would classify as "a made up Irish name." M. jots it down and it's so far from anything we've imagined, I can't help but laugh! He stammers, "Well, eh, what do you think of XXX?" Think of her contributing Madisonia and us suggesting Sarah. We all kinda giggle at how far apart we appear to be and move on to more compatible subjects.

V. promises to let us know how her doctor's appointment on Friday afternoon goes.

Sept. 3

I am able to reach the adoption counselor. She relates more details of what V's reported. What's cool as that we already know almost all of it, because we've already talked with her about it directly. This is feeling like what I hoped an open adoption would feel like: open and honest.

M. and I talk about wanting to meet with her soon, so that we can really determine if we'd like to match with her. We're getting excited. We call her that evening and SHE asks tentatively if we'd like to meet her. We respond enthusiastically! We agree to meet her at a restaurant in her hometown for lunch on Saturday - two days away!! I let her know that if she'd like to invite a friend along, we'd welcome that. (She's spoken fondly of her friend who encouraged her to stay with him when things weren't going well with her roommates. V. says that D. is the first person she talked with about adoption, and that he's been a wonderful support.)

Sept. 4

M. picks up a phone call from V. She says, "I hope you haven't bought anything pink!!" She's in shock. Having been told previously that she's having a girl, she been envisioning the little one she's carrying that way. But this afternoon her doctor found strong evidence to the contrary. She emails us an ultrasound photo, and sure enough, even we amateurs can make out some pretty strong clues of maleness!

She relates a little to M. about other news from the appointment, but she asks him for me to call. I'm delighted to do so when I get home from work. It's funny. M. and I only allowed ourselves to think we might be having a daughter for four days, and when we learned we weren't, I think we both felt some loss. But it was very easy to shift gears and get excited about the prospect of a son, especially for me, who's been fantasizing about a little guy in rocketship jammies for years.

V. and I have another nice, long conservation. She reports that the doctor again indicated that the baby is doing well. According to the measurements, he's due date is Oct. 28th. However, according to his positioning, he could come much earlier. I am somewhat relieved to learn that the doc scheduled the next ultrasound for September 18th, suggesting that he doesn't think the baby will show up before then. Regardless, I can't help Googling "delivery at 32 weeks" and learning some scary things. I hope that kid can stay put for several more weeks! (V. thinks it will be earlier and told us we're now on her friend's speed dial!)

We also know now that he'll be born at an Adventist medical center. M. and I immediately think, "Yummy veggie food in the cafeteria!" V. is happy about this too, since her other son was born there and she is already familiar with it.

I bake cookies for V. that evening, which is a nice way to keep somewhat distracted. Never-the-less, I fall into bed exhausted but have trouble sleeping. I am too excited.

Sept. 5

Is this the day? Will we actually meet the woman who will make it possible for us to become parents? Will we get to see our son, snuggled safely inside her belly?

What will it be like? What will SHE be like? What if she takes one look at us and decides we're too old/fat/ugly/whatever to parent her beloved child?M. and I both wake up earlier than we would on a typical Saturday morning. We laze about a bit and marvel at the strangeness of our situation. It is nice just being in bed with my sweetie.

But then I can't take it any longer. I get up and start doing "things." So does M. He prints out some nice pictures that V. hasn't seen before, to give to her. I print out my earlier post about my Open Adoption Wish List. From the conversations we've had, I think V. will appreciate it.With a little more last-minute rushing than I'd prefer (which I will attribute to M.'s butterflies), we're out the door and on the road by 10:15 a.m. It's a nice ride. We talk about other stuff. But we never stray for long. We ask each other several times how we're doing. We both always say something like, "Good. A little nervous, but mostly excited."V. has suggested we meet between noon and 12:30 p.m. at a place she loves.

We're starting to get stressed because it seems like we'll be a few minutes late. So I give her a call and let her know. Unfortunately, I have to leave a message, so I worry that she's sitting there, wondering if we've abandoned her.We pull up to the restaurant. She's not there. In fact, NO one is there. Uh oh! The place is closed for lunch on the weekends. We wait awhile. M. and I make jokes that she's seen us and made a U-turn. I feel just a little bit anxious.

Then they pull up. Hugs are exchanged. Laughter is nervous. V. is very cute, with a nice round belly and a little penguin waddle. D. is a big guy whose looks could be intimidating, but his welcome is warm, and I can tell that he is protective of V., which endears him to us. She is embarrassed about the restaurant being closed. We assure her that the Carrows down the road will do just fine. We precede over there.

...And we spend a couple of hours together. Conversation is easy. We discover similarities and many differences, but there don't feel to be judgments involved. V. seems delighted with the cookies and genuinely interested in all of the photos. She talks more about what it's like to be pregnant, and has us both put our hands on her belly to feel the little guy move about. (A Juno moment!) It gives me goosebumps and a lump in my throat. She talks about wanting to make good of her difficult situation, and that maybe this was all meant to be. (Remember, I am not a faithful person, but I definitely get chills then!)

We talk about her doctor, and the hospital, and that she wants D. to be in the operating room with her (her previous birth was a c-section, and this will be too), but she wants us to be there to give the baby his first bath. Oh, my!We tell her that we hoped timing would work out for her to come visit our home before the baby is born. She said she'd love to.

Finally, dessert course eaten and dishes long cleared, server shift over and other guests out, we wrap things up by lingering in the parking lot. M. has the presence of mind to ask to take a few photos, and he does. They are cute and I'm already picturing them in our son's life book.We drive away wondering if the next time we see each other, there would be a little baby to welcome.

Sept. 8

And today, V. calls the agency and so do I. Independently, we report that we are so happy and excited. It's official: WE HAVE A MATCH!

Up

That is all...for the moment.

So Close(d)

So….we did eventually get in touch with S. And she’s great. Very easy to talk with, mature, and articulate. She lives on the other side of the country and is due in mid-September. Most significantly, she checked out our web site and is very interested in placing with us.

Sounds like an easy match, right? Not so much.

She doesn’t want any contact after birth. She is very adamant that she knows it would be too difficult for her. She is not interested in photos or updates or anything.

And to make it more complicated, there would be no contact with the birthfather or his family either. Plus, she has another child – who would be our child’s (half?)sibling – with whom we would also not have contact.

We know, from our research and conversations with current triad members, that relationships in adoption - like in all of life - change. Often, those that start open, end up closing. Or those that start closed, end up opening.

But we cannot count on that.

I had a great conversation with an a-mom earlier this week. When I shared our dilemma with her, she said that initially, her birthfamily said they wanted no contact too, but that the relationship they built during the match forged the trust and appreciation she believes actually made it possible for them to place their child. She is convinced that if they hadn’t had a lot of contact before the baby was born and if the family hadn’t been convinced that they would continue to have contact, ultimately they would not have been able to give their baby up.

I also talked with a dear, long-time friend who's followed our path with great empathy and support. She sounded kind of astonished when I told her we were struggling with the decision about whether to match. She knows how long and how desperately we’ve wanted a child. And she’s married to a very normal, well-adjusted good guy who was adopted and has no more than a faint curiosity about his birthfamily. Couldn’t we have a healthy child without openness? M. and I agree that we probably could.

M. and I have had to re-evaluate – and re-re-evaluate – our commitment to openness. We know it is unlikely we’ll find a situation that is “ideal.” Is lack of openness one of the things we are willing to be flexible about? How important is it going into a situation agreeing that openness is the best thing for everyone involved, especially the child?

This morning I called our counselor and told her that we have decided to pass on this situation.

I feel sad.

I feel sad that we won’t be parents in September. I feel sad that S. will have to go through the difficult process of finding a family for her child again. And I feel sad for a child that will most likely be raised without knowing her or her relatives.

This was a very difficult decision, but it is the right one for us.

(Going through another six months without any additional contacts would, I know, really test that conviction, so please, please, please….)

Open Adoption Roundtable #4: They Don't Call the Wait a Rollercoaster for Nothin'!

This week’s prompt over at ProductionNotReproduction is to “write about a small moment that open adoption made possible. It might be about something that happened during an interaction or conversation if you have face-to-face contact. Or a moment centered on a letter or picture, if you don't. Just a single, small moment that could not have happened if the adoption were not open.”

The assignment has elicited many lovely responses from adoptive parents describing their first moments with their new children, birthparents relating especially meaningful interactions with the children they’ve place, and such. As a whole, these entries are powerfully beautiful and encouraging, and they reinforce our decision to pursue open adoption to build our family.

…which is why I feel a little awkward submitting my contribution. First of all, we’re not in an open adoption yet. We’re just waiting – and waiting – for a match. Second of all, the scenario I’ve elected to describe is kind of “woe-is-me” and a downer. But, it’s where I’m at right now. And I think it is a genuine, revealing slice of a brief period on our path to parenthood, one that exists because we hope to have a strong relationship with our child's birthfamily.

Friday, 5:30 p.m.
We receive an email from our adoption coordinator that another counselor is working with an expectant mother (“S”) who has expressed interest in us (UP!),
but that subsequently she hasn’t returned phone calls. (DOWN)

Sunday, 4:00 p.m.
I happen to turn on my cell phone and retrieve a message from the counselor telling us a little more about the situation (UP) but it is from last Wednesday, despite the fact that I’ve asked the agency to remove my cell number from the database, because I never use the phone. (DOWN)

Monday, 11:30 a.m.
The counselor returns my call from earlier in the morning, in which I reported that I’d just received her message and inquired about the situation at this point. She says that she did receive a call from S over the weekend, so she is back on the radar. (UP)

The counselor tells me more about the situation and it sounds encouraging. I ask her to let S know we’d be excited to speak with her. (UP, UP)

Monday, 12 noon.
The counselor calls me back and lets me know she’s talked with S again and she’s very interested in us. In fact, she tried to call us this morning. Counselor advised her to call after 5 p.m. our time, when we’d be off work. (UP!)

Monday afternoon
Unable to accomplish any real work, (DOWN) I spend all kinds of nervous time rehearsing our first conversation in my mind and Goog*ling S’s home town, even researching extended stay hotels…(JUST SILLY)

Monday, 5:10 p.m.
I race home and hope to find M on the phone already. He isn’t. (DOWN) He says he’s been listening for a call and is trying not to get too excited. (UP)

Monday, 5:30 p.m.
I flop on the bed, feeling a bit nauseous. (DOWN)

Monday, 5:50 p.m.
Still flopping, and trying not to let the sting beneath my eyes escape. (DOWN)

Monday, 6:15 p.m.
I decide to go for a run. (UP and DOWN)

Tuesday, 6:00 p.m.
No further developments. (DEFINITELY DOWN)

Worth the Wait

There was a long and painful period in my life when I began to believe, and then slowly accept, that I’d never find a partner. With each disappointing date or new rejection, I felt a bit of my vision for the rest of my life slip further away.



I spent many miserable Saturday evenings trolling the aisles of BlockBuster in search of a movie that was entertaining, but wouldn’t make me feel too lonely watching it on my couch at home in my sweatpants.



So many good friends fell in love and committed themselves to another, I wondered why it wasn’t happening for me. As months and years dragged on, I became more and more filled with self-doubt. Were my standards too high? Was there something wrong with me? Could I be happy and fulfilled if I never met “Mr. Right?”



I worked hard to build a satisfying life lived solo – more education, good work, exciting travel, close connections with friends and family. But I knew there was a hole in my heart that could only be filled by a deep and abiding love with one other. So I also worked hard to put myself out there, to be available and attractive.



When I did connect with those elusive “eligible bachelors,” I struggled to find a balance between not wearing my heart on my sleeve and staying open-hearted enough that if someone had the key, it could be opened. I worried that I was becoming too cynical or that in desperation, I might settle for the wrong relationship.



And then I met M.



There wasn’t a bolt of lightning, and no violins played in the background. But slowly, slowly we fell in love. Our lives became enmeshed. Our dreams for the future became entwined.



I can tell you now, more than eight years after our first date, our partnership is better than I could have imagined. My love for him is deeper and more powerful than I knew to hope for. There are still no violins playing in the background, but he is such a special person, I feel honored every day (even the days that I’m annoyed that the socks are still on the floor) that I get to share my life with him. I don’t know why it took me so long to “find” M., and I know that the delay has had both positive and negative impacts on my life. But now that hole in my heart has been filled to bursting.



When I feel discouraged – as I do more and more lately – about our adoption wait, I think about this: M. was SO worth the wait, and I have faith that our child will be too.



HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY DEAREST!

Learning from the Best

My perception is that good parenting is a little bit of science and quite a bit of art, but mostly it is craft. After all, Mariam Webster's defines craft as a transitive verb as "to make or produce with care, skill, or ingenuity."

In medieval Europe, an elaborate guild system was established to cultivate the skills of weavers, glass blowers, and the like over many years. Wikipedia says, craft workers typically followed a "lifetime progression of apprentice to craftsman, journeyer, and eventually to widely-recognized master and grandmaster...."

Mothers Day is a strange one for me. Its a time when cheesy television ads can make me a bit weepy over what I don't yet have, and yet oh so very grateful for all that I do. I am confident that my child will have an advantage because I have been tutored in parenting by the grandmaster.

My mom - with her optimism and practicality, her sense of adventure, and utter devotion to her offspring - has taught me so many things, but surely the most valuable lessons will be employed when I am nurturing my own little one.

In fact, one of great fortunes of my life is that I've been surrounded by good mothers. From my sisters-in-law to my friends who are mommas, I have watched closely and learned a lot, and I am grateful for their examples.

I have become well aware of what a tough, tough "job" parenting is, that there is no one instruction book, and that little of one's success in soothing a scraped knees, cheering at a soccer game, or reading just the right bedtime story has to do with biology. I'm also well aware that like a talented craftsman in the Middle Ages piecing together delicate shards for a cathedral's magnificent rose window, it often takes decades for others to appreciate the complex beauty of a mother's vocation.

Today, I am thinking so much about the wonderful women in my life - near and far - who are mothers (and I few I hope will soon be moms). You are each beautiful and gifted and very special. Happy Mothers Day!

To Market, To Market

If you are interested in pursuing open adoption, you'd better get pretty comfortable pretty fast with "marketing" yourself.

There are lots of reasons that M. and I have chosen open adoption as our path to parenthood, most of which I've blogged about before. One of the reasons, I suspect, that many others follow different paths is because this way requires a certain amount of self-promotion.

Open adoption relies on future adoptive parents creating and disseminating the information about themselves that will attract prospective birthparents and ultimately motivate them to match. And, while M. and I wholeheartedly embrace the principle that birthparents should have the choice of whether and with whom to place their child, its hard not to see the thousands and thousands of other hopeful adoptive parents as the "competition." Clearly, the way we represent ourselves is critically important.

Not a big deal, we thought. After all, we've got a lot to offer, so it won't be that tough presenting ourselves attractively. Plus, I am well practiced at writing promotional material, and M. has lots of experience with design and especially with optimizing web pages.

Oh, we were so niaive. Marketing ourselves has turned out to be the most awkward, uncomfortable part of this process. (At least so far!)

Different agencies and attorneys handle the marketing of adoptive parents differently. Our agency required us to create a two-sided, full color "Dear Birthmother letter" - which M. and I have come to refer to as the DBL - that they can send to inquiring birthparents. We also have to create our own web site that we link to the agency's along with all of the other waiting families'.

What is presented as the final hoop to jump before officially joining the "book" of IAC's waiting families is for their main office in the Bay Area to receive 100 copies of the DBL and an 80 word blurb with a link to your web site. I believe we started drafting our DBL in February 2008....and we weren't eligible until July. For five months, nearly every weekend - and many weekdays - was frought with discussions, drafting, and decisions.

First, I took a stab at the text, guided by a fairly vague list of requirements provided by the agency and several sample letters. Then M. made tons of edits. We realized it was way too long; we had to encapsulate our lives in about 800 w0rds. So we cut and rearranged and edited some more. Meanwhile, we were scouring our digital and print files for photos to include. We knew that these visual representations would be particularly important.

At last, we had text with which we were comfortable. Okay, I'll say it: with which I was proud. We emailed it off to our coordinator at the agency. A few days later, he emailed us back with his reaction. It wasn't the "this is the best text I've ever received. I have no changes, and I know you'll have your baby in a few weeks" I'd hoped for. Instead, he had a long list of changes to "suggest." Examples include changing every reference we made to "our kid" to "our child" and eliminating reference to my "brothers' and their tribes of crazy kids" because it might offend Native Americans or the mentally ill.

While we weren't entirely convinced that his changes made our letter better, we deferred to his experience and incorporated them, and then sent off another version, hopeful it would pass muster this time. Nope. More changes. We ended up going back and forth about four times, each time feeling that the things that distinguished our letter from the other families' in the waiting pool were further diminished. And each time the wait to meet our baby extended further and further.

One particularly aggravating dilemma was what we refer to as the "his and hers" section. Our agency recommended that letters include sections written by each partner about the other, citing this as an opportunity to say nice things about the individual that you can't say as a couple without seeming vain. But in our opinion, these sections in the sample letters we'd read were trite and formulaic. We tried to convince our coordinator we could convey the same information and emotion in other ways throughout the letter. He wouldn't buy it.

Ultimately, in the interest of getting the project done and moving on, we acquiesced to many of the "suggestions," which we came to feel were actually requirements to approval.

Then we got to move on to design. Our coordinator suggested we show him a slew of photos which he could help us sort through. Shockingly, he told us we had wonderful photos, and we just needed to narrow them down. In the end, we picked a few that showed us interacting as a couple and individually with kids who seemed to be having fun, others that pictured us doing active things, especially involving the ocean since our letter talks a lot about our shared love for it, and one that shows us in an exotic location to emphasize our passion for travel.

The hardest photo to come up with was our "cover shot" - the required 4x6 "head and shoulders, both partners smiling, no shadows, no distracting backgroud," etc., etc. It took us four different shoots in three different settings before M. and I (and our coordinator!) settled on one with which we could all live. (In case you are wondering, it's tough to smile naturally for shot 326.)

Then the design process began. It was complicated by not having good desktop publishing software. We tinkered, the program made big changes. We got things looking just right, only to have the printed version vary significantly from what we were seeing on the screen. Frustrating!

At last we had the DBL ready and all approved by our agency. I called a local print shop we often use at work and asked for a quote on the project. What do you know, they offered to do it for free! It was another touching example of how people have helped us along our path in unexpected and wonderful ways.

We got the letter back and had a pasting party with my mom, meticulously gluing our cover photo on to each letter and personally signing each one. Knowing that the agency only links new families to their site on Friday afternoons after they've received the letters, we rushed to get them sent Priority Mail.

Meanwhile, we were working on our web site. We decided to just link initially to an html version of our letter. We - particularly my web marketing expert partner - didn't want to delay any further to do all it would take to have a great web site. (You know, something related to the cobbler's shoeless children...)

Of course, that Friday I checked and refreshed the "Choose a Family" page on the agency's site incessantly. Our thumbnail photo and little blurb with a link to our site didn't show up. I fired off a pleasant but direct email. By Monday morning, we were live! And the wait began in earnest. We could be contacted by a potential birthfamily any time.

We took a deep breath, and then began working on our real web site. It might not surprise you that this was easier for us than the DBL, partly because our agency didn't impose the same rigid guideline, and partly because the unlimited space of a site gave us much more freedom to really express ourselves. But mostly it was easier because M. is so good at what he does professionally, it was (almost) fun to put his skill and creativity to work on a personal project.

Don't get me wrong: it took us several more weeks before we were ready to forward a new URL for linking. We spent tons of time looking at other peoples' sites, talking about what worked and what didn't. We added back and adjusted text we had eliminated due to the restraints of our letter. Then there were hours spent selecting and uploading more photos, and then paring them down to a number we feel is reasonable. M.'s facility with web design enabled him to add backgrounds and other attractive elements we didn't know how to do with the desktop publishing program. Finally, we were satisfied with the web site and it went live.

Since our agency tells us that about 10% of their clients match with birthfamilies through their own personal connections, we crafted an email with a link to our site. We thought long and hard about who to send it to. We ended up decided to "come out" about our adoption plans to many acquaintances and co-workers, in addition to our closer friends and families who were already in the loop, in order to throw a wide net.

Again, we were overwhelmed with the positive responses we received. The encouraging words and promises to forward our web link to others meant so much to us and helped us feel that word was getting out. It was an exciting time.

Each day I'd return home and check out how many hits our site had received. Especially interesting is the Google Analytics chart that maps were the hits are coming from. We took it as very positive signs when the map began to include states like Oklahoma and Alaska, places where we personally don't know anyone. Maybe our own networking will bring us our baby!

So, I've written what I believe is my longest post yet, and I've detailed the painstaking process to get our marketing information together. It was indeed all arduous. But I haven't yet brought up what really made if so challenging for us. The hardest part is all of the navel gazing involved in determining just what to share - and what to exclude - of ourselves and our lives.

For me at least, there was a lot of self-doubt involved. So many of the sample letters and other web sites we'd seen boast about homes on friendly cul-de-sacs and active church communities. They related how so-and-so can't wait to be a stay-at-home mom (usually bolded). We couldn't say any of those things. And truth be told, we wouldn't. They aren't things we seek in our lives. But are they things birthmothers seek for their children?

Presenting ourselves authentically is our highest priority; we know that to make the best possible match, we must be honest about who we are. But that makes us wonder often whether who we are is attractive enough, whether talking about how we spend our time or our goofy photos are appealing enough to help someone decide to make the huge decision to entrust us with her child.

I keep trying to remind myself of the principles of niche marketing. After all, we don't need to attract all prospective birthparents. In fact, we just need to attract one, the right one.

A Watched Pot...

The common wisdom for waiting parents is that a match will show up when you least expect it. To make the wait less difficult, those who have adopted successfully counsel us to go about our "normal" lives, or even better, do the things that will become more difficult once we have a wee one. The adopters tell stories about fabulous trips interrupted by "the call," or home remodels never finished because of a welcome shift in priorities.

In that spirit, here is a list (likely to evolve) of things that M. and I could - make that SHOULD - do to keep us busy while we wait.

In no particular order...

1. Research and buy tickets to Vietnam. DONE 5/9
   
2. Interview and engage a carpenter to fix our floor, the floor boards, and the laundry soffit.
3. Interview and engage a contractor to put insulation in our attic.
4. Figure out rain gutters and put them up as a deterrent to basement flooding.
5. Interview and engage a contractor to fix the foundation incursions.
6. Interview and engage a contractor to do earthquake retrofitting.
7. Figure out and put up organizational stuff for a tool area in the garage.
8. Figure out and put up a gardening area in the garage.
9. Go to a financial planner and make adjustments to our finances (and figure out how we'll pay for all of this other stuff).
10. Create our wills.
11. Redesign our Dear Birthmother letter and get it printed.
    
12. Find out why the "check engine" light is on in my car and fix it. DONE 5/10
    
13. Find out why the "check engine" light was on in M.'s car and fix it.
    
14. Fix our bed. DONE 5/17
    
15. Assemble the porch glider Mom gave us. DONE 5/17
    
16. Finish framing art.
17. Finish hanging art. PROGRESS MADE 5/17
    
18. Find and go to the dentist.
19. Go to the dermatologist.
20. Paint the living room and dining room.
21. Paint the baby's room.
22. Paint the kitchen.
23. Pull the Dr. Seuss tree from the side yard and plant something better in its place.
24. Plant a nice shrub to hide the new aircon unit.
25. Repair and plant the raised beds.
26. Buy new pots and replant on the front porch.
    
27. Weed! Weed! Weed!
28. Buy a cool couch.
29. Buy a great dining room set.
30. Go through all of the boxes in the garage and organize them.
31. Organize Kristin's "office area" in M.'s office closet.
32. Organize closets so there is some room for baby's stuff.
33. Finish knitting Lisa's b-day present from last year.
34. See more of our family and friends.
35. Find some great new meal recipes and get comfortable making them.
36. Host several dinner parties.
37. Figure out if we want to join the Y. DONE 5/7
    
38. Exercise!