And on the 7th day, god said, "get thee to a specialist"

It is really important to me to try to breast feed our (maybe, one day) baby. I'm trying to have realistic expectations about the whole thing - that the "trying" and "at least a little bit" will be enough. I'm going to follow this protocol for induced lactation.

So, first step, stock pile birth control pills since I'll need to start a new box every 3 weeks (no placebos). I make an appointment with my primary care physician, because it's birth control. Women pop these pills every day. No big deal, right? Apparently, it is a very big deal. Dr. Spineless acts all interested at first, listens to my request for a very specific type of birth control, tells me he can't wait to read more on the subject because he just loves learning new things every day, wishes me luck, and sends me on my way to pick up the Rx that he e-filed from his handy little MD iPhone. And I get to the pharmacy to pick up my pills and it's the wrong Rx. He bait and switched me! I call the office and two days later Dr. Spineless calls me back all stuttery and uncomfortable and says that he talked to his OB/GYN friend and *they* just really don't feel OK with the protocol and I can use this *other* BC because they're more familiar with that or what they *really* recommend is that I be followed by a reproductive endocrinologist. And do I know what a reproductive endocrinologist is? They are this special kind of doctor that, blah, blah, blah...."

Really? I should be followed by an RE for birth control? I was SO MAD. And remember, this is after I paid my copay, paid for my useless Rx, and wasted my time. Ugh.

However, remember the BFF, with the new baby? Well, guess who knows a lactation consultant. I called the LC and she recommended a midwifery practice in town. I saw the certified nurse midwife yesterday who was supportive and kind and excited. And I walked out of there with the perfect Rx and 5 boxes of samples.

Me: You're going to give me all five boxes??
CNM: (chuckling) Yeah, we don't have a lot of use for them here.
Me: Oh, right....

I have to say, it was a little tough being in baby birthing central. And it still bothers me when the intake person assumes everyone is straight.

Intake nurse: What kind of birth control do you use, condoms?
Me: I don't need any.
Intake nurse: Well, you'll have to give a urine sample.

But overall it was a great experience. I ended up not giving a urine sample (TRUST ME, I am the very opposite of pregnant) and they all wished me luck, with all of it (the adoption, the bf'ing) on my way out.

Home study tomorrow. Here we go....

Home Study Part I

S and I spent all of last week anxiously awaiting our first meeting with our social worker - the one in which we are interviewed separately. I was convinced she was going to run it like Sudden-Death-Newly-Wed-Game. I thought her main goal was to trip us up and end the meeting with a gruff, "No Baby for You!" So not the case.

First of all, I don't even know how this lady made it to the appointment. She was sort of rambly and discombobulated. She couldn't focus and kept calling S the wrong name. I don't see how she's been "doing this for years". I don't even see how she makes it out the door in the morning!

The hardest part (for me) was explaining my mother (who has borderline personality disorder) without sounding like a total freak from a family that runs rampant with mental illness. I'm not exactly sure what impression she was left with. Out of our 4 collective parents, S and I are on talking terms with only 1 of them. For various reasons. Which is kind of a bummer when you're trying to convince people that your loving family can't wait to welcome a little peanut.

The majority of her questions were about timelines, when I graduated from college, when I started my first job, when I moved to what state. Kind of boring stuff. She asked us what time we usually go to bed (really?). And about our infertility treatments (which surprisingly made me very defensive):

DitzypantsSocialWorker: So you can't have kids?
DefensiveMe: YES WE CAN. We just chose not to. At this time. So there.

And then it was over. Next Thursday she comes to our house for our last meeting. According to Ditzypants, she will be there to see if our place is reasonably clean, if we have a gate around our pool (we don't have a pool), and if there are any holes in the floors or walls (again, really?).

Here's to hoping this latest hurdle goes smoothly. And that the process for obtaining the final home study approval doesn't take another SIX WEEKS like she indicated.

This BlogHer Thing

So, I've been dabbling in this whole BlogHer thing. And I have to say, I like it. I participated in a book review series, and you can read my (brief) thoughts on Girl in Translation by Jean Kwok here:

www.blogher.com/girl-translation-jean-kwok-honest-review?from=bookclub

In other news: I so have a post brewing about our first meeting with the social worker (from here on out to be known as ditzypants...that should give you a general idea of how the meeting went).

FakeMomophobia

Is that a real thing?
I have it.

Remember when my BFF got knocked up?
And then had a baby shower?

Well, she is due. In a week. (where does the time go?) And we've been hanging out. Catching up, pre-having-the-baby and all. And it's been nice. And after months of waiting, adoption things have started to happen for S and I. So not only were we talking about BFF's imminent baby, but we were talking about my potential baby. We were discussing things like sleep training and breastfeeding. And I felt like a fraud. I felt like at any moment she would point her finger at me (Family-Guy-Scary-Monkey-Style) and declare me an impostor. The thing is, that was all me. She was acting like I would be a real mom. And I was harboring anxiety that I wouldn't. She was excited for me and giving/seeking/exchanging advice with me like any two about to be moms. And I was feeling icky feelings of not being mom enough.

It kind of shocked me. I didn't know all that was there. But it's definitely real. And it's definitely a me issue. Because I don't feel that way about *other* people and their adopted children. Parents who have adopted children are real parents to me. But I have some kind of less than/ashamed thing going on in my head. And it kind of feels big. And I kind of hate it.

And...

...we've been assigned a social worker.

There has been much smiling and dancing on our part.

The timeline is a bummer though.
October 29 = sign up with adoption agency
February 4 = adoption agency says they haven't received our federal finger prints yet
March 23 = adoption agency says they received our federal finger prints back in December (WTF)
March 28 = turn in paperwork
April 25 = assigned social worker (yes, I'm annoyed that it took them a month)
April 27 = social worker calls to set up appointments
May 12 = "off-site" meeting with social worker
May 26 = home visit with social worker
June 9 = social worker estimates she'll finish our report, which means our info officially goes into circulation with the potential baby mamas

JUNE 9.

That's a long time to wait to begin waiting.
But damn, that's not too far away at all and I couldn't be smiling any bigger right now.

secret agents and a spider

So.
Wait, wait, wait.
Boring, boring, boring.

But we did get our photos done this weekend/yesterday. You don't know me, so you probably don't know that I look like a scared deer in photographs. In. All. Photographs. S loves to take photos. And she happens to be really good at it. So our vacations typically consist of:
Click. Can you not make your eyes so big?
Click. Try not to look so scared.
Click. Seriously. Just relax.

But back to the trying-to-take-a-photo-for-the-birth-mother-letter. A friend of a friend of a friend is an amateur photographer and offered up her services. We spent a whole day trying to find cute outfits that coordinated but weren't too matchy. There was even an emergency run to the outlet mall - although the best thing we got was a molten lava cake from chilli's on the way home. We tried to apply makeup. I have to say that S looked pretty damn good. I looked like a lost clown. We went to get our picture taken.

The pictures were sort of kind of OK. But mostly crappy. (I'd show you, but since this is my secret agent baby blog, that information is classified)
So, we scheduled a reshoot. (it's not that we're super divas, it's more that the adoption agency said we messed up the lighting and had to try again)

And then.

I got bit.

By a spider.

ON MY LIP.

Yes, I now look like the proud owner of a rapidly proliferating communicable disease. Luckily I had some antibiotics left over from the LAST TIME* I was bit by a spider. And thanks to good drugs, lots of ice packs, and some poorly applied concealer...ahhh, who are we kidding...that hot mess was photoshop worthy.

But we have our picture. And you'll have to take my word for it, it turned out kind of nice.

*Yes, I said last time. And there was a time before that, too. And I have the scars to prove it.

slacker

I have not been keeping up on the blog posts. Partly because, as it turns out, waiting to adopt is not all that exciting. No two week waits over here. And partly because I've been traveling for work, which makes me busy and tired. And not very creative. And in need of a writing crutch. So I'm going to steal an idea from A Woman My Age.

ABC meme

A. Age: 36. But I swear I feel at least 50. Last week, my 6 year old niece asked me, "what are those lines?" as she reached up to touch my crow's feet (although I guess I got off easy, as she also told all of her classmates that her mom is pregnant and, "that's why she has a big belly." She's not. Pregnant.)

B. Bed size: Queen.

C. Chore you dislike: Cleaning out the drain in the kitchen sink. Ugh. Gives me the chills just thinking about it. My lovely wife graciously takes care of that.

D. Dogs: None, much to my wife's dismay. The deal is the next living thing to come into the house is a kid. Then we'll talk dogs.

E. Essential start to your day: Coffee. You *don't* want to talk to me before I've had my coffee. Or really any time before 10am. I am not a morning person.

F. Favorite color: Blue.

G. Gold or silver: Silver.

H. Height: 5’3", if I stand real tall and strreeeetch my neck.

I. Instruments you play(ed): Piano and violin when I was a kid.

J. Job title: Word hustler.

K. Kids: Hoping.

L. Live: The South, unfortunately.

M. Mom’s name: Carole

N. Nicknames: J Bean.

O. Overnight hospital stays: Just once when I was a kid. I have 2 memories of the event: 1) Throwing up all over the nurse and 2) Getting a box of plastic horses as a get well present from a family friend.

P. Pet peeves: People at the grocery store who can't get off their cell phones, can't figure out where the bar codes are, and don't know how to use the scanner thingy, but insist on being in the self-checkout lane.

Q. Quote from a movie: I can't think of a single one. My wife is appalled by my lack of movie exposure...I've never seen the Star Wars movies or Top Gun or anything else my hippie mother thought was overtly violent.

R. Righty or lefty: Righty.

S. Siblings: None. (Um, the niece in line A is actually my cousin's kid. It's a long story.)

T. Time you wake up: Depends. Around 7:30 or 8, on a "normal" work day. Guess that whole having kids thing is really going to change my lifestyle.

U. Underwear: Yes, usually.

V. Vegetables you don’t like: Cucumber! I don't see how so many people like a vegetable that tastes just like dirty water.

W.What makes you run late: Reading blogs.

X. X-rays you’ve had: feet, mouth, lady bits, left arm.

Y. Yummy food you make: I'm sort of a hit or miss cook. But I did make a batch of cinnamon rolls that people still talk about.

Z. Zoo animal favorites: I'm not a big zoo person. Although I did see wild turkeys last weekend and that was pretty amazing.