Bad Things Come in Threes

Today is the kind of bad day that just makes me ache and hurt all over. I should have seen the omen last night, although I don’t know what good it would have done me. They say bad things come in three’s; my day said, “hold my beer” and set out to prove that wrong, drastically wrong.

 

Last night I was making a new-to-us casserole. I found it on another blog and wanted to give it a try, mostly because it means dinner will be ready when I get home (Primero is tasked with baking it) and we can get out earlier for trick-or-treating. The casserole required crackers to be crumbled and spread on top. While doing this I accidentally dumped some crumbs on the floor, so before proceeding with the recipe, I swept them up. The last flourish for the casserole was to sprinkle poppy seeds on top of the casserole. I grabbed the poppy seed container from the cabinet and, I don’t know how it happened, but ended up knocking the lid off while also knocking the entire container on the floor. For whatever reason, seeing the floor darkened with tiny poppy seeds gave me the giggles and so I grabbed the brooms and swept them up. Alas, I would soon be cured of the giggles.

 

Yesterday was a very boring day for me. It was our job fair at work and I was tasked with manning our table and very few people stopped by to chat about our services. So, I sat and did nothing for the majority of the afternoon. The one thing that bolstered my humdrum feelings was knowing that night was my favorite episode of Dancing with the Stars. It was the Halloween team dances and they are always so much fun! I know, it’s a dumb thing to be excited about, but honestly my day was simply that boring. Plus, as an added bonus, Primero said he was going to watch it with me and he’s been so teenager-ie lately he hasn’t watched a thing with me at night after the kids are in bed, so I was glad he might join me. But, as the butterfly flaps it’s wings setting forth a hurricane, it seemed the poppy seeds spilling emitted bad juju. Our best guess is that when the DVR message popped up asking if we wanted to record the show, Love Bug ingeniously turned it off, thus not recording the show (the Voice was also not recorded but I just can’t get into that show, it requires too much of a time commitment). I was devastated. Primero tried to work his technological magic, but no dice. We watched The Fosters instead and my only consolation was that Primero watched it with me. That and I can watch Dancing with the Stars on Netflix or Hulu or something tonight.

 

This morning I had to get blood drawn for the Nutritionist, which meant not eating breakfast (I had to be fasting) and rushing out the door trying to get one child to school, get my blood drawn and drop the second child off at daycare and I was really hoping to make it to work on time. The morning was going pretty well, it seemed like this was all possible. I had my arms and hands full carrying my purse, work bag, Love Bug’s Halloween costume, my water, the car keys and Love Bug to the car. I asked Chica Marie to carry the mini pumpkin cupcakes with cinnamon cream cheese icing I had made for Love Bug’s daycare party and put them in the car. As I was floundering out of the house, trying to convince Love Bug to walk to the car and put on his jacket, I heard the cupcakes fall. I lost my mind, raced to them, yelled at Chica Marie and slammed open her car door. I tried to salvage the cupcakes that I could, raced back inside to the leftovers I was going to keep for us (thank God I made a double batch!) and back to the car where I couldn’t get the van door to shut. I struggled with it for a good 5 minutes before the neighbor came out to help me close it and I’m pretty sure it is irrevocably damaged, off the track or something like that. I was sobbing as I dropped Chica Marie off at school late and raced to the lab for my blood test, arriving 20 minutes late. I had to text my boss because I wasn’t making it to work on time.

 

I arrived about 20 minutes late to work. I put in a request for the time and about an hour later my boss called me. In the snarkiest voice possible she explained, as if I were a simpleton, I didn’t need to use my annual time if I was only going to be 15 minutes late. Add this to a hectic day trying to learn new tasks because a co-worker is retiring the end of this week – and I hate these new tasks we’ve been assigned – plus, my period started this morning, so I’m crampy and grumpy. And the coup de gras? An email for a surprise baby shower at work for a co-worker who I thought was my friend but never told me she was pregnant. In fact, this is the friend who tried to get me to adopt her niece’s baby. I nearly burst into tears reading and re-reading the email to make sure I understood what it was saying. Worst. Day. Ever.

Hare Today, Prune Tomorrow

Sometimes parenting is all about being clever. One night last week Love Bug was enjoying his bubble bath but I was ready to get him out. Sure, I could have scooped him up and lifted him out without his consent, but do you know how much a wet, squirming, angry toddler weighs? Hoping to avoid a soaking wet wrestling match, I tried making up a goofy song to get him out of the tub. He giggled, but continued playing with his rubber duckies. I tried the usual mom requests to get him out of the tub, still trying to keep the peace by not demanding or getting angry with him. Feeling thwarted, I sighed, “Love Bug, if you don’t get out of the tub you’re going to turn into a prune.” His eyes got big and he repeated, “A poone?” Seizing on the moment I replied, in mock seriousness and concern, “Yes, a prune. Are your fingers all wrinkly?” He looked at his fingers, worry furrowing his brow, “Yes, Mommy! Look! Poones!” he cried, deeply disturbed at the state of his little fingers. “Oh no, it’s already happening! You better get out quick!” And with that, he willingly lifted his arms for me to scoop him out of the tub, abating the aforementioned water wrestling match. When I posted this exchange on Facebook a concerned friend worried the incident might make Love Bug weary of bathing, but the prune technique worked a second time with no lasting fears of bath water. I’m sticking this in the W column – a win for mom!

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Different Adoption Journeys

Last night when I was giving Chica Marie a bath, after finally having an evening where we weren’t horns locked in a dual to the death, I sensed it was an ok time to broach a difficult subject with Chica Marie. Ever since she found out, from her sister, that her grandmother had petitioned to adopt her, Chica Marie has been very out-of-sorts. On the one hand, she doesn’t want to leave the comfort and stability she has come to rely on yet, on the other hand she very much loves her grandmother and sister and would love to live with them. It’s not a position I would want to be in as an adult, so imagine how much harder it must be for a child. But, the real driving force behind so many of the outbursts and negative behaviors has been fear. She is fearful of being shoved out, pushed along, unwanted. So, she has been lashing out at me, not me but me the mother figure. She was calm last night as I rinsed the soap from her hair. I waited until I was done and she could look at me and I told her, “Can I tell you a secret?” she’s big into hearing secrets, so I knew this would get her attention. “Chica Marie, I never said I didn’t want to adopt you. I never wanted you to go anywhere, I never wanted you to leave. I love you and I very much want you to stay a part of our family.” She mentioned the conundrum, of wanting to be adopted by both me and Grandma. “The good thing is, there are so many people who love you and none of us are going anywhere,” was my response. Chica Marie seemed more settled after her bath and cooperated while I did her hair. This is such a hard time and the behaviors have been grinding me down as the weeks drag by. I feel like I do so many things wrong, but last night I felt like I made some small progress and that felt good.

 

Bolstered by my conversation with Chica Marie, I thought I would try chatting with Love Bug. It’s not that adoption isn’t discussed so he’s unaware of it, but I’ve never had a direct conversation with him about it. I know a three year old won’t understand, but I wanted to give it a try. “Love Bug, do you know you have another mommy? A first mommy who grew you in her tummy?” I tried broaching the subject while tucking Love Bug in bed. He took my hand and held it to his cheek, “You my mommy, Mommy. Because you am.” Bless his little heart! Love Bug and Chica Marie have such different adoption experiences I get whiplash trying to meet each one where they are at in the whole scenario. I feel like I fumble around a lot, but my heart is in the right place and I hope that will mean something as they get older.

Between a Rock and a Very Hard Place

Our adoption case worker was over at the house on Saturday. She doesn’t usually come over on a weekend, but she is leaving this week on a medical sabbatical until the beginning of December. She had to come out and that was the only time that worked with both of our schedules. She explained to me that she had called and spoken with the county case worker to get a clearer picture where things are at for both the kids adoptions. The adoption case worker’s proposed plan, which she said the county case worker liked but would have to clear with her supervisor, was to finish up with the finalization for Love Bug asap (so maybe December) but keep it hush-hush. Then, when it comes time for Chica Marie’s adoption, to make it a big celebration of the adoption of both of the kids. This is my list of the pro’s and con’s on this whole scenario.

 

Pro’s:

• Obviously, getting Love Bug adopted the sooner the better is not something I disagree with, so this sits in the pro column. There’s really no reason to hold him up, the county has done that long enough and it makes me less fearful knowing it’s a done deal.
• Not worrying about Love Bug’s adoption means less paperwork and less distraction from Chica Marie.
• Perhaps, at some future date in a different plane of existence, the children can be celebrated individually becoming part of the family (ok, so this is a sarcastic pro).
• Maybe Chica Marie would like having her own adoption date, one that is different than Love Bug’s.
• Love Bug is oblivious to what is going on, so the difference is lost on him.

 

Con’s:

 

• Never did I consider adopting one sibling without the other and this concept breaks my heart into a million pieces.
• They are asking me to lie to my child, something I am loathe to do. Lying to Chica Marie is not going to help our relationship.
• In one of a multitude of what-if scenarios, I worry about being at the doctor’s office with both kids (say, they are both sick at the same time, a totally plausible possibility) and there are questions about Love Bug’s name change due to his adoption. His insurance will have to change, so it’s totally possible there might be questions and Chica Marie is wicked smart and incredibly observant. She will ask questions and then I am forced to lie again or reveal the painful truth.
• Let’s say the above scenario never happens, we live happily ever after until both kids are grown or near grown. Now Chica Marie finds documents of Love Bug’s adoption, that happened before hers and without her knowledge. Doesn’t that sound perfectly awful?
• The whole miss-matched adoption could cause strife between the two kids, if it were to come out as mentioned above.
• There is the possibility of losing the adoption subsidy if the children are adopted separately because they qualify as a sibling group and I’m not sure if they would qualify alone. It’s a reality that we need those subsidies to help us financially and the loss would definitely be felt negatively.

Balancing Act

I’m troubled. I feel like our family is out-of-whack right now, as a consequence of all the craziness of the past two months. I feel short-tempered and frustrated too much of the time. And, the kiddos have been reacting to the stress as well. I want us to be coming into the holiday season emotionally prepared because the holiday’s tend to be hard on us. I want to feel less fractured and more cohesive as a family. I wish I could whisk us away for a family weekend, something to take us out of our norm and push a reset button on things. Alas, this isn’t financially feasible. So, I have to try a different, less dramatic tactic. I think, since a grandiose family bonding weekend is not in the cards, I will have to divide and conquer.

 

I’ll start with Love Bug because he’s the easiest. I know what he needs to set his world right and that is to spend time with mommy chilling on the sofa, playing silly games and giving and getting lots of kisses and cuddles. Just this simple time with him tends to lessen his tantrums and angry toddler-ness. Sadly, when I’m stressed and trying to use chores (the things I can do, the things I do have control over) to over-compensate, my chill time is one of the first things I let go. But, Love Bug needs that time with me and so to hell with clean dishes, my priority this week will be quality Love Bug time before he has to go to bed.

 

Primero is also easier, meaning it doesn’t take much for us to iron out the wrinkles in our relationship, but as my go-to guy to watch the kids, getting time away just the two of us is challenging. The kids have a visit with their grandmother coming up, so this would be an ideal time for me and Primero to spend time together. The difficulty will be getting him away from his friend, who is with us every weekend. I’ll have to set this up, prepare him ahead of time and maybe, if that doesn’t work, intervene with the friend. The visit is the weekend before Primero’s 18^th (YIKES!!!) birthday, so maybe that can be my excuse to have him to myself? It’s worth a try! Usually, I allow Primero to decide what we do and he often chooses going to the movies. That might not sound like quality time, but we have the car ride there and back, so there’s time for us to chat, which generally works some magic.

 

Chica Marie is the toughie. I have to find a project for us to together, but it has to be something simple that she doesn’t find frustrating. She has decided, after going to the CHOR fall festival as a witch, she wants to be an angel for Halloween. Sure, I could go buy the fluffy feather wings at the costume store, but wouldn’t it be more fun to make them? So, this will be our getting-on-the-same- page project. I’ll do some prep work, to grease the wheels, and she will be so proud to show off her creation when we go trick-or-treating.

 

For myself, honestly, if I can get the house in order, it helps me to feel more in order. So, I’ll keep working on that. It helps me to write out the things I want and need to get done, and I’ve already started on that task. Being able to check tasks off my list is settling for me and knowing the house isn’t a blazing disaster also helps me find some inner peace. So, this is my goal for this week, sprinkled around the other things I’ve mentioned with the children. Getting a good night’s sleep and maybe another soak in the tub should also help me re-balance and restore myself emotionally.

Merry Maids

I’m a rotten mother. The stress that has been pressing down on me from all the craziness with the county has started oozing out of my pores. My patience level is non-existent and the children are feeling the brunt of my malaise. On Sunday, I sat down a moment when the kids were napping and fell asleep. The morning had been frustrating, it seemed the more I cleaned the more messes I had to clean up. I would barely get done with one task when a new one would appear, or sometimes I couldn’t complete one task until taking care of an issue first. I couldn’t make breakfast until I washed some dishes because no one washed the dishes the day before (I was washing dishes when the adoption case worker came over and never got back to finish them). After breakfast, while I was washing more dishes (we really could use a dishwasher!), Chica Marie fell in a puddle of dog pee and I had to stop to clean it up. And so went the day. So, when Love Bug startled me from my nap by screaming in my face that he wanted juice, my reaction was not pleasant. I shoved him off of me and screamed at him. Not my finest moment by far. And, sadly, it took me more than a few minutes to make up to him with a cuddle and cup of juice. I felt so guilty about it the rest of the day.

 

Given all that has happened with the county, I feel an added pressure to be super-mom. It’s like I have to work to prove myself every single day or Chica Marie will be whisked away to her grandmothers. I have to make sure the house is perfectly spotless, which if you live with a toddler, you know is impossible, let alone the furry roommates who add to the mess. I have to be sure I stay on top of all of the school stuff and report appropriate things to the therapy and teaching staff. I have to balance my work schedule with the various appointments for all three kids plus myself. I have to make sure we do enough fun family things that can be written about in reports (and because we like doing them and would do them otherwise, it just seems important to have things to report). I have to make healthy meals the people will eat, or at least the majority of the people (Primero pretty much lives off of Cup of Soup and canned spaghetti not matter what I make). I work a full-time job outside of the home, so I don’t have many hours during the week, even less when you add in all the therapy and other appointments we have – like trainings. I’m supposed to find time for myself. I need to spend time alone with each child. And, I have all the chores – the laundry, dishes, sweeping, vacuuming, dusting, washing, wiping, mopping, scrubbing, rearranging, picking up, putting away.

 

I’m tired. I knew motherhood wasn’t easy, but so much of my time is spent cleaning up after the little darlings that I hardly get time to spend with them, unless snarling at them to not walk on my freshly washed floor counts. It’s maddening! I want to be the mom who lets the kids finger paint and help me bake cookies and never wince at the mess they are making because it’s just one. more. thing. I have to clean. I grew up on a farm. We were very messy kids. Playing in mud was literally our summer past time. So, how did I become this neurotic maniac who cringes at every crumb the kids drop? Maybe it’s because I feel like the maid, constantly cleaning up from one mess to another. Maybe I could use some help? I’ve taught Chica Marie to sweep the floor and wipe up messes, but sometimes her cleaning help only equates more of a mess for me. I wish I could just let it all go, and maybe I will after the adoption, but most of the time I’m hoping the multitude of professionals traipsing through our house can’t feel whatever is crunching on the floor through their shoes.

 

I’ve contemplated saving up and have a Merry Maids service come clean the house once a month to give me a break, but I know me. If I do that, it means I will pre-clean before they get there because I won’t want them to know the levels of slovenly depravity in which we live. So, that kind of defeats the purpose. Still, it might be worth it to get the things done I am forever trying to get around to. I suppose things might be easier if I had a partner, but I didn’t really find it to be true when I was married. I would need to be married to a second me in order to truly unclench and relax a bit because my real issue is that my standards are too high. My home will never be featured in Better Homes and Gardens, but shhh don't tell my inner perfectionist!

 

What works best is for us to be busy on the weekends, to be out of the house and therefore my inner perfectionist doesn’t have to grumpily stomp around the messy house with a sourpuss face. It’s not possible for us to be out and about all the time, but when we can, we really should be out. This cuts the hours of time I have to dedicate to cleaning and lessens the frustrations I feel about the house not meeting my standards. It would also help to not feel like my house is being judged every time a professional comes over, but this too shall pass.

 

 

Separate Yet Equal

Chica Marie’s adoption is currently on hold. I’m not sure what exactly will cause the county to feel ready to proceed, but I know her adoption is currently postponed. When we had the big meeting, the GAL was opposed to finalizing Love Bug’s adoption without his sister. The GAL said this would crush Chica Marie and I tend to agree. But, on the other hand, they (the county/GAL) cannot allow the tumultuous circumstances with Chica Marie to hold up the adoption of Love Bug because that isn’t fair to him. We are very much stuck between a rock and a hard place because there is no easy answer. The CHOR adoption case worker has proposed finalizing Love Bug’s adoption on the DL (down low) and then celebrating both of their adoptions when Chica Marie is adopted. This only works if no one breathes a word to Chica Marie about Love Bug’s adoption. Which means not telling Mini Momma, it would seem. I see so many more pitfalls to this plan than I see positives. The one great positive the adoption case worker mentioned was no longer having to worry about grandma taking Love Bug – she couldn’t do that if he was adopted. While I can voice an opinion and of course I could down-right not agree to adopt Love Bug without his sister, I do so at my own peril. The vision I had of all three siblings being adopted on the same day in one big, happy ceremony has evaporated into ether. At best, I can hope for a subdued adoption for Love Bug and a mock celebratory one for Chica Marie. The only lasting solace I have is knowing, at that point, it would all be over.

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Get My Goat

One of the things that really got my goat was the GAL’s near demonization of Primero. She stated that every time she has seen Chica Marie (which, keep in mind, has been twice at court) she is told how mean Primero is to Chica Marie. In fact, when we had court in the spring, Chica Maire reported that Primero hit her, thus spurring the GAL into making a call. My guess is she called the child line to report abuse because the county case worker talked to me about it. I was utterly flabbergasted at the time. The only thing I could think of was how they pillow fight and she keeps at him until he makes her cry. I know of no other instances where Primero “hit” her. The GAL wanted me to explain why Chica Marie would say such things about him. Um, how about the fact that she calls anyone mean who won’t let her have her way? Or maybe, she calls him mean because he won’t let her do the things he does? Because there is a major age difference. Primero is not mean to Chica Marie. He might get exasperated with her, but never mean.

 

When the Mobile Therapist was over last week and we were dealing with the massive melt-down, Primero popped up in the middle of things. His presence was calming to Chica Marie. He stopped what he was doing and spent time with her, hugging her, holding her hands, talking gently to her. She lapped up his attention, seeking his advice and his big brother wisdom. Oh how I wish the GAL could have seen them together! He was calm and gentle with her, trying to help her out of the behavioral whirlwind she was in. It worked, albeit temporarily, but it did work. She calmed down and almost re-engaged. I accidentally triggered her again just after Primero left to take a shower.

 

Last night Chica Marie was out-of-control. Once again, it was Primero’s calmness that helped soothe her so she could eat something for dinner. He was not mean, he was trying to get her to calm down. The night after Chica Marie heard from her sister that their grandmother was considering adopting her, it was Primero who talked matter-of-factly to her about what that would actually mean. He got down to her level, looked her in the eyes and explained how it would be different living with Grandma instead of in our home. She stood and listened to him, in a way she would not have listened to me saying the same things.

 

It hurts my heart to think the GAL, who has never even met Primero, would have such unfavorable thoughts about him. Her distaste for my son was evident in how she spoke about him and how she didn’t believe my incredulous reaction to her accusations. She wanted to use it as an excuse to block the adoption, to move Chica Marie to her grandmothers. Fortunately for us, the CHOR case worker was equally incredulous, citing many times seeing Primero in the big brother role, as a helper and role model. As far as I’m concerned, the GAL can go blow smoke. Her judgments are wrong. And it would be despicable of her to continue pushing Primero under the bus as part of her agenda to get Chica Marie with the grandmothers. I’m so glad the GAL is leaving. May the new one bring a better frame of mind to this case!

Control Your Reactions

“You cannot control what other people do, but you can control your reactions to them.”  This pretty much sums up how things have been going between me and the little ones grandmother. I really, naively, thought an honest conversation would clear the air. I, perhaps stupidly, thought we had a different kind of relationship than I’ve recently discovered we do. I thought we were getting somewhere, the summer sibling picnic, the frank conversation I had with her after the August meeting, our ability to contact one another for visits without county/foster agency staff involvement. Sadly, I was wrong. We have next to nothing. Certainly, she doesn’t have the same respect for me that I had for her.

 

I had been planning on calling her sometime last week, but I got sick and lost my voice and didn’t think croaking in her ear would be the best way to converse. Earlier this week, she text me, asking to set up a visit. We agreed on this coming weekend. She wanted an overnight visit and I said, due to the behaviors Chica Marie has been having ever since her sister spilled the beans, I felt it was best to keep the visit to one day only, to give her time to recuperate for school. Grandma expressed she was unaware. The next day she text me back stating she spoke with Mini Momma and confirmed that Mini Momma had shared something with Chica Marie but that it was something she didn’t know for sure. Besides, the county case worker suggested they broach the subject with Mini Momma, assuming things went in that direction. She said Mini Momma was sorry that Chica Marie was upset. Um? She also said Mini Momma had plans for this coming weekend and could we do the 28^th instead?   

 

At this point I decided to just jump in. Why keep dancing around the issue? So I said I was sorry the county case worker had gotten the wrong impression but my dedication to Chica Marie had never wavered. I expressed how I had wished we could have talked about things before they got to that point. The only thing I was asking for was help. For Chica Marie. I let her know we have plans for the 28^th.  Her next response was when I started getting angry. She said she didn’t want to talk about things because she thought it was something between me and the county – we needed to work it out. She mentioned they were in the background as support (Support for who? Not for us…) and she felt her wife’s credentials would be beneficial for her grandchild. Why would she send her grandchild to a strange place with strangers? She asked for dates we were available and ended the text stating “so we can get the kids together, it 100% about them right?” with a smiley face. And you wonder why I wanted to TALK?! My response was that I was following the recommendations of the professionals and that I didn’t want Chica Marie going anywhere either. I gave her some dates, she chose one and we agreed upon it, thus ending our correspondence.   

 

The entire exchange left me feeling so angry, so unheard, so belittled. I will continue working with Grandma because I have to, because it’s what the county wants. And, because I know how important biological connection is for adopted children, I will continue working with Grandma even beyond adoption. But, we don’t need to be friends. I would like that, it’s what I was hoping for ultimately, but this whole thing has been so damaging. I don’t want to send the kids off to see her. I don’t want to invite her into our lives. She doesn’t want to try to understand me, so I don’t feel I need to try to understand her. I’ve gone through some hard things with Primero’s birth family. And, because of it, I felt a shift in how I interact with them. I don’t try as hard anymore. I don’t feel the need. We are still amicable, but we wouldn’t ever spend time together without Primero being present. It’s sad, but I don’t know how to keep the door open, keep getting hurt, and keep coming back for more. I feel like that’s the route I’ll be taking with Grandma. I had had high hopes things with her would be easier, different, more genuine. But, all that has happened recently has proven me wrong. The relationship will be there for the children, always. But, I’ll be taking an outsider stance.  

Train Trip

I feel a need to record some of the nice, fun things that have been happening in our lives, in contrast to all of the really hard stuff. I don’t want to think everything is always doom and gloom. Last weekend I took the little ones to a small, quaint town up in the coal region, called Jim Thorpe. They were hosting a Fall Festival but the thing drawing us there was the train rides because Love Bug has recently developed a train obsession. I had been hoping to get a train ride from near our town to the event, but the tickets sold out. So, we drove the 90 minutes there. It was a fairly pleasant ride, although Love Bug had an accident the moment we got to town. Fortunately, I had a change of clothes along for him. His car seat mostly dried by the time we ended our day and it was promptly disseminated to be cleaned. It’s the glamorous side of the mom life.

 

The day was cloudy and while the sun never really made an appearance, it was not cold and dreary. I wanted to ride the 10:30 train but we only got there at 10:30 and had to settle for the 1:20 train. This left us ample time to wander around, buy junk food for the kids and tour a local church. We toured the church to get away from the kittens a rescue was trying to rehome outside the church. The kids were mostly interested in the elevator, one of the oldest operating elevators in the country. It was super-cool, being a cage elevator with heavy iron doors, but I found the church itself to be magnificent. It was hewed into the hill it sat on, some of the inside walls showing the rock outcropping foundation of the building. The stained glass windows were made by Tiffany, the actual man and were stunning. Pocket doors with old lead glass, gorgeous architecture in the two chapels with several stories of a unique layout with exquisite details and expert care. I could have spent the day just wandering around the church! The children, alas, were less-interested in the workmanship and once they rode the elevator to all available floors, they remembered the kittens outside and thus ended our tour abruptly. Fortunately for me, the horse and carriage ride was passing by the church and it offered ample distraction for us to leave kitten and melt-down free. Love Bug, who has eschewed holding my hand since forever, almost got hit by a car because he wasn’t listening to me, but disaster was averted by a fast moving mama and slow moving car. Love Bug kicked me for my troubles. Still, we managed only a mini melt-down, flinging himself to the ground, before we were able to carry on.

 

I tried slowing our progress but there was only so much staring at old things the kids could take and we didn’t walk far enough away, so we ended up back at the train station with ample time to wait for our train. Love Bug was tired and I tried cuddling him to sleep, but the noise and excitement was too much for him. Finally, we were able to board our train. It was a two hour trip out to the Hometown High Bridge. I was grateful to be sitting down because I had a raging head cold and all the chasing and walking and talking and cajoling left me utterly exhausted. Not gonna lie, I nodded off a tad on the ride back. The High Bridge, as the name suggests, is a very tall bridge over a gorge filled with trees and a creek cutting down the middle. I tried to take pictures showing just how high up we were but they didn’t do the experience justice. After our train ride we grabbed some snacks for the ride home, which the kids gobbled down before zonking out in their car seats.

 

The best part of the day was when I finally took my much needed, long anticipated soaking bubble bath. Both the kids were in bed so I could bathe undisturbed and it was glorious. We have an old, large claw foot tub that just begs for someone to slip into the welcoming waters. I lounged in the hot soapy water until it turned cold and my skin puckered into a prune. It was definitely a well-earned bubble bath and it did help me to feel more human. My cold has slowly been abating, although my voice has not yet returned. Maybe I just need another luxurious soak in the bubble bath?

Infertility Collateral Damage

A few weekends ago my mom, Chica Marie and I went on a chocolate walk in a neighboring county. It’s a pretty popular event, so I had bought tickets in July and surprised my mom for her birthday. I had been to the chocolate walk a few years ago and my mom has wanted to go ever since, but, as life sometimes does, things happened and she was too sick or injured to go. Until this year, that is. On our 40 minute drive to the town Chica Marie informed my mom that I have a boyfriend. She had just discovered this herself the weekend prior when Primero was picking me up at a local winery after we imbibed a wine tasting and whole bottle of our favorite to celebrate my birthday. It was really big news for her, having seen us kiss good-bye, so I’m not surprised she told my mom. I wished I had been able to do it, but once the cat was out of the bag, it really wasn’t a big deal. I gave my mom some information and she said she was glad I had someone to do adult things with – she meant going out and having a wine tasting, but I chuckled at the double entendre.

 

It was an unseasonably warm day for our chocolate walk and we did a lot of walking, traversing the entire town and covering well over 2 miles from 10 am until about 3:30 pm. We stopped for lunch, after munching on chocolate goodies all morning, and somehow my mom and I got onto the topic of the natural herbs the practitioner recommended I take to help with my hormonal issues. As she has expressed in the past, my mom said she didn’t think I tried long enough with my ex. Inwardly I sighed. Outwardly I pushed back, declaring that we did try for almost 4 years and that generally it doesn’t take more than a year for a healthy young couple to conceive. She pshawed my remarks and insisted had we stayed together and tried longer things might have gone differently. I said it was a moot point and that my age was going to start being a factor now that I’m older than 35 and that seemed to quiet her complaints. I know she thinks I would be like her and since it took her 5 years to get pregnant with me, then it would take me just as long. I also know she wishes I could have babies as much as I wish I could, but it hurts nonetheless. And, it doubly hurts to think my mom doesn’t think I tried hard enough when it felt to me like I did what I could with the resources we had available. I have come to realize, in the collateral damage of infertility, I can’t get everyone to understand and be ok with the way things played out. I also know, I cannot live in the could of, should of world. The if only’s would drown me, the might have’s slay my heart. The possibilities look endless to those not in the trenches. I tried 6 rounds of Clomid, with the hot flashes, the headaches, the hormonal upheaval, the life-altering dizzy spells. I endured a painful hysterosalpingogram my doctor didn’t think I needed but my mom thought would be a good idea. I was given a diagnosis after multiple vials of blood, lab tests, and my first ultrasound. If my insurance had covered even a fraction of the treatment, I would have gone further. But, having to pay such a handsome sum out-of-pocket was simply not possible. And so, we stopped. I prayed fervently for a miracle, but one just never came. I have mostly made peace with my lot as is. I just wish my mother could do the same.

Sweet Sweet Fantasy Baby

A friend of mine at work caught me off guard one evening as I was leaving work. She said she had thought of me because her niece was having a baby she couldn’t parent. She was trying to find a family member to adopt her daughter, but had not been successful. My friend explained they thought a cousin who lost twins might take the baby, but she didn’t. My friend didn’t feel she was in a stable enough situation to take on raising an infant. I told her it was sweet of her to think of me and that I wished them all the best in this trying time. She later reported the baby was placed with a waiting couple over an hour away. Out-of-the blue my friend sent me a picture of this precious, beautiful baby and it threw me for a loop. I know she is trying to process this and I might be the only person she knows who has adopted a child, but I find it just a little inappropriate and slightly painful. It’s not as if I would even entertain adopting this baby for a whole host of reasons, but just the mere mention of it made me envision a tiny baby in our home again. I think if my friend had just made mention of it and let it at that, I wouldn’t be writing about it, but she took it a step further. She made it real by sending me a picture of the baby. Again, I think she might feel like she can’t share this with anyone else and I’m not angry about it, just mildly perplexed. The picture looks like one of those newborn photo shoots, so I’m guessing it was shared by the new adoptive parents. My friend made sure to mention they had until this coming week to change their mind. The timing of this interaction couldn’t have been worse, given all that has been going on with Chica Marie. To not emotionally unravel over this, I’ve envisioned the delighted adoptive parents and the opposing bereft mother; the sweet and bitter of adoption. And, I’m hoping my friend has gotten this all out of her system now because I have zero extra emotional energy to devote to such fantastical dalliances.

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Finding Our Footing

I’m feeling under the weather. I have been fighting a head/sinus cold that kicked into full force yesterday. All day long at work I thought of how good it would feel to sink into a hot bubble bath and let Calgone take me away. I was impatient for my bath, sluffing through the nighttime routine, which now includes dealing with very trying behaviors from Chica Marie (more on this later). Primero was not home, leaving just after Chica Marie and I returned from the lab for her EKG (more on Primero later). After I washed the dishes and got Chica Marie to bed, Love Bug was engrossed in watching Peppa Pig. “Now’s my chance,” my inner hubris whispered, spurring me on to draw the bath water and light tea candles for ambiance. I put a show on my phone, arranged the soaps so I could reach them and settled down into the steaming, welcoming water. Sighing, I inched lower into the water, closing my eyes for full enjoyment. I heard the door creak open a crack. Love Bug called out, “Mommy?” He marched into the bathroom and declared he had to pee. I moved my phone and one of the candles while he blew out a candle behind me. After he was done, I settled back into my tub, thinking ignoring the toddler in the room would make him go away. But, the pull of the bubbles and mommy in a bath was too strong and he came over to investigate. After swirling a few handfuls of bubble bath around, he decided this was perfect for him and stripped naked, plopping himself in my tub. The water was hot, hotter than he liked it, so he sat on my lap, tickled pink to be joining me in this new bath experience. This was such a fun bath! He asked to wash my hair and dumped water on my head then he stood up and peed in the tub, all the while chatting away with me as if he had been invited into my private sanctuary. I finished my unrelaxing bath and dried off Love Bug, putting his pajamas back on him. I convinced him to go to sleep and successfully got him to stay in his bed just before Primero came home. Next time I want to soak in a bubble bath undisturbed, I will be patient and wait until all of the small ones are down for the count. Sigh.

 

Chica Marie – Last week we endured the backlash behaviors from court and her big sister telling her Grandma was adopting her and she was going to live with them. Great times. Over our three-day weekend most of those behaviors subsided, although her sass-mouth has been totally out-of-control. I thought things might improve this week, but they have not. In fact, they were compounded by a visit from her Mobile Therapist Wednesday evening. Generally speaking, Chica Marie does not do well with her mobile therapist. She does not engage in the activities and often times down right refuses to do anything she is asked to do. Defiance to the core. Wednesday night I tried getting more involved than I usually do and the end result was a total melt down that was still evident last night. At one point she was literally just lying on the kitchen floor screaming at me as loudly as she could. What horrific thing was she being asked to do, you wonder? Identify emotions. She was asked to match emoji-type emotion pictures and talk about how you might feel, when you’re mad for example. And this resulted in a melt-down of epic proportions that took two adults and a soon-to-be adult over and hour to reign in. I was so pissed when the mobile therapist left us with a child still in reactionary mode, no de-escalation techniques prescribed. Lovely. Thanks. She didn’t have a good day at school yesterday either and last night was more of the same. Thankfully, family based therapy is supposed to start in another two weeks. Last night I just sent her to bed because I simply could not deal with her mouth anymore. Good god, if I had ever spoken to my mother that way!

 

Primero – Yesterday I saw on Facebook that Primero’s aunt suffered loss in her family. I discerned it was her brother and I assumed it was some form of tragedy because he was young, only a little older than me. I didn’t put two and two together until Primero called me and then I remembered, his aunt’s brother was one of the possible father’s for Primero! (Just a quick note – this is his aunt by marriage, she is married to Primero’s mother’s brother – so nothing incestuous). When I realized the magnitude of it, I was worried about Primero. He asked to go to his uncle’s house because everyone was gathering there and I readily agreed, if he could just keep Love Bug a few minutes so I could take Chica Marie to the lab for an EKG I’ve been needing to do for weeks now. Primero professed to feeling very little grief at the passing of the man who might be his biological father. He has always held a bitter anger towards both of the men who might have claimed him because they were never there for him, never in his life. I noticed, via Facebook, Primero’s cousin set up a Go Fund Me account to help with funeral costs and in it described him as “the best husband and father he could be” showing a picture with him and two young pre-teen boys, presumably his sons. I can understand Primero’s bitterness, although I cautioned him he might feel the loss differently, at different times in his life. Ultimately, I explained, it is over because there is no longer a possibility for reconciliation in this life time.

 

So, things are still tumbling around in our lives. There is reason to be cautiously optimistic, but the end is far from over. And, as always, when things hit us they come in rapid fire, keeping us reeling for some time before we find our footing again.   

Where We Are Now

I haven’t written about the big meeting we had last Friday. Mostly, I’m exhausted mentally and emotionally, so I’m loathe to rehash it all. But, also because there really isn’t anything new to say. The good news is, Chica Marie is not being moved. Not at this time at least. I think, if the GAL were to see things her way, Chica Marie would be given to her grandmothers because the GAL thinks they are so amazing and I am so not. The GAL expressed issues not only about my parents but also Primero not supporting the adoption and basically, not liking Chica Marie. Apparently, Chica Marie always tells the GAL how mean Primero is and the GAL, who likes to pretend she knows everything about these children she has met just twice, believes Chica Marie’s statement at face value. Keep in mind, she had never met Primero. She has never seen him interact with the children. But, Chica Marie says he’s mean, so he must be mean…. I’m so thankful the GAL is leaving and I’m hoping the new GAL is not overly influenced by her opinions. The county does want to see me using the grandmas as respite and there needs to be monthly visits. It’s a sore spot for me because I really feel hurt and betrayed by Grandma. Still, I have to make it happen. I have to dig deep and be the bigger person. I haven’t yet reached out to Grandma because I’m dreading the conversation I feel we need to have. But, it’s on my agenda. It has to happen.

 

It was agreed upon in the meeting that we would pursue Family Based therapy but keep our TSS in the school with Chica Marie. There was a speed-bump with the insurance and therapy agency, but I think we have it all ironed out. We are also going to pursue the Filial therapy that I had found and we can keep the agency I found because they can continue using my insurance. Chica Marie and I have our first family session in two weeks. It’s the same time our Family Based therapy will begin. I feel a lot of pressure from the county to make this all work. I feel like they are expecting me/us to fail. I’m going to do all I can to make sure we are a success story. The ultimate goal is for Chica Marie to have a better quality of life, one where she can make and keep friends, one where her behaviors don’t prohibit her learning and one where the entire family can embrace her lovingly without her pushing us all away. Is that too lofty of a goal? Good, because Chica Marie deserves no less.

Be Kind

Maybe you’ve seen the meme on Facebook, like I have, with the words, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle you know nothing about.” It certainly resonates in a lot of circumstances, including infertility. A few weeks ago at work, I witnessed the opposite in action. A co-worker, who had worked in our facility when I first started and was subsequently laid-off when funding took a nose dive, has come back to work with us again. She and I were friends and I know from before, she struggled to get pregnant with her son due to severe endometriosis. She had wanted more children, but one was all she was able to have, due to her diagnosis. We had been talking a few days before the scene I’m about to describe and she shared with me sad news about her marriage. The morning of the incident, we walked in to work together and I could tell she was struggling with the things that were happening in her personal life. She really looked like she could use a hug. I bumped into her at lunch but before I could say hi, the following transpired. She took her trash to the large trash can and dropped it in. The site administrator screeched vehemently, “That is not a trash can! It only has two signs on it saying it is only for recycling and I just sent an email about it. You need to get the tongs and fish it out.” My startled friend grabbed some napkins and fished her trash out of the recycling trash can and disposed of it in the receptacle for trash. She glanced at me, her face red with embarrassment and heated from holding in the tears pooling in her eyes. She made a hasty retreat with the site administrator’s hallow “thank you” unacknowledged.

 

I understand the site administrators frustration. She had just sent an email about people putting their trash in the recycling can and needing to clean up after themselves because she is tired of doing it. I know this is aggravating because it is my life at home with the children.  Surely one can expect a group of adults to clean up after themselves. But, this above quote popped into my head, thinking of how sad my friend was this morning and how much she really didn’t need to be yelled at about trash. Life is hard. I don’t think we need to make it harder on one another. “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle you know nothing about.” You never know when the roles might be reversed and you might need to be on the receiving end of someone else’s kindness. 

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The Hunger Games

I have a headache. I think I’ve had one pretty much every day since the end of August, or at least it feels that way. I also feel like I’m being one of those people, the one who calls the case manager over every little thing and needs their hand held just to take a deep breath. To be fair, there has been A LOT going on and it seems whenever I try to do things on my own, it backfires on me, so I’ve lost the confidence to just do my own thing. Yesterday afternoon, on the ride home from daycare, Chica Marie confided in me a secret Mini Momma told her during court. She mater-of-factly informed me that she would be moving in with her sister and her grandmother would be adopting her. I was angry. First of all, why would this child know anything about what is going on with her sister? Was she told this? Did she overhear adult conversations? Secondly, it was not her place to tell Chica Marie this was happening, assuming that it was indeed happening. Which, I guess, is why she told Chica Marie to keep it a secret. I said, “She should not have told you, she should have kept her mouth shut.” And that set Chica Marie off. To be fair, no matter what I said, it would have set her off. The night, which I knew wasn’t going to be easy because of court, was made even more difficult as I tried to explain to Chica Marie nothing was decided and then deal with her emotional fall-out; her anger, worry, frustration, sadness and her need to push every single button because she felt unadoptable. Last night was not pretty.

 

Earlier today Grandma text me stating, since the dust has settled now, could we go back to scheduling visits and when were the children available? O.M.G. So, in court the magistrate was told we were having a visit this weekend. I told the county case worker and my CHOR case worker we have plans this weekend and next, we are available on 10/21 for a visit. My case worker called me again yesterday afternoon to talk about it. So, when Grandma text me, I called my case worker, leaving her a message again – after the angry message I left last night about Mini Momma spilling the beans and on the heels of the email I sent her regarding the new therapeutic recommendation from the MT/TSS agency. I don’t think I’ve ever pestered a case worker this much! I couldn’t not respond to Grandma, not after complaining loudly that she never called me back the last time I tried communicating with her. So, I text her stating I would like to go back to scheduling visits but I would really like to have a conversation about all these things first. I don’t’ feel like the dust has settled at all and unfortunately, I am very busy today and tomorrow but would be available to speak to her Friday afternoon, at which time we can also schedule a visit. I needed to try to put her off until after we have our meeting on Friday and I know better what is happening, what I’m expected to do, what I’m being forced to do, etc. She responded back stating by dust she meant the therapy issues I've been having with Chica Marie. What? Via text it's hard to tell if she was confused or just being bitchy. I didn't respond and have no plan to respond before our Friday meeting.

 

To be perfectly honest, I’m really hurt by the things the grandmother has done. I was honest with her. I was open with her. And, instead of being open and honest with me, it feels like she is stabbing me in the back. Whether it is her intention or not, there was a lot of shade thrown my way in court yesterday, while they were praised for being a miraculous, perfect family. I was painted out to be mediocre, because the little ones aren’t enrolled in all of the wonderful, fantastic after-school and extra-curricular activities like Mini Momma. I was perceived to be incapable, since these behaviors of Chica Marie have been going on for so long and they have not gotten better, while Mini Momma is without blemish, no reported behavioral issues to speak of. They were both present in court, but I was alone. They can be my respite resource because I must need it, being the lousy mother that I am. Apparently asking for help equates being incapable, unable, totally sub-par. If I weren’t a strong person I would have left the court yesterday and handed in my resignation as a foster parent. Luckily, I saw it all for what it was worth – a smear campaign to paint the grandmas out to be spectacular and me to be inept. It did hurt, I did lose some self-confidence, but I’m regaining my footing. I don’t like feeling as if we are on opposing teams, but that is how CYS has painted it. It’s not a game, but it almost feels as if it is; some Hunger Games-esque style duel to the bitter end where no one is really the victor. The thing they don’t know about me is, I’m a fighter. I get knocked down but I get up again, each and every time. If I got nothing else from infertility it is this indomitable spirit to keep on keeping on. The game is not always won by the strongest or the fastest, sometimes it is won by the one who just keeps hanging on.    

Me vs. Them

We had court this morning. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great. Basically, nothing happened, but all the options were suggested. I managed to speak privately with the county case worker before the hearing, which was good but not terribly productive. At least I understand a little better what happened. The county case worker heard someone say during the meeting in August that she needed to look for a therapeutic foster home that was willing to be an adoption resource. In plain English that meant I was no longer willing to be a resource (adoptive home) for Chica Marie. She felt my comment about how upset my mom was and that she was adverse to the adoption, due to the destruction of her car, was compounding my inability to adopt Chica Marie. She was still stuck on my loss of support from my mom, citing it as a potential issue in the future. I’m going to try to talk to my mom to see if she would be willing to write me an email offering her support. I don’t know if she would be willing to do so or not, but it’s worth a try. We are having a meeting this Friday afternoon to hash everything out and I’m not looking forward to it.

 

The hardest thing during court this morning was the visible tension between me and the grandmothers. We didn’t speak. We hardly acknowledged one another’s presence. It was hard and painful. The grandmothers brought along an outfit for Chica Marie that matched Mini Momma’s and the girls were wearing matching jackets. Grandma mentioned how big Love bug is and I said he grew a lot this summer. That was our only exchange. The grandmothers were praised for how wonderfully Mini Momma has been doing and I’m sure they are doing a good job with her, but I also wonder how much under-reporting they are doing? I don’t see how this girl could go from mega-behaviors to nothing in a year’s time. It was touted in front of the judge how many after-school and extra-curricular activities Mini Momma is involved in and nothing was mentioned for Chica Marie or Love Bug. The county is pushing for weekly weekend visits. They want me to use the grandmothers as respite resources. Um, they live an hour away, that’s not terribly convenient. Every weekend is excessive to me, unless they are moving her. I felt I was put down at every turn, less-than and mediocre as a parent.

 

So, we have this meeting, which I am dreading, and it is supposed to help clarify where things are going for Chica Marie. The magistrate called it an “evolving case” for Chica Marie and admonished both sides to work together as the best possible option. How can I work with someone who won’t talk to me? And who knows, maybe they feel the same way other their side. I can’t help but feel like we have been pitted against one another and that makes it hard to work together. The bad blood I mentioned before feels even more true now. We left without saying good-bye. The county was pushing for a visit this weekend, but we have plans. We have plans next weekend too. I had already said to my CHOR case worker the weekend of the 21^st works best for us. I don’t know if I will be getting such an option. I hate to have my weekends dictated to me, it is my free time to what I like and not answer to anyone. And, given how our interaction was today, there is no way I want to have a visit without us talking first. I want to understand Grandmom and I want her to understand me. I don’t like this tension and I don’t think it’s right that we have been put into this situation by the county. I am also still hurt by what I view as Grandmom going behind my back when I was honest with her. I told her about the therapeutic foster care recommendation and that I would do everything in my power to get Chica Marie back in my home. Did she not think of this when the county called and asked her to take Chica Marie? Why didn’t she call me or reach out to me in some way? It certainly would have caused a lot less animosity. I feel like my trust has been broken and that’s a hard thing to rebuild, especially without communication.

 

As this drags on and the murky water gets more cloudy, I have begun thinking, “Am I doing the right thing?” Isn’t biological family always best? Only, they are no more biological than I am, really. And each of us has a sibling who is not being tossed into the mix at the moment. Am I fighting the right fight? Should I just give up and let her grandmother have her and hope and pray she doesn’t move onto Love Bug next? Is it wrong for me to want to keep her and adopt her? I guess the county really has me doubting myself because despite my doggedness, my unwavering desire to keep on keeping on, the county thinks someone else can do better, without help. Am I wrong? Are they right? Is there any such thing as wrong and right in foster care? I’m tired. My everything hurts. I don’t know how much longer my body can withstand the physical and emotional weight of all of this. Everyone tells me I am strong and I am, but right now it is taking its toll on me.  

Workplace Baby Showers

Let’s talk about baby showers. Now, I know some infertile women and men can attend baby showers without much hoopla. They can celebrate their friend/loved one/co-worker without the soul-crushing reminder of what they cannot have. This is not me. I HATE baby showers. I’ve gone to my share and every. single. time. I leave crying. This is after I hyperventilate my way through Baby’s-R-Us to buy their registry gift. My rule of thumb is to only go to baby showers of people who really mean a lot to me, someone I really want to make that emotional effort to be there for them. Like my roommate from college. Or my best friend growing up. If my sister wanted children and was having a baby shower, I would be there, although I’m selfishly grateful she doesn’t want kids and therefore won’t be needing a baby shower.

Last week there was a baby shower at work for one of our co-workers. Her and I are not really friends, we don’t hang out outside of work, we aren’t friends on Facebook. It’s not that I don’t like her, I do, but I wouldn’t put myself through the emotional turmoil to attend her baby shower. Yet, there’s the peer pressure, the societal expectation, that I do attend. In fact, as I was quietly sitting at my desk, trying to ignore the quickly approaching time of the party, I was called to attend. I was hoping to just hide and avoid the event because my co-worker friend was out sick and I had no allies to be there with me. We had gone together to pay her mom to make a beautiful baby quilt – it keeps me out of Baby’s-R-Us, so it’s all good. Unfortunately, the quilt is not yet done because my friend’s mom is back-logged due to other people procreating and requesting quilts, so I had to get a card and write out an ‘I owe You’ explaining this. And I had to go to the shower alone. I hold the momma-to-be no animosity and I am happy for her, but I just didn’t want to be in the baby shower, plastering a fake grin on my face. A smile so tight it would make my eyes sting and my stomach hurt. I gave myself a pep-talk as I slowly walked down the hallway to the gallows, er lunchroom. The expectant mother arrived before I did, so the surprise was already underway when I got to the threshold. I stepped inside, saw the decorations and cake and stuff and the room, already stuffy from all the warm bodies, became stifling and I just couldn’t force myself to stay. I set the card on the table with the other cards and quickly retreated. Thankfully, I didn’t add this event to my work calendar and so I scheduled an appointment right in the middle of it and it gave me a good excuse to drop the card and run. Still, I hate that this is a thing and I hate that our office isn’t big enough for me to beg-off without it being a thing. In fact, as I was leaving for the day, one of the managers said she saw me in the room and then I was gone and she wanted to be sure everything was ok. I swallowed hard and answered, “it’s all good” because you know what? She doesn’t need to know, nor does she deserve to know, my story.


I guess this will sound bitter, but my reality is that I have three children and I had zero baby showers. I’m trying to remember if I got a card when I adopted Primero but I don’t think I did. The event when totally uncelebrated by my co-workers. I mean, why can’t we get cake and balloons and celebrate me adding to my family? So what if I don’t have a cute baby bump and don’t need loads of diapers (well, actually, that the time I could have used diapers, just not for Primero). This really would have been the most ideal shower because no one would need to bring gifts, just get a cake and call it a day – just a little something to say, hey, congrats! My parents took us out to eat and gave Primero a card with some cash in it, welcoming him to the family. That was our celebration, besides lunch at Olive Garden and a movie Primero wanted to see immediately following the court ceremony. I guess I sound selfish, wanting a “baby” shower when I’m obviously not having a baby, but really I just want my joy celebrated, I want me adding to my family to be recognized in some way. Is that so wrong?



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