Liar, Liar Pants on Fire

The county case worker recently contacted me and our CHOR case worker regarding the potential separate adoption of Chica Marie and Love Bug.

 

Foster Mom and CHOR Case Worker,

 

Just wanted to check in and hear both of your thoughts on finalizing Love Bug’s adoption sooner, or waiting to do them both at the same time? If we were to finalize Love Bug’s adoption first, I would suggest waiting to celebrate both at the time of Chica Marie’s adoption, or we could wait and do them both at the same time. Let me know your thoughts! 

County Case Worker

 

I had written about my conflicted opinions is a pro’s and con’s list here . Thanks to some kind feedback, I was able to see things differently, but the whole thing still doesn’t sit well with me. My preference is having the children be adopted together. But, if the county is going to push for Love Bug to go now and Chica Marie later, I’m telling Chica Marie. This is not going to be some secret, some hidden thing that only becomes a bigger issue because it is kept hush-hush. And so, this is what I told the county case worker.

 

Hi County Case Worker  and CHOR Case Worker –

 

   I have batted this idea around in my head a lot and have looked at it from various angels. At first, I was conflicted about doing their adoptions separately, it just wasn’t something I had considered; I always assumed they would be adopted together. Not that I wanted to make Love Bug wait any longer, but I was concerned about finalizing Love Bug’s adoption without Chica Marie because I worried how it might affect her, how she might perceive it. I thought of a zillion what-if scenarios of her finding out about his adoption in the near future or when they were grown up and it finally dawned on me. While I was sad to think of their adoptions happening separately, it was feeling like I was lying to Chica Marie and keeping something from her that was really at the heart of the matter. I worry about how detrimental it would be to our relationship if Chica Marie knew I kept something this big from her. So, if you decide to proceed with Love Bug’s adoption while waiting on Chica Marie’s adoption, I acquiesce to the decision with the caveat that Chica Marie know about Love Bug’s adoption and is allowed to process whatever feelings she may have about it. I liken it to having separate birthdays; her birthday is in December, Love Bug in June and so their adoption days can be different as well. I’m hoping this will be understandable to her, but at the very least she isn’t being lied to and having to find out (because she will find out one way or another) and deal with that extra baggage.
Foster Mom

 

Our CHOR case worker is out of the office until next week because she is getting married, so she won’t be responding until then. I get the sense that CHOR is going to push for Love Bug’s adoption to happen sooner rather than later. I hope what I said makes sense and doesn’t create any waves because I’m not interested in rocking the boat, at all. But, I am honest and so I wanted to express how it is still a conflicted thing for me, but ultimately I am going to be ok with whatever the county decides to do. I’m not sure what the county would want to see for Chica Marie to be adopted. I feel like I have certainly shown my dedication through all that has happened.

List of Things I'm Thankful For

I feel like my blog has been a little bit negative lately. I’m sort of in a little funk at the moment, but trying to find my way out. So, even though it’s late for the holiday, it is never too late to list some of the things I am grateful for lately. Hopefully my list will help me get into the spirit for the next holiday on the calendar. So, without further ado, my List of Things I’m Thankful For:

 

1. I think this might sound odd to any non-infertility survivors, but for the first time ever I met a pregnant woman, listened to her tell me this was her second child and she’s having a girl to compliment the boy they already have and I was genuinely happy for her with no but for me. I wasn’t happy for her, but sad for me. I wasn’t happy for her, but bummed it wasn’t me. I wasn’t happy for her, but also a little jealous. I wasn’t happy for her, but heartbroken. I was just happy for her. It could have been the glass of wine I had or maybe being distracted because we met in a cooking class, but whatever it was, I’m grateful I didn’t have the other mixed feelings that I get hung up on when encountering a pregnant woman. Plus, I genuinely enjoyed her, she was lots of fun in our class.
2. I’m grateful my cousin’s wife let me spend a nice long time holding and snuggling their baby girl. She even let Chica Marie, who was totally obsessed, hold the baby. It was nice. I’m also glad my mom didn’t make any off-handed comments when she was holding the baby.
3. I’m grateful I was able to graciously accept Primero not joining us for Thanksgiving, being our first time spending the holiday separated. I’m also glad he agreed to keeping together for Christmas.
4. I don’t mean this to sound snarky, like I’m trying to be passive aggressive or anything, but I am honestly grateful life has been teaching Primero some serious lessons related to some not-so-great choices he has made lately. Primero is a good kid who has been bitten by the I’m-an-adult bug. Luckily for me, his hubris had been checked by sleeping in a cold van and embarrassing himself with some drunk dialing and conversations he wish he could take back. I just have to balance my smugness with genuine compassion and the ever-ready reminder these things were consequences for the decisions he made and expressions of hope that he will do better going forward. Parenting teenagers is hard. But, every now and again the natural consequences do a better job teaching than even the most seasoned parent can muster.
5. I’m surprisingly glad my doctor referred me to the weight management program at our local hospital. I probably won’t end up taking the medication they would prescribe me, but the doctor sent me to get an ultrasound of my thyroid because he thought he felt something. He described it as a fullness in my neck. The infertility doctor thought he felt something many years ago (6-7 years, I guess) but I never went to see the endocrinologist because we were done with infertility treatments by the time the office contacted me. Well, the ultrasound, which was on Black Friday, revealed a nodule. So, I’ve been referred to an endocrinologist once again. The nurse who called me explained they may want to biopsy the nodule, which I’m a little nervous about, but getting to the bottom of the issue is really what I am grateful for! Getting my thyroid working optimally could actually help me lose weight and be healthier. So, if the means to get there are this twisted path, so be it.   
6. Of course I am thankful for all the traditional things like my health (I mean, I still consider myself mostly healthy), a warm home, my beautiful children, my family, having a job (and income), dark chocolate, and a decent sense of humor.

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Poetic Justice

This might sound mean and part of me is not happy about it, but the other part of me views it as just deserts. I wrote about how Primero got angry with me and took off, flexing his newly attained “adult” muscles. Well, I came to find out he wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms into his friend’s house. In fact, rather than putting him up on the couch or the floor in his friend’s room, the family had Primero sleep outside in their van. And, the weather has finally gotten seasonal, so it was down in the 30’s that night. They gave him a blanket and he put on all the clothing he had with him (so, his school clothes in addition to what he was wearing) and sent him outside to their minivan, which is essentially equivalent to having him sleep in the backyard; the van didn’t offer much shelter and even if he had been given the keys, the heater didn’t work anyway. Sorry not sorry, but if that isn’t the best life lesson for his snotty “adult” self I don’t know what is – I certainly wouldn’t have been able to come up with anything better! I mean, in reality he chose to spend the night freezing when he could have come home to his nice warm bed with his space heater and covers. It was his own hubris that kept him in that frigid van all night. When we finally talked about things I told him to remember this as the more difficult path he could choose for his life and how much it sucked sleeping in that van. Safe to say, lesson learned. Thank you Jesus for some poetic justice!

 

P.S. Yes, I am utterly outraged that this family would put my son outside to sleep when it was so cold! Who does that? I mean, our state just passed a law making it illegal to have pets outside when it’s so cold – and they put a kid outside for the night? Apparently, the friend has younger sisters and since my son is a young man, he is automatically a predator and could not be trusted to sleep in the same warm house as the girls. I guess it’s a good thing it wasn’t dangerously cold out or Primero would have learned a very difficult life lesson with frostbite….

Isn't it Ironic

Irony is speaking on the local community TV program about adopting a teenager when said teenager has decided he’s an adult and no longer has to follow the rules, thus left the house last night and didn’t come back.

 

Maybe it’s the impending holiday’s? Maybe it’s turning 18. Lately Primero and I have been on the outs. We weren’t fighting, per se, but we weren’t really getting along either. We’ve sorta been like two pieces of sandpaper, rubbing each other the wrong way. But, last night I decided to put my foot down and what I see as Primero shirking his responsibilities and doing things half-assed. I wasn’t really angry, just frustrated and because all the words I had been saying were not penetrating his brains, I took action. Primero did not take all the trash to the curb yesterday. He took some of the trash (see, half-assing it), leaving trash on our back porch. He refuses to take the trash out the night before, insisting he do it in the morning before he goes to school. Only, he didn’t have time this Monday morning. And, not only did he take half of the trash to the curb (and none of the recycling), he didn’t clean up the trash the dog pulled apart (because Primero put a trash bag with food in reach of the dog), and the trash he put at the curb fell over, spilling it’s dirty contents in front of the van. The coup de gras, was Primero not returning the trash can to the back of the house, which in the past has resulted in fines. I reached Custer-mode, I was taking my last stand. Legal adult or no, this was not going to fly with me. Because, while I attended a parent-teacher conference for Chica Marie and then ran a quick errand to the grocery store, Primero didn’t wash a single dirty dinner dish. I came home and you could stick a fork in me, I was done. Primero wanted to visit his cousin. I agreed. He asked to take the van. I said no, those privileges were revoked for shoddy trash removal. And Primero lit up like the fourth of July. How dare I make him suffer the consequences that have been a long time coming? How dare I refuse to keep letting him do whatever it is he wants to do? And, I don’t pay him to watch the kids or clean the living room, I’m using him! He smirked as I reminded him of the 9 pm school-day curfew. He was going to stick it to me and not come home. Taunting me he yelled over his shoulder, “And I’m 18 now, so you can’t call the police to come find me” as I had done before when he ran away from home. He text me at 11:04 last night, stating he would be home today after school, he was staying with a friend. Like I was his roommate and not his parent! I wasn’t angry until then and the rest of his smart-alec responses and then I was livid. So, assuming Primero comes home today, we need to have a very serious discussion about his intentions. He mentioned, during his anger-filled tirade last night, he didn’t want to be “here” in our home anymore. If that is how he feels he needs to know all the things he will be walking away from because I’m not going to support his half-cocked insanity where he things he gets to call the shots and I can keep paying for everything. No, sir, that is not how the world works. And, if he thinks his stunt last night has persuaded me to soften my stance, he is dead wrong. If anything, it has strengthened my resolve to not raise a disrespectful, irresponsible young man. If he won’t learn responsibility in my home, then he will learn it the hard way. I certainly hope he doesn’t choose the hard way, it would break my heart, but I am also not playing this “I’m 18, I can do what I want” game. Because guess what? I’m an adult too. I can do what I want too. Sigh. Eighteen year olds suck!

Broken Midas

The end of October I had a few bad days. I thought that was it, some bad days then back to our normal. Not so fast! The few days have stretched into a few weeks and as we prepare to give thanks this week I feel more overwhelmed than thankful.

Work - A total mess. A co-worker retired leaving two of us to do the work of three that used to be the work of 4 and 5. We keep losing co-workers and no replacements. Welcome to working for the state! And, rather than making some logical concessions, our supervisor seems to expect there to be little to no disruption to the level of work getting done. Can you say stressful?

Home/Family - Primero is already testing limits with being a legal adult. Of all the teen years, 18 has got to be the worst! Hubris come from legality. Things with Chica Marie, well they are what they are, although things with her mobile therapist got rough all of a sudden. At three Love Bug is still so needy. If he could crack open my chest and crawl inside of me, he would. He's a momma's boy through and through. But, sometimes Momma needs to breathe!

Finances - A mess I don't even want to talk about. And the holidays are looming. Gulp.

Personal Life - I just wrote a post about my angst, my inability to determine if I'm too broken to fall in love again or if this just isn't a fit. Maybe it's just left-over anxiety from all the other messes in my life.

When you're going through hell, nothing to do but keep on going. This too shall pass.

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Bring Back That Loving Feeling

When I fell in love before it was sudden; the head-over-heels free-fall into a passionate, romantic love state with my now ex-husband. I loved him wholly and fully without reservation, with the quintessential blind eye to all of his shortcomings, of which I now know there were many. This big love was taken and then used, beaten and destroyed. My ex cheated on me and then left me, walking out on me and the little boy we were supposed to adopt. I was devastated, so utterly broken and crushed. Still, I thought I could eventually get back that loving feeling, only now I’m not so sure. My carefully curated walls around my heart are seeming insurmountable and while I try to tear them down my terrified heart keeps plastering over them in a frantic, hurried pace. I want to fall in love again, it just seems impossible to let go and fall.

 

I started seeing my current boyfriend just before Valentine’s Day (this is significant because my ex left on Valentine’s Day) earlier this year. We saw one another a few times, were intimate, and then I ran. He was not my first tryst since my ex, not by far. I had two other failed attempts and too many first dates to recall. I had gotten quite good at being off-putting to chase many a suitor away with ease. Being a full-time parent made it even easier. So, I left this relationship in a bad way, thinking it was all over. Months go by and I think nothing of it, trying to find the next victim, er match, via online dating. Then, out-of-the-blue, he sends me a message. Curious, I agreed to meet him for drinks and suddenly we are seeing one another again. Only…. Only, I feel like I’m only partially in it. My apathy about this man and our relationship has me in a quandary. I keep pushing myself, keep making myself stay in the game (so to speak) because I fear if I run again I will simply stop trying. I keep torturing myself, trying to figure out why I have so little feelings about someone who is supposed to be my love interest.

 

I want to feel those amazing, romantic feelings; the ones that warm your insides and add a blush to your cheeks. I want to be excited and happy and IN LOVE. Instead, I am fearful, worried, unsure and untrusting. What I am really trying to determine is – is this just me or is this the wrong match? Am I so deeply broken that I cannot summon the courage to let myself fall in love again? We have been seeing one another regularly since August. And still, after 4 months, I am still trying to force myself to stick it out, to not get cold feet and ghost him. Partially, I’m worried that if I stop pushing myself I won’t ever get this far again and partially I’m trying to see if it’s just me or if we aren’t meant to be. This whole situation has me in such an emotional state. Logically, I know I’m making this harder than it has to be, but I just can’t seem to stop. I wish I could just kick back and have fun, but this whole thing feels more like grueling work than just having fun with someone. Too often I hear myself saying, “it’s easier to just be alone.” And yet, deep down, I know I don’t want to be alone.

 

When asked what I want in a partner, I said I want Toby from This Is Us; that magical, mythical man who is a perfect balance of manliness and gentleness, who drives you crazy and makes you love him like crazy. I want to date a fictional character from a TV show, this is the depth of my depravity. But, to me, Toby is just the right level of sweet and kind, yet not a push-over. He understands Kate’s neurosis and doesn’t let her wallow, but he’s not pushy or over-bearing. Toby brings out the best in Kate, he keeps her grounded. I need Toby in my life, but my fear is, that even if Toby showed up, I’d still be freaking out and keep trying to push him away. My therapist tells me it’s a process and I need to not try controlling everything and let things evolve as they will. Unfortunately, one of the saddest things I lost in the divorce is my ability to believe good things are meant to happen to me. In many ways, I have a real Eeyore complex.  

The Hard Way

I wanted a non-birth control way of helping my heavy, miserable periods. I did not like the only options from my gynecologist, which was either an IUD or the birth control pill. I had asked about herbal remedies and was written off as a non-compliant patient – bye Felicia! So, I found a Nutritionist (she’s also a registered nurse practitioner) who specialized in helping people with various ailments using more natural remedies; things not generally used by Western medical doctors. She tested a lot of things, including my hormones, cortisol levels, thyroid, and iron. The only thing that was clinically an issue was my progesterone level. Everything else, including my sugars, was either at the low end or the high end of normal, but within a normal, non-clinical range. And here is where the Western medical doctors and the Nutritionist part ways. She saw room for improvement in those not really too low and not really too high numbers. She gave me medicine for my thyroid, iron, cortisol (stress) levels, Progesterone, and Vitamin D. When I went to see the weight management doctor he insisted I didn’t have a thyroid issue, based on the tests done by the Nutritionist. My levels were ok for him. Yet, when he was feeling my neck he claimed to feel a “fullness” and ordered an ultrasound. The Nutritionist is sure the ultrasound will reveal nodules on my thyroid. She gave me a stronger thyroid medicine. We’ll see what the ultrasound reveals. This whole experience has been eye-opening to how non-personal our health care is – one would think, given so many flirting with the edge levels, a doctor would grow concerned, but none ever have. Not even the infertility doctor. He diagnosed me with PCOS and wanted me to jump to IVF, not seek to help me fix the mess my body was in. It actually makes me angry, but there’s no point because it’s in the past. Still, it seems so messed up! I’m glad to finally find someone who wants to help me get my hormones and other regulating systems in order, rather than slap on a Band-Aid to alleviate the symptoms.

 

When I explained to the Nutritionist about the medication the weight management doctor wanted me to take and how I would need to be on the pill to take it, she understood my hesitation. I don’t want to go screwing with my hormones now that I’m actually on a path to get them in order. Yet, she knew the doctor wouldn’t prescribe me the medication, couldn’t probably, unless I was using some form of medicinal birth control. Her suggestion? Get my tubes tied. The look on my face must have said it all, because she back-tracked. Is it insane to not want to do anything to permanently alter my body in that way? I don’t expect to ever be pregnant, but I just couldn’t pull that trigger to make it an absolute no. I suppose it’s some form of madness, but, to me, it would be like losing a leg to a disease and then cutting the other one off because it too might get sick, although it’s highly unlikely. My mind is probably warped, not like a regular, normal human being. I had my infertility taken from me, I just can’t turn around and drop that final straw to break the camel’s back. So, it seems highly unlikely I will take the medication offered to me. It seems, like so much else in my life, I’m destined to do it the hard way….

Overkill

When I went to see my family doctor for my adoption physical (it’s the only time I see my family doctor, honestly), he referred me to the weight loss clinic connected with the local hospital. Reluctantly, I went to the first appointment which was last week. During the screening phone call before the appointment, I was asked to decide if I was interested in the medication option or the surgery option. Really, I’m not interested in either options, but the medicinal route was less invasive and permanent, so I chose that option. During the appointment the doctor asked me a lot of questions, took some measurements and spoke to me about the possible medicines they prescribe. After listing the medicinal options, he went on to explain they ask that I am not trying to get pregnant while taking the medications and, because there are potential birth defects, they ask that I use two forms of prophylactics. As the doctor droned on and on about this, I heard myself quietly saying, “That seems like overkill for someone who’s infertile.” The words hung there in the air between us as their meaning penetrated the doctor’s mind. I say a flash of “did not compute” in his eyes before he mumbled, “Oh, you’re infertile. Oh, ok I didn’t know…” See, he heard me say I found out I had PCOS when I was going through infertility. I answered his “how many kids?” question with the answer, three. He assumed, incorrectly, that the infertility treatments resulted in three children. But, he was wrong. Painfully wrong. But, to my surprise, I didn’t feel the stinging of tears behind my eyes when I spoke the words that were in my mind. I felt detached, like I was stating any other true fact about myself, not one that causes me so much angst. Mostly, I just wanted him to stop talking about getting pregnant. It’s such a ludicrous thing and he just kept talking about it, as if getting pregnant were some easy thing. No, sir, it would take a miracle and I stopped believing in those a long time ago.

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Turning 18

Unbelievably, tomorrow my dear sweet Primero will be 18 years old and legally an adult. It’s hard for me to swallow, having a fellow adult in the home, but there is also a bitter-sweetness about it as well, knowing before too long he will be off on his own. I know this is a feeling most parents encounter when their off-spring reach the age of majority, but it’s extra-poignant knowing we’ve only known each other for the last 4 years. I think back on the 14 year old Primero on his first weekend visit with me. I was uneasy, not knowing what to expect from a teenage boy. I figured there had to be a movie we could enjoy watching and junk food is usually welcomed by ravenous teenage boys and, luckily for me, my game plan worked. We had a great time! In fact, we had such a good time that Primero came back to my house every weekend until he moved in officially. There was something serendipitous in our well-matched personalities; somehow it seems it was meant to be.

 

Now, that young, quirky teenage boy has grown into this amazing young man and I can’t believe I blinked and here we are on the cusp of adulthood. Just a few weeks ago Primero and I managed to snatch a few minutes to ourselves and he mentioned some anxiety about turning 18. For so long he had been bragging about becoming a legal adult, but I sensed there was an undercurrent of worry. I told him turning 18 wouldn’t change anything, his home is still his home, he is still expected to go to school and do all the things he needs to do. He expressed having had rather unattainable expectations for himself to achieve by the time he turned 18. Probably a left-over from his past, but he felt he should be all out on his own by the time he was 18 and I said that isn’t always the case and said how none of the kids in my family, including myself, were ready to be out on our own at 18. I think it settled him to know he wasn’t suddenly expected to take care of himself. It’s so sad to know, if he had stayed in foster care that might actually be the case. It’s the beauty of family; always having a place to hang your hat.

 

So, to Primero I wrote: “It’s hard to imagine this day has arrived so quickly. Technically I have only known you for the last 4 years and, much to your consternation, I’ve tried jamming a life-time of living into these short four years. I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you and the amazing young man you are and the grown man you are becoming. I know, even though I will always worry (it’s in the parental job description), deep down I know you have a good head on your shoulders and a big, beautiful heart in your chest. You are amazing and it has been such a privilege watching you grow and flourish these last four years. I am so grateful and blessed that you took a chance on us being a family. I can’t wait to see all the wonderful things you will do as an adult. I love you. Keep being amazing you!” And I only cried a little while writing it….   

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40-something Pregnancy

When whining about my very bad day on Tuesday, I mentioned receiving a surprise pregnancy announcement by way of invitation to a surprise baby shower. Let’s face it, hearing about any pregnancy still leaves an empty, gnawing feeling in my gut, but finding out someone I considered a friend didn’t tell me personally but let me find out via a group email, well that added an extra sting to the announcement. Yes, I am making this all about me because this is my blog. Please don’t think I’m so vapid in real life!

 

So, the shock, especially in the midst of a rotten day, really hit me hard. And here is why. This co-worker has fluctuating weight and she carries it mostly in her tummy region. About a year ago she had lost some weight but recently she seemed to be gaining it back. It happens, right? Now that the cat is out of the bag, her tummy looks rounder than normal, with a fullness that does look like pregnancy, but probably only because that’s what I now know it to be. It hurts that she didn’t tell me herself because I thought we were friendly enough for her to confide in me. We’ve talked about a lot of other things. She told me something before and asked me not to tell anyone and I didn’t. I find it especially painful because she wanted me to adopt her nieces baby, telling me her situation wasn’t stable, which I thought was alluding to her recently splitting from her long-time boyfriend and moving into her own place. That would have been a good time to drop the P bomb on me, no? Why let me find out a month later via mass email from a supervisor? I just don’t understand…

 

I wasn’t the only one totally floored by this announcement. The entire office was a-twitter about this, everyone asking if anyone else knew about it because it appeared next to no one did. The reason, I’ve been told, that she kept her pregnancy a secret was because this is her fourth pregnancy – she has two living daughters and one son who passed away as an infant – and she didn’t want to take anything away from the first-time mom-to-be who announced her pregnancy at the start of her second trimester. One of the biggest reasons everyone in the office was so shocked by this pregnancy announcement is because of her age. This co-worker’s oldest daughter is in her 20’s. In fact, when I first read the email, I thought the baby shower was for my co-worker becoming a grandmother until I re-read the email various times and it became clear she herself was pregnant. I overheard a younger co-worker expressing shock that she could get pregnant. The supervisor interjected, “What? She is the same age as me, 43 and I could still get pregnant!”

 

Is it possible to get pregnant in your 40’s? Yes, it is. A different friend of mine had a baby just before Love Bug was born and she was 42. Still, the audacious claim the supervisor made had me cringing and slinking down in my seat. I just celebrated my 36^th birthday last month and I’ve been trying to convince myself I’m past the point of infertility, even if I weren’t infertile. But, my co-worker friend is 7 years older than me and she got pregnant without really trying. When I had my blood tests done by the Nutritionist one of the hormonal tests indicated I was perimenopausal. The Nutritionist told me whichever ovary was tested just doesn’t work. She wanted to test again at another point in time to see if the other ovary works. For whatever reason, it seems easier to consider my age as a factor than the other mess. Maybe because I’ve been told losing weight is the magic cure and it’s something I’ve failed miserably at doing. Still, staring at the mythical 40-something naturally pregnant by accident co-worker makes me want to retch. And cry. A lot. It makes it harder to give myself an out based on age because it seems infertility will chase me into the 4^th decade of my life. Yippee.