March 29, 2012
In October, Jill & I applied to become adoptive parents.
(The future-baby’s nickname is “Peanut.” A food name, of course.)
There are many reasons I have not written about this before, which I’m sure you can appreciate. The baby thing is a very intimate and emotional process for everyone, regardless of whether they conceive or adopt, are straight or gay, single or coupled, face infertility or get pregnant right away—as much fun as it is to share such exciting news, all of the unknowns make it a little bit nerve-wracking, too.
But when I sat down to write today’s blog post and tried to write about other things, it all came out like a bunch of disingenuous crap. Because it was. Because the truth is, I cannot think about much else these days besides the Peanut. And how much I hate waiting for him or her.
Please note: I know that six months—our wait time so far—is not a very long time at all, not really. I know that most adoptive couples wait two or three times that long, at least, and I know that there are many, many, many biological parents who face their own heartbreaking roads of infertility and sorrow. I have walked with friends through a few of these experiences, and my own parents endured several miscarriages and years of grief before they had a healthy child (me). I do not wish to compare, demean, or judge. I can only talk about what it’s like over here for me, with the hope that my sharing about it may be of use to someone else.
I am a card-carrying control freak. I often wish so desperately that I weren’t, but in my thrown nature, that’s who I am. I love to plan things almost as much as I love to eat—scary but true. I am good at getting shit done, and this makes me useful in many, many situations. But not this one.
Everywhere I go, there are babies. There are babies at Target, there are babies at the grocery store, there are pregnant women and new parents all over the school where I work and all up in my Twitter feed and in my group of friends. There were ridiculously adorable babies all over Washington D.C. whom my awesome boss offered to help me steal, though I don’t think it will come to that. But if it does, y’all will cover my bail money, right?
Deep down inside, underneath the control freak I hilariously try to control to be less controlling, there is a faithful woman who trusts and is patient. I know that a baby will come our way, and that that baby will be our baby, and life will never be the same. I can’t wait—but I will have to. And I’m not sure for how long.
In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a few peanut-related recipes, from this blog and others, and my very sincere thanks for being out there, and reading. Your presence is meaningful always, but especially today. I needed you. Thank you.