Sorry, Wrong Number

Since we went live, the Batphone has been very active. Unfortunately, the activity has nothing to do with babies:

"Uh, hello- I'm looking for electrical work. Please call me back at 860-759...."
"Shirley?"
"PARTY TONIGHT!!! Call me for details"
"Did you just send me a text?"
"Jose Cintos, it is urgent that you reply to this message at 800-999-...."

and my favorite, arriving in the middle of the Christmas Revels show...

"We are calling with a very exciting opportunity! How would you like to cut the costs of your long distance to mere pennies?!?!?!"

Sigh.

On the first two or three occasions the Batphone chirped, my heart definitely skipped a beat and a million different thoughts overwhelmed my imagination. Did she see us on the website? What will she ask me? Where's Dylan?!?!?!?!?!

But then, I read the text or listen to the voicemail and it's all like a pile of junkmail, delivered by FedEx, signature required. Hopes up, hopes dashed.

In some ways, this is good news. I think of it as being in training, like rehearsal. Because when the real calls start coming in, I'd honestly rather be operating from low expectations. Believe me, getting enthusiastic and engaged will not be a problem. But coming down from the clouds after thinking "this could be the one?" Kinda crushing.

So as we continue with our holiday busy-ness this week, so aware that this might be our last Christmas with just two stockings on the mantel, I'm sure the Batphone will keep disappointing me. But maybe, just maybe, we're also in for a pleasant surprise.

Merry Christmas!!

The Batphone

Wow- back in May, I thought we were right at the finish line? If 6 months is the same as a breath, then yes- we were right there!

For real now, we are "here." Officially in circulation as potential adoptive parents, we are primed and ready to get our first "birthparent contact." They say birthparent because it could technically be Birthmom or Birthfather who calls, but most likely it will be Birthmom.

When she dials our 1-800 number, we will receive her call with the Batphone: our pay-as-you-go, Nokia 1616.

So far, nearly two weeks in, the phone is still on its original charge and bumps around in my purse like an extra compact or maybe someone else's phone I agreed to hold but forgot to give back. On Thanksgiving it sang out a couple of beepy text message alerts intended for "Bro" and "Shirley." You know what they say about big thumbs and those teeny little keys. But surely it will ring sometime, right?

The Cover Photo- at last

Phew.

The Cover Photo

We are so close to the finish line of our prep work I can see it, there in the distance. The winner's ribbon is dancing in the clear sunshine, flirting and waving us in. Between here and there, however, is the final hurdle- something that should take no more than 5 minutes, but has been procrastinated, postponed, and rescheduled. It's the cover photo.

For our Dear Birthmom Letter we need our sweet, loving, hopeful-mama faces right there on the cover. The photo needs to say: responsible, well-adjusted, open, and perfect for your baby.

You might think this very nice photo here could work. We're at the top of 30 Rock in NYC, looking happy, well-traveled, and really fun! (if I do say so myself) Responsible, too, because hey- we got ourselves to NYC, after all! But, no, this photo will not work, for these reasons:

1. Sunglasses hide the eyes- no good.
2. Too much background: for the cover, we must be front and center, mostly from torso up.
3. Accoutrements: shopping bag, scarf, puffy jacket, beanie...too many distractions.

Of course, we have many other candidates for this coveted photo, but each of them has its own three-point list of offenses. So, we must take a photo specifically for this purpose. This takes planning of outfits, hair, and location. We tried last weekend, but I kept making faces at the camera. Seriously.

Once this gem of a photo is finally achieved, we're as good as done with the prep work. Within days, we will be "in circulation." As a typical checklist junkie, I would normally power through these last steps like a cat darting around after one of those laser dots. But instead, I can't be bothered- I'm bathing in the sun ignoring you. So I take a pause. Am I not ready for some reason, here at the finish line, to cross? Hesitant to dive into the phone calls, interviews, ups and downs, waiting and hoping roller-coaster? Need just one more good night's sleep? Hmm...

The Homestudy

"And, would you mind opening that for me?" This from the social worker doing our adoption homestudy. She's asking D to actually unlock the toolbox we claim has medications tucked inside, as if we fabricated the claim in order to deceive her. In this moment, I remember she's not a home appraiser, or here to repair the dishwasher. Besides my friends and family, these are the sorts of visitors I've grown accustomed to hosting in my home over the years.

No, she is assessing our home for safety and appropriateness to house a child as determined by the State of California.

Every once in a while, in a pent-up outburst, D will express frustration over the red-tape and checklists we must succumb to as we navigate the process of adoption while children are born every day to people who can barely navigate an intersection with a 4-way stop. Or a checkout stand at Safeway. Or the basic concept of putting another person's needs before their own every once in a while.

The irony is notable, of course, that while some of us who will presumably make decent parents and actually really want to parent children must toil through endless bureaucracy before we get a shot, while others can actually procreate on their own with much less expected capability to parent and certainly less intention.

Despite the seeming unfairness of this equation, it's really out of my hands. So while I certainly notice the weirdness of having to get a physical and fingerprints and build a gate on my apparently hazardous steps to the basement, I'm kinda into it. Even though it's not quite the same as watching my belly grow and having morning sickness, you could say I'm, "pregnant with possibilities." And if this is what I have to do so I can be a Mama, then I'll go ahead and put my Advil in a toolbox with a combo lock and....wait for the baby to kick.

The Letter

It's really hard to write this "Dear Birthmom" letter without reflecting on the actual quality of my life, as opposed to the quality I am projecting in it. Of course, it's expected I might embellish a little, and certainly expected that I would strategically omit information. For example, when I say our families "can't wait" to welcome our child, I know this will be true even if it isn't now. And I will definitely choose to omit my growing awareness that we live near an overdue California faultline.

But this letter turns out to feel a little like a report card. Just how well balanced is my life? Do I have all the right ingredients? Mature, loving relationship, safe home, interesting work, supportive friends and family, hobbies and interests, well-behaved pets and a natural inclination to parent a child?

Holy crap! I've passed a lot of tests in my life, but this one feels just a little less trivial than I hoped.

The template we were provided turns out to be more science than art, with the elements carefully structured:

1. Appropriate welcome note: requires just the right tone- understanding, but not condescending. And be careful, don't call her Birthmom because she isn't one yet.

2. Background on your relationship: nice if there's a quirky twist, but not too quirky- we need to stay pretty G-rated here. And of course there's a foundation of friendship (there better be, anyway), and strong values to pass along to a child.

3. Each wife talks about the other: this part is pretty cute, a little bit Newlywed Game, even. "She's so great, will make an amazing mom, I love her because..."

4. Talk about your home, and your interests, and of course your families: No pressure, but everything needs to be pretty awesome.

5. The future: you can't wait to share your life with a child, and welcome the chance to build a relationship with Birthmom (reminder: don't call her that), even though you haven't met her yet and you are a wee bit worried she's addicted to meth and will set your house on fire.

Exactly how happy is my family to welcome an adopted child into the fold? Does our home really offer all the things we would want for a child? And just how ready are we to even do this?

This exact point in time brings me to start this other letter- a blog letter- to you, dear anticipated reader. Because what I know for sure is that I can't wait to be a Mom, and I think it's probably a good idea (and quite human, as it turns out) to share my vulnerabilities as I travel this quite modern path of becoming a parent. Especially since the less-than-modern approaches simply didn't work out. But more on that later.

Alongside the demands to be certain and strong, forging ahead with mountains of paperwork, awkward conversations, and pure gumption to continue, I reflect on faith that yes- just as the adoption agency has told us- there is a 100% chance we will find our child on this journey.