Puppy Love

Righteousness is Lonely Business

She feels strongly about standing up for her beliefs, and "there are many people who agree with her"...although I have never met any of them. I suppose they are a covert crowd...rarely sharing their candid opinions with anyone who exists outside their small circle.

We were having coffee when she confided in me. She grew up in Small Town, Illinois where she was surrounded by Caucasians. Anyone of a different race was considered to be an outcast, something less. I listened openly as she described her childhood, her heritage, the chain of distrust that she was taught and now carries forward like a badge of honor. She's rude to anyone who's not white, although she's especially vocal about African Americans.

I knew about her feelings, but we moved forward with our friendship, each of us filtering our opinions of one another. We danced around the issue because we enjoyed spending time together. We were two, non-working gals with no kids, plenty of spare time, and a desire to get out and explore the city.

Then there were two incidents in one day, and I finally asked her to Be Quite, to Stop Being Rude. That was the day she called me a Goody-Twoshoes and tried to turn the blame onto me. I was the one who had the problem. I was the one who didn't allow her to be herself.

That was the final moment of division between her and I.

And I know that it's the right thing, to no longer spend time with her. Despite the fun times that we had shared up to that point. The laughter, the shopping, making jewelry together and discovering new restaurants. All dissipated and meaningless...filed under History with no plans for resuscitation.

Because she's a racist, and I am not.

Because she's willing to make rude comments to people, and I am not.

Because she's willing to deny a person a service or sale or friendly transaction because of their race, and I am not.

So we have each planted our poles into the ground, and we both feel righteous in standing up for our principles. She points the finger at me and blames me for our rift. I look at her and feel immense sadness that such a fun and clever person could be so ignorant.

Our only interaction now is to wave Hello if we pass one another on the street. Neighborly niceties that ring hollow and insincere.

The tears kept flowing until I collapsed last night from a raging headache.

Maybe the gift of this whole experience is to redirect us toward a domestic adoption.

Our agency is still "on hold" with Russian adoptions because of the public outcry by Russian citizens over several foreign adoptions that resulted in abused or deceased babies. I think their determination and efforts to improve their screening and agency certification process is a good thing. The only problem is that we are completely immobilized and not moving forward.

After spending the entire night crying, I woke up with a new resolve. I called our homestudy counselor and asked for help. She directed me toward a very large and credible organization that has handled thousands of domestic adoptions. I have spoken to one of their counselors and the application paperwork is on it's way.

The good thing about this is that we'll know all about the birthmother's prenatal care, she will be fully screened for HIV and hepatitis, and this agency has an exceptional track record. More than 50% of their approved couples are placed with a baby within 5 months. If we wait for Russia, it will take 10-14 months after the start-up begins. Not to mention a minimum of 2 trips over there for about 3 weeks per visit.

Breaking the news to Husband was horrible. Right after our chat, the sky literally opened up and dumped more than 1.5" of rain on us in less than an hour. The lightening was fearsome and right on top us, so I grabbed Mr Noodle and we rushed downstairs and we sat far away from the windows. It was the worst storm that I have ever witnessed. As I rocked Mr Noodle in my arms, electricity could be felt in the air and the house shook from the violent thunder. We both whimpered and I'd swear that he cried a little bit too.

I know that to have been chosen would have been the equivalent of winning the lotto.

And I know that we have an amazing life and that I am already incredibly blessed. But it still hurts. Silly me to observe my total lack of agony up to that point.

Okay.
I'm done sniveling.
It's Forward Ho.

Let's get this done.

She didn't pick us.

She chose a couple that has already adopted a 2 year old, and the mom is a teacher. I had no idea this much sadness was going to pour out of me. I can't stop crying. I'm crushed.

No comments, please. I can't handle it.

It's hard to prepare for a baby that you don't know is yours yet.

Husband and I have been very purposeful in not telling too many people about the portfolio and potential adoption. It's sort of like knowing you're pregnant but not announcing it until you pass the 3 month marker. The odds of risk are high and you don't want to mention anything to anyone until you you're reasonably confident that it's a done deal. I'm feeling that way about this adoption process. Why tell anyone about it until we know that we are chosen? It isn't real until that happens.

But in the meantime, I'm only staying mostly calm.

This entire thing is so...random. We haven't pursued a domestic adoption so it really came as a delightful surprise. But the reality is that if we are chosen, we'll have a baby in about two months.

Heebadeebaduh?

Two months? I don't have the baby's room painted yet. My Hope Chest contents are packed away in the basement. I haven't ordered furniture or window coverings. And I haven't adequately belabored or agonized over the this process to an acceptable extent. Lord knows that everything that I do that is truly worthwhile includes an extreme amount of worry. And frankly, I haven't had enough time to do that. It feels odd.

Reality Check: We have a 16.5% chance in getting this baby.

Ummm...my other mental posture that is going through transition is the age difference of the baby. In Russia, babies cannot be adopted earlier than 6 months of age - and most are at least 9 months old. We were going to adopt a 1 year old and a 2 year old. And we were going to have at least 10 months to work on the process, prepare and agonize.

I'm just not used to things working out without the proper amount of agony. So I'm feeling a bit off-balance by this potential, though I'm sure there would be plenty to worry about once we got the baby.

And just for the record, I have abstained from buying anything until we know that this is going to happen...despite the fact that I am dying, dying to get everything set-up and going.

Bleh. I'm going to go sweep the floor. And kiss the dog. And try not to eat.