Biometrics

Friday morning I drove up the Syracuse, to the Immigration & Naturalization Office to get my fingerprints scanned. Hopefully the FBI accepts them (I've had problems in the past with my rolled fingerprints - my ridges aren't very deep).

If they don't accept them, they will send a letter out a letter this week and I'll go back to Syracuse. If they're accepted, my background check moves forward. The last piece of the process.

I still need Bubbles' reference letter -- I forgot to get an original signed copy when I was in Baltimore last week. And after my trip next weekend, I will schedule a time for my friend at work to go with me to the doctor's office to get my medical form signed and notarized.

I found a website that will be a good model to follow for my fund-raiser. I need to pull my "team" together to figure out the logistics. I'm trying not to think about how length I still have to wait.

I guess one thing at a time.

Art Imitating Life (or life's dreams)

"Watch, you're going to get pregnant and then meet the man of your dreams."

I can't tell you how many people said that to me over the course of the last three years. Little did I know that a. it would not happen, and b. they would make a movie about it.



This is one movie I will NOT be seeing. I'm a masochist in a lot of way, but not this one. Not this time.

Reinventing Ellie

I just read through a blog post from four years ago, about gaining weight over Christmas. That was before the neurosis about exercising and eating got the best of me, before I took a break from blog.

It was good to get back in that frame of mind, when I really thought about what I put in my mouth and how much I moved during the day. I'm getting back to that point. I (perhaps foolishly) started an actual diet this week. I hate that word, I hate the negative connotation associated with it. I prefer healthy food choices. Healthy lifestyle changes.

But this week, to get me back into that frame of mind, to get me motivated right off the bat, I started what is called "the four-day diet."

It was restrictive, it was hard. I know I wasn't eating enough calories for how much I was working out, but at the end of the first four days, I'm down six pounds. It was enough to make me aware of when I reached for food when I wasn't hungry, it was enough to help me keep track of portions. It made me make a conscious effort to include vegetables every day.

And the six pounds -- mostly water weight I know -- were enough. I got a new middle number. I will follow the next four days, and after that, I will use the following sets of four days as a guidepost, but I know I need more calories. I know given my typical 45-60 minutes of cardio plus resistance training, I need to eat more.

My vow, after the next four-day cycle, is to only weigh myself once a week. (I've already gotten into the habit of once or twice a day -- bad Ellie!) To work out five days a week -- without fail, even if some days are not as high intensity as others.

I took a picture of myself in my skivvies the other day. And I have pictures from my birthday weekend in Baltimore. Both will serve as guide posts. And just like celebrities who endorse a weight-loss product, I will post the before picture, but only after I have a good "during" picture to go next to it. And that will -- eventually -- go for my actual weight. Once I've lost an amount I feel comfortable with, I will post that too.

If for nothing else, but to keep me honest. To keep me going.

And the rest of Baltimore

Friday evening was low-key, gearing up for spa day and going out the next day. I jumped on FB to send J an email -- he wanted my address so he can send me a couple of autographed items he has for me. And then I noticed that we're not friends anymore. Interesting.

First I was pissed, and then I laughed. I was friends with him about a month ago when I posted on his wall that I was sorry I missed his phone call the night before. He removed it, and then must have unfriended me. HA! It actually made my day.

Saturday was a fabulously girly day -- manicure, pedicure, lunch, a little shopping (including a LaPurla bra for moi), back to the spa for massage and facial. Then a shower, make-up, dressing, and out to dinner at the Capital Grille.

I can't even describe how delicious the food was (12-year-aged balsamic vinegar over fresh mozzarella!) or how great the service was. At one point, Bubbles looked at me and said, "that guy's checking you out."

I looked over a mid-50-year-old sitting with his wife and another couple, and caught him looking. I smiled over my beer glass. Several times throughout the night, we made eye contact.

Really? Even without trying, without talking, without flirting -- the married man magnet works? After they were finished the wives headed to the bar while the men waited for the bill, and sure enough, he came over. "Hello ladies, special occasion?"

Bubbles immediately said, "it's her birthday!"

He took my hand in both of his and wished me a happy birthday.

I shook my head when he left. Perhaps it was the two large bottles of beer I had consumed, the nostalgia of being in Baltimore, or the fact that I was suddenly 40, I looked at Bubbles and said, "he wasn't ugly, he was fairly attractive, why can't I find a guy like that? A single guy. I have no problem with the age thing...is it really that hard?"

She patted my hand -- there were no words.

We headed to a bar after dinner, and now I know -- or remember -- why I don't go to bars anymore. It was crowded, people were obnoxiously drunk and bumping into me. Guys were hitting on Bubbles left and right. I was ready to go after an hour. But the night was still young. So as we were walking to the car, Bubbles said one word. "Boobies?"

I looked at her and smiled. "Boobies." We headed off the Hustler Club for a late-night drink and a little debouchery. New beer in one hand, fistful of ones in the other, we settled down near a stage and clanked our bottles to my 40th birthday and enjoyed the looks on the men's faces as they wished their girlfriends/wives were as cool as we are.

From a long day, a filling dinner, and just being over tired, even after three shots, I wasn't drunk. I think I was beyond it. We closed the Club. I can't remember the last time I was out at 2:00am, but here I was.

I had to drive home the next day, but was so grateful that I took Monday off. It made the five-hour drive that much more tolerable.

And so I turned 40 -- though no one we told over the course of the weekend believed me. Even the esthetician put my skin at 29 to 32. Thank God for good genes and sunscreen.

I turned 40, and while I may not want to stay out all night, I know I still can. And while the men who frequent bars have no use for me, still the older man is still wanting some of Ellie. Again, if only that older gentleman weren't married. I guess one thing at a time, right?

The fact that I have a positive attitude about all this is amazing. I'm not going to over-analyze or wonder why.

Here's to my first week in my 40s.

Being 40 Makes Me Wiser

I'm in Baltimore for a birthday bonanza weekend. The 40s started out great and made me realize that with friends like these, I don't need no sitnkin' man (okay maybe I still do for some things).

My staff threw me a surprise birthday party during the day -- party disguised as a budget meeting. And then what I thought was going to be just a couple girlfriends turned into a whole group taking me out to dinner. And Bubbles contacted them all to let them know what spa we would be going to over the weekend and I got more than $100 in gift certificates to put toward spa day.

Thursday I headed to Baltimore to see a high school friend and then T & S and my god-daughters. I had each block of day planned perfectly -- seeing all my Howard County friends while I was on that side of town, including breakfast with J. Well, planned breakfast. We all know how it will turn out.

And true to form, on my birthday he texted to see if instead of breakfast, we could meet for drinks on Friday. I told him yes, but that I would be in Mt. Washington by then. He said, no problem, will text you then.

Thursday, as I was pulling into Laurel to see previously mentioned high school friend, he texted to see if we could meet in Columbia. We went back and forth, me giving him my entire itinerary, and basically showing him (without spelling it out) that it would be ridiculous for me to from Howard County on Friday morning, downtown the museum, to Lutherville to meet a friend, and back to Howard County to meet him, and then back to Mount Washington to stay with Bubbles. Was there someplace in the middle?

He texted back, how about Catonsville? I finally had to spell it out to him. It was stupid and selfish of him to expect me to do that. It wasn't the 25 or so miles each way, it was that it involved Friday afternoon Baltimore beltway traffic. Each way!

And for him to suggest Catonsville as the middle! The hard part would be over. I'd be done with the beltway, I might as well have met him in Columbia. I told him that it wouldn't work.

And so, for the first time, in a long time, I said no to J. And it felt good. No walking all over me. No one-sided friendship. I would have done that drive for any number of friends -- mostly because I know that they wouldn't have expected me to. He expected it. Like it's some sort of right, that I have nothing better to do than to drive to him.

Not this time. Not anymore.

And so halfway into my Baltimore weekend, I'm feeling good. I'm feeling wise. Not old.

This Time Last Year

Happy birthday (almost) to me. I like to think of my birthday as my New Year's. It's a time to be reflective, it's a time to think about the last year, and a time to think about the coming year and all I want to accomplish.

Same as last year -- I've spent the past year focusing on trying to get pregnant. And same as last year -- I will spend the next year focusing on much of the same. Although the difference is, by the time my 40th birthday rolls around, I will know one way or another....I will have a baby of my own, or I will be working on adopting.

And by the time my 40th birthday rolls around (unless I've just given birth in the past few months), I want to be back in my skinny clothes. I want to get rid of this pudgy stomach and muffin top. I want to look the way I used to in a pair of jeans.

And I hope that by the time my 40th birthday rolls around, I will be happy turning 40, that I will accept 40 with grace, honor and happiness.

Having accomplished at least one of the goals above will go a long way in helping me meet 40 with these virtues.

I wrote that a year ago tonight. I do not have a baby of my own. I don't have that reflection I want when I'm wearing a pair of jeans. I still have the pudgy stomach and muffin top. But I do know that I'm adopting. I do know that in less than two years, I will have a baby.

I don't just know it in my heart, but I know it. I've got an expanding file folder of paperwork, bank statements and credit card receipts to remind me. I got my passport the other day and today I received my appointment notice with Homeland Security for finger printing.

And so on the eve of my 40th birthday, I can only look forward. I can't look back at what could have been. At what should have been. I remember what FG said at the one support group meeting I went to. "None of us is promised anything."

I will spend tomorrow evening with some of my best friends in town. And on Thursday, I will head to Baltimore for the weekend and some of my best friends ever. A high school friend. Museum friends. A Rochester friend. And Bubbles!

And on Monday, I start the new me. I start my "MILF training." :) I begin working out and watching everything I eat. And weighing myself and weighing my food. And watching out that I don't become the person I became four years on the inside, but working my ass off (literally) to become the person I became on the outside.

Happy birthday to me. I won't let 40 get me down. I will own it. I will embrace it. There are only good things to come.

Sometimes my friends just over-whelm and humble me beyond words

From Bubbles, for my dossier....

To whom it may concern:

I am writing on behalf of Ellie Lincoln, my closest friend of nearly 10 years. I met Ellie when I began educational consulting work at her institution. I immediately respected her as a professional and we soon became friends. Although we now live several hundred miles apart, our friendship is still very vibrant and strong. We speak several times a week, she responds to my emails promptly, and we travel to visit each other several times a year. She never misses a special event, or a chance to support me in difficult times. I have come to depend on her strength and wisdom in my life. This commitment to those around her speaks to the heart of Ellie’s desire to be a mother.

Throughout the years I’ve observed her devotion to those she loves, family and friends alike. This unwavering selflessness and sincere care for others will make her the most devoted mother, especially to a child that is adopted. While she has tried to have a child of her own, she never discounted the idea of adoption, and made it clear that the opportunity to raise and love a child is the ultimate blessing, no matter how it came into her life. She truly longs for the chance to provide love and care for a child.

She’s met with other parents who’ve adopted and she’s well read on the challenges facing adoption of ethnic children by American families. I can assure you that a child placed with her will always be loved, respected, and nurtured. Her single and sole priority will be her child. Ellie is also surrounded by a strong and supportive group of family and friends, her child would have a large group of people who would also be there to support and nurture them. This child would be so special to so many people, myself included.

I feel privileged to have been able to be a part of Ellie’s journey to parenthood. It has been a very difficult journey for her, but her commitment has been steadfast. Her faithfulness in this endeavor has been inspiring for me. She has overcome so much to be a mother, and I am hopeful that there is a child out there, meant to be a part of her life.

Thank you for this opportunity to speak on behalf of my beloved friend.

Sincerely,
Bubbles

An Officer but Maybe Not a Gentleman

I haven't heard from Chris since Las Vegas. That was the end of October. The day the Yankees won the pennant. The day I got my second tattoo. Before I become the interim director at my job. Before I tried to carry an embryo created with another woman's egg.

I haven't heard from Chris, and honestly, I haven't wanted to. That's not to say I haven't thought about him every now and then. I have. Clearly I have, or I wouldn't be writing this.

But I've thought about him in the way that I let that Friday night in Vegas seep into my thoughts as I fall asleep. I thought about him when I thought about Opening Day, and how we always talked baseball. And I've thought about how I haven't heard from him.

Something must have finally gotten to him. Something must have finally spooked him straight. I always let him be in control of our relationship -- and that is to say, he was the one with the risks, he was the one with something to lose, I was just having fun.

And so he was the one who (almost) always called. He was the one who would take a break for a few months and then suddenly appear out of the blue with his cocky "hey there" on the other end of the phone. He was the one who always initiated.

I hope he's happy. I hope he doesn't regret me in his life. And if he does regret me, I hope he can see the responsibility he owns in that.

I will probably always think about him. Funny enough, I don't miss him.

My Adoption Statement

I mailed the paperwork to immigration on Saturday -- and from my tracking slip, I know it arrived yesterday. The "up to 90 days" wait begins.

I went to the Sheriff's office on Friday and got my letter. It was easy. I handed over my license. Less than 10 minutes and $10 later, I had my form.

I received my state certified form today.

Just waiting on Bubbles' letter of recommendation and having to take a colleague with me to the doctor's office to get that form notarized (by someone whose commission doesn't expire this year).

The final piece, though it's done and only needs to be notarized, is my adoption statement. It reads:

I knew from my mid-teenage years that I wanted to be a mother. Pregnancy and adoption were both options for me—it didn’t matter how I got there, just that I achieved my dream to be a mom.

I had hoped to fall in love and get married, but that hasn’t happened for me. It’s something that I’ve accepted, but I cannot accept not becoming a mother. I have so much love to give a child.

In April 2007, I began researching adoption. I was drawn to Ethiopia for a number of reasons.
• I have a great respect for the culture, history, and traditions of the country and look forward to teaching my child about his birth country. I plan to incorporate Ethiopian holidays as part of our traditions. While I once tried to have the Christmas tree down before the first of the year, it will stay up so that we can include it in our celebration of Genna on January 7 with traditional games and food.
• One of my dearest friends adopted a little boy from Ethiopia in 2006. I lived the journey vicariously through her and was overjoyed when she brought Robbie home. I look forward to raising my child, with my friend as my mentor, and for Robbie to be a “big brother” to my child.
• The possibility of being able to meet and connect with the birth family is a very powerful opportunity for me. I would welcome the chance to thank the birth family and to assure them of my love for and devotion to their child—our child. It will be such an important moment and one that I will share later with my child. That connection will continue as I send photos and updates to the birth family. It’s a gift that not all adoptive families are able to experience.

I have a book that contains basic Amharic words and phrases. Just as I will teach my child colors and numbers in English, we will also learn in Amharic. I hope that eventually my child and I can travel back to Ethiopia so that we can experience the country together.

My extended family and friends, who have been a great support system throughout my journey to becoming a mother, are already embracing the new traditions that will be brought to our large holiday gatherings. As one friend said to me, “It’s so amazing how small the world truly is. Your family will make it that much smaller and more connected.”

I’m lucky to live in a very diverse city that has both a major university and a mid-sized college. Each of these institutions has international students and cultural clubs and organizations that sponsor public events and activities that we will attend. There are also a number of people in the city who are of Ethiopian heritage, including two professors who work with me.

In addition to the families of Ethiopian heritage, there are many local and regional families who have adopted children from Ethiopia. I have joined the network of these families and hope to organize annual get-togethers, where we can bring our families together and our children can connect with each other.

My home is located about ten minutes south of Ithaca. It is a two-floor, two-bedroom townhouse. My child will have his own room with a window that overlooks a large yard and acres of woods. At any given moment, he will be able to see many varieties of birds, as well as deer and wild turkey.

I hope I can live up to the dreams the birth mother has for her child. I can’t thank her enough for her unselfishness in allowing me to raise her child—to be a mother. She is not only giving her child a better life; she is also giving me a better life.

Into the Home Stretch

I'm still waiting for my home study copies -- Renee said she mailed them out on Tuesday. I should have had them today, hopefully tomorrow and then I can mail my immigration forms out.

My boss gave me his letter confirming my employment, years of service and pay. I got my birth certificate in the mail the other day. I finished my adoption statement. I received one of the two reference letters (specific to Ethiopia) yesterday.

I'm going to the Sheriff's office tomorrow. I still need to call the doctor's office. And I'm awaiting the state certified form to come back from Albany.

I'm still in good shape to be down with all I can do before I turn 40 on the 13th (or go to Baltimore on the 15th).

It will be interesting how I handle the waiting game. Right now, I have tasks. I have excel spread sheets. I have an expandable folder. I have things that I'm needing to get done. Once everything is mailed out, what will I do. What will I focus on?

I'm not a patient person. Three years of fertility treatment didn't really help that. I'll have to do my best. Enjoy the summer. Enjoy my friends. Take some road trips. Save money. And continue to work out like a machine.

The Blame Game

It seems like a day cannot go by without an announcement from someone that they are either pregnant or have given birth. Every single day. And I'm not exaggerating. I have a moment of angst, of pity, of sadness....and then I do what I do. I smile, I send a note of congratulations, ask when the due date is or when can I see a picture of the little bundle.

And life goes on. And this happens or that happens. And some random happening brings my niece to the conversation....and I feel resentful.

This morning, sometime between dreaming and being fully awake, I realized that I am taking out all of my resentment for pregnant people on her. I am taking out my hurt feelings for lack of support from my family on her. Unfairly, I readily admit. But I am directing it all to her.

Because of the way she handled her wedding.

Because of the way she reacted when I told her that if I got pregnant next month, I would have a baby for her wedding ("you better not steal my thunder").

Because of the way she told me she was pregnant.

Because of the way I specifically reached out to all my siblings and my older nieces, to let them know I was trying to get pregnant. That I was telling everyone early because I wanted, and might need, their support. And then never heard another word from the majority of them.

Because of the way the majority of them never sent me a note or reached out with their sympathies when I lost the only pregnancy I had.

And she is the symbol of it all. She is where I direct my anger and resentment.

Closure and Closer

In my head (where I do my best writing sometimes) I've been trying to sum up the past three years into one post. To just sort of put it to bed and be done with it. I'm just not sure if it's possible. I guess all the more than 225 posts about fertility treatment and wondering about adoption can't be summarized into one 250-word post, can it?

I am feeling myself move away from it. Little by little. I've managed to turn my attention towards getting the dossier completed and working on me. So far so good. I've made it to the gym twice this week (after being out of town for work on Monday and Tuesday) and have really kicked my ass with the workouts.

I'm keeping track, informally, of what I'm eating. I know that slowly I'll have less mouth hunger, only want to eat at meal time, will crave good-for-me foods. I'm giving myself until after my birthday trip to Baltimore to get it out of my system, and then will keep track in much more formal way.

The dossier is getting closer to being completed. There are so many annoyances though. I got a lot of the paperwork notarized, only to realize that the notary's commission expires in a month. It can't be expired when it goes to Ethiopia, so I had to print it all out again, fill out the forms and find another notary.

Luckily there are several on campus, and after a phone call found one who's commission doesn't expire until 2011. However, I also needed to get a medical clearance form signed by my doctor and notarized. And after I picked up that form this morning, I saw that the notary's commission expires in July. I'm not sure if that will work.

I also have a form that needs to be sent to Albany to be state certified. But first I needed to go to the County Clerk's office and have it county certified. Tomorrow I will call the local police department to get a letter stating that I am a "citizen in good standing." (All my friends who have adopted assured me that they will know what I'm talking about.)

Nothing too hard. Just annoying. I think the hardest part will be my two-page statement. I've worked on it -- and will show it to my local social worker tomorrow when we meet to see what she thinks. I will post the entire thing when it's finished, but this was the first thing I wrote and it's how I'm planning to end it:

I hope I can live up to the dreams the birth mother has for her child. I can't thank her enough for her unselfishness in allowing me to raise her child, to be the mother. Not only is she giving her child a better life, she is giving me a better life.

The Dossier

My training requirements are complete, which means the home study is done. I am just waiting for a final, notarized copy to mail with my immigration forms to Homeland Security. Once I have that clearance, the only thing left is my dossier -- the official file that will go to Ethiopia.

My goal is to have the dossier complete and mailed out before my birthday in the middle of April. Everything needs to be notarized, one thing needs to be state certifies -- but other than the annoyance of that, it's pretty cut and dry.

Several forms that are already in the packet that I need to sign; and then: a letter from my boss stating my length of employment, job title and how long I've worked there; photos of my and my house, inside and out; an original birth certificate with seal (I ordered it on Friday); a form signed by my doctor attesting to my good health; a letter from my local police that I'm a citizen in good standing; and two letters of reference.

The hardest piece of it all will be my statement of reason for adopting a child from Ethiopia -- two pages about my commitment to the child and his Ethiopian culture, my community's acceptance of an Ethiopian child and my reason for adopting.

I've started to write it in my head, over and over. And so many times, I get hung up on how it will sound to a stranger. Will it be convincing enough. Will they not like what I write?

As I have been reading through information about Ethiopia, I've made notes. I love the idea that it's a mostly Christian country, so I won't be raising my child in a religion that he most likely wouldn't have been raised in. Unless he was abandoned, there will some family and I will be able meet the birth family and to send them updates. I get to share the amazing journey of being a mother in a very unique way. And I get to thank his family for that opportunity, and I get to share the connection with them with my child.

It will take me the next three weeks to my birthday to figure out just the words for that part of my dossier. There are thousands of children in that country who need a mother -- and I'm just one woman who needs a child to make me a mother. I hope I can express how much this opportunity that will be entrusted to me really and truly means.

First Pedicure of the Season

I got up this morning with a list of things to do, which could have been done in any order. I opted to do the post office and then everything else after the mall. I could have gone to the bank, could have done my grocery shopping or Kohl's, could have checked on Jill's cats -- any or all of the above before my pedicure.

This is important because all of those things enabled me to be at the mall and talk to the nice pregnant girl while we both got pedicures.

She commented how good the back massage felt. I asked her when she was due. "July, but I could go earlier because I'm carrying twins."

An inner voice, but I ignored it. I went back to making my grocery list, she talked to who I assumed was the baby daddy. He left to go smoke. I turned back to her, "do you know what you're having?"

"Identical boys."

Inner voice got much louder. It couldn't be, could it? "Wow, congratulations."

"Thanks. I have four other children." And then I could have repeated the ages and names of her children along with her. "Four, three, two and just over one." And then she showed me pictures of kids I've seen before. Kids I knew about. The baby I have actually held.

Yup. Leave it to me to be sitting next to and making small talk with the DSS mother I wrote about last week.

Are you shitting me?

When I called Bubbles to tell her, she had the best response, as only I would expect Bubbles to have. "What a fun pedicure for you. Want me to invite J's wife along for spa day?"

Adoption Update

I started the week doing 10 hours of online training, necessary for my adoption application. It was over-whelming and made me have doubts. I realize they want to know about every possibility, but to read about it all at once. Holy shit.

Every medical problem, every regression or attachment issue, every disciplinary problem....all over the course of two days. I called my friend who adopted from Ethiopia three years ago.

"Robbie's okay, right?"

She talked me off the edge. Most of the issues I read about happen to children who are institutionalized or older when they are adopted. But they have to cover their ass and tell me everything.

Once I talked to her, I felt a little better. The whole idea of adopting, of being responsible for someone else's baby, for being given another life is a lot to absorb. And it's so much more than just getting pregnant and giving birth.

While I know that I will love my adopted child as my own, will feel that way about him or her -- when it's all abstract, the baby to be named later doesn't feel like mine yet.

So I have the first part of my application in. I am awaiting instructions from the placement agency for the last of my pre-adoption education. I spoke with my social worker at the placement agency today and she said she'll be getting that out to me. Once all the education is done, my home study is complete and I can send in my immigration paperwork to Homeland Security.

At the same time, I can begin putting my dossier together. Depending on how long the immigration paperwork takes, I could have everything in by the end of April. And so from that point, from dossier to referral (the actual paper that says, this is your baby, do you want him?) is an estimated 12 to 18 months.

Still a long time to wait. But that's really when the bulk of the money needs to be paid, so it gives me 12 to 18 months to save, to raise, to borrow.

It's starting to feel like it's going to happen. Little by little.

Creepy McCreeperson

I'm the cute single girl in my housing complex. I give all of my neighbors a plate of Christmas cookies every year. And I thank the male neighbors who shovel my sidewalk with cookies every now and then.

And regardless of whether they are 70 or 50, I sort of lump those two snow shovelers in the same category as old married neighbor. However, I've been given pause lately to that. And it's kind of creepy.

The younger of the two "old married neighbors" recently friended me on facebook. Without thinking I accepted it. And after I did, I regretted it. But I put him in that category of people from high school that are on my friends list and I never talk to.

The next day, I got a message from him. "Your hair looks fabulous. You look great." I had recently gotten my hair chopped (did I not mention that here? I cut 10 inches off last week.)

OK....there was a picture on my page of my new hair. And maybe he just doesn't get that he could have written on my wall.

But I was thinking that I needed to figure out how to limit his access to my page. Apparently, I didn't do it soon enough. Yesterday I got another message from him. The subject line was "Hmmmmmm."

The message: Nice tattoo, the things you can learn about your neighbors.. My lips are sealed...

I was immediately creeped out. Inappropriate. Way inappropriate. No longer was he getting limited access. He was getting cock blocked. I blocked him and now I do not exist on FB to him.

Hopefully that's the end of the story. See what I get for trying to be nice and neighborly. No more. I'm going back to my motto of "if I would sit on a bar and sing karaoke in front of you (or if I have), you get to be my FB friend."

"Mr. Big" Was too Generous of a Nickname

When I talk about J on this blog, I refer to him as....well J. On my naughty blog and in general when Bubbles and I are talking about him (when I'm not using a derogatory name), I refer to him as Mr. Big. He's my Big. Think Sex and the City.

Last week, he texted me at midnight. I was in an "I don't care if I'm bad" mood and responded. Amazingly, even though he was in North Carolina on a golfing trip with his buddies, we kept the 15-minute text conversation on a nothing but platonic level. And it was kind of nice.

The next day I tweeted something like, "so good to talk with Big last night, even if he woke me up ;)"

He texted me later and asked "So am I supposed to be Big?"

"Yea, like in Sex and the City."

"I'm confused."

"You're my Mr. Big. The one I can always count on, always there, but no commitment"

"When you say things like that, it really bothers me. I thought you were my friend."

WTF. I didn't even know how to respond to it. Of course, this is all over text and I was in the middle of getting my taxes done, so I couldn't even call him.

"It's losing something in translation. It's a good thing. Just know that it was nice to talk to you last night."

"Sorry I'm being sensitive"

"No problem. Sorry to confuse you."

"I was probably over-reacting"

"We're good?"

"Sure."

I couldn't believe he was so sensitive. Good lord, I didn't know I was dealing with Chris, who never wanted drama, who after sleeping with me for nearly seven years still wouldn't say that we had any sort of relationship.

It'll be interesting to see when I hear from him again. I'm going to Baltimore next month, and I will need to touch base with him (he has some autographed items for me for whatever Bubbles and I do to raise me some baby money). I'm thinking I'll wait until the week before and ask him if I can pick it up at his office, or if he can drop it off at the museum and I'll get them when I see Johnny Z.

Not going to ask if he wants to have breakfast. Not going to ask if he wants to meet for a drink. I think it's best that I stick to my "no more J" rule. Because really, even if we did plan for something, what are the chances that he would actually follow through? No commitment, remember.

Plan B Underway

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It's the Only One I've Got

It's hard to want to be good to my body, when it hasn't exactly been good to me. But as my friend (and former trainer) said to me tonight, "it's the only one you've got." And so I decided that this week, I will work out as I feel like it. At the intensity and for however long I want.

Next week is spring break and the gym will be closed. Hopefully it will be warm out and I can walk a couple nights after work or at least during the day. After spring break, I need to find it inside of me again. I need to start to think about what I'm eating, start to work out hard.

That will give me two months before the end of the school year, two months to try to lose some of the baby weight. Two months to kick myself in the ass and get into a routine that will be easy to maintain over the summer when I won't have student trainers here to keep me motivated and make me feel accountable if I don't go to the gym.

I hope I'm there. There hasn't been a day since my negative test that I haven't cried a little. And after being at work all day, after trying to remain upbeat and "on," it's hard to want to do anything after work but come home and be a vegetable. That's what I need to get rid of, that's what I need to overcome.

But one day at a time. Tonight....a hard workout on the treadmill, with intervals of incline, speed and with weights. I couldn't do the whole thing, but I think having that as something to shoot for, something to play my own little workout mind games with, will help.

The Week in Review

It's been a weird week. My emotions have been on a roller coaster, mostly down. I'm sad. That's really the only way to describe it. And I know that I will get over it eventually -- or at least, if not over it, it will become a little more bearable each day.

I started to think about my birthday and how I'm going to be 40 in a little over a month. Never in a million years did I think 40 would look like this. But here it is. Where a few weeks ago, I wasn't making any plans for 40, because I so thought I would be pregnant, now I have plans to make.

So I'm going to Baltimore the weekend after my birthday, for my usual round of visiting. And Bubbles is making all sorts of plans -- I just have to show up. A day at the spa, fancy dinner out. And lots of drinks. Finally, something to look forward to.

My friend at work (who has several children through foster care) told me about identical twin boys to be born this summer. The mother has four toddlers (4, 3, 2 and 13 months) -- all in foster care. DSS isn't sure what the plan is for the babies. As Charlie was telling me, the woman who has the other four kids can't take two more. And the mother, if she doesn't have her babies right from birth to bond with them, doesn't want them.

She wants her 4-, 3-, and 2-year olds back, but not the baby. Because he was taken away from her as soon as he was born. She doesn't feel a connection with him. She doesn't have any bond with him.

So I called DSS, one of the women who taught the classes I was in last spring, and left a message. It was very generic -- just that I wanted to touch base, let her know where things were in my life, etc. She passed me off to someone else, who specifically handles adoption.

And when the adoption guy and I finally connected, I asked very specific questions about this woman who is pregnant with twins and doesn't have custody of her other four children. I knew more about the situation than he did. He didn't have a whole lot to say. They're not sure of what the plan is when she gives birth, if the twins can't go with the other four, the goal is still family reunification, can I do that?

I was honest. I told him no. These women give birth to throw away children, I'm not going to help them get their kids back. But knowing a lot about the situation, knowing how she feels after giving birth and giving up immediate custody, I'm willing to take the chance that she would get her kids back. He appreciated my honesty, and of course because of the business he's in, he can't agree with me.

I understand the premise of DSS. I understand why we have Child Protective Services. I do. I get it. And I understand that people makes mistakes, that there are circumstances.

But in the case of the kids that Charlie has -- a 4-year-old and a 3-year-old who have been in Charlie's care for more than two and a half years; and their 2-year-old twin sisters who have been with Charlie all but six months of their lives. (not to mention the three teenagers she has lost permanent custody of and who live with their grandmother). And then this other case -- four toddlers and now soon-to-be-born twins. They've been in foster care since last January. The baby has never been in the custody of his mother.

It's a fucked up world we live in. I can't get pregnant, I can't have a child, and these women are getting pregnant more often than Michelle Duggar. Explain the logic. Explain the fairness.

And my frustration is more than at these women, it's at the system, as well. So my conversation with the adoption guy, after he said he would talk with the woman I had called in the first place, I asked what my next steps should be. "Will you call me after you talk to her? Will she call me? Or should I check in with you or her in, say two weeks?"

He didn't know how to answer that. He's not sure what the birth plan is for the twins. "Well, they're due to be born in June. And they're twins, so she may go early...." My voice was trailing off, because I needed to keep my composure, but when the fuck were they planning to figure it out. It's March.

"Yeah, I'm really not sure what to tell you. We'll keep in mind that you're interested in these boys, and add you to the list."

And so that's that? WTF? No wonder people have the opinion of DSS that they have. I know they are understaffed, underpaid, over burdened. But here I am, wanting to do something, to help two children.

It's a frustrating place to be, for sure.