I am sitting in a hotel room in Milwaukee trying to draft a post for our adoption blog but I cannot seem to draw any connections between written language and emotion.  I have been in a weird place lately and instead of writing for therapy I spend my days in paralysis.  It is a strange and unexplainable place, hence my lack of discussion about it.  Limbo seems inadequate yet appropriate.  See my problem?

To distract myself from my writing or better put as lack there of, I decided to read the book I brought along, the invigorating Communist Manifesto.  This great distraction strongly indicates the writing predicament I am feeling since I voluntarily chose Marxist philopshy over addressing emotion.  I lost interest when I started thinking what Marx would blog about?  When I accidently dropped the book in transition from the chair to couch, a piece of paper floated to the coffee table.  It was clearly old and discolored and appeared to lack any writing until I turned it over and noticed that Mr. Jitters purchaced this book on October 23, 1994.  I hold in my hands a dated reciept that corresponds directly with the date he must have printed inside the cover immediately after purchase.  He is funny that way, always dating things and saving reciepts.  All our family banking can be backdated in an excel file for years with corresponding reciepts. I tend to lack any sense of organization, but he loves me regardless.  What is it that attracts you to your spouse, partner, significant other, or friend? Do you love the things you lack?  The things you desire? Or the things that drive you absolutely mad at the same time?

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Disclaimer: this has a point and is not just dog talk.

We are dog sitting a co-workers pug/rat terrier mix. She is a pampered little dog, but so is our Matisse. The difference is that a small papered dog moves much faster than a 75 pound pampered dog. Two seems pretty easy to handle.

Until, I got a frantic call last night from Mr. Jitter’s that our good friend is in the ER at the hospital where I work with Malaria. (She just got back from Haiti) I sat with her until she got moved up to the ICU – she is sick, really sick. I hate seeing people I care about like that. After she moved upstairs where she will reside for at least 3 days, I went to meet her husband at home who was at that time returning from his grad school exam. He didn’t know what was going on (other than that she was really sick when he left that morning) and I felt for him. Since he will now have more on his hands, I decided to take his standard poodle for a while. His was relieved and now the dogs outnumber the humans at our household.

Two was manageable, but three is a lot. Again, I ask myself, how does Sami do it? She has more dogs than I currently am caring for & she has a newborn. Yikes.

The long awaited point and drawn out connection: How do people have more children than adults or hands for that matter? I cannot handle our current dog to human ratio, so how could I ever manage children? Initially we wanted 2 children. We learned the bastard lesson of life through infertility. That lesson being that you do not have ultimate control over the things you desire to control most. That being said, we came to a conclusion that we would take the children that came our way, whether it be through adoption (yes, you can get multiples….) or some biological fluke. Mr. Jitters and I joked about how much really will change in our lives when we have achieved our numerical family member goals last night before bed as we were fighting for space on our queen mattress between two standard poodles and listening to the faint whimpers of a kenneled pug/terrier who is now sitting on my lap hindering my typing while my boy rests his head on my feet and his poodle friend is squeaking a stuffed carrot.

Don’t worry, this will not turn into a dog blog, nor a mommy blog for that matter, but I needed this experience to remind me that we are really not prepared to best parent a sibling set of different ages. I cannot explain how I came to this conclusion with a dog comparison to our social worker, or anyone for that matter, but I am relieved that Mr. Jitters and I agree that we will be at our best as parents when we can still have a little of ourselves as individuals and as a couple.

I feel a bit selfish & inadequate admitting that. Basically, I am limiting the number of children I want so I can maintain a lifestyle I enjoy. Two means no minivan, vacations are easier and more affordable, zero populations growth, one parent can attend to one child at time. Please tell me your rational for number of children desired or achieved? Has it changed with your experiences? I don’t think I will change my mind, but I am curious how others come to conclusions about similar issues.

I know it is Saturday and nobody reads posts over the weekend, but I did not have time to post this on Friday and you all have to hear read it. If you really want to hear it, I can transpose my voice like a monkey or transformer or many other things – sorry, I have found some funny sites and I need an excuse to send a Monkey Mail to someone who is not sick of them yet. Warning: it is addicting….

So as I was flying around on Friday morning trying to get some work prepared for a presentation I was due for in less than an hour someone at work pulled me aside and said “When you bring your baby home from Ethiopia, you are going to give them a good name…right? Not one of these hard to spell and pronounce foreign names?”

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I have never been a good come back girl. I could compare myself to George and the Jerk Store comment in well timed snarky response to stupid comments. I can think of stuff after the fact, but never on the spot. That is why I had many comments mastered for infertility and could snap off some good ones, for example (yes I did use these – seriously).
1. Oh, you need to lie still and prop with a pillow after, (or other stupid assvice for “something” we all know how to do) …..Oh, I did handstands for a while but after my wrist surgery they got kind of dangerous and I was afraid that I would hurt myself and poor Mr. Jitter’s would be left trying to defend why I broke my neck during…

2. Oh, you are so young, it will happen you just need to wait. …….Well, actually, I age in dog years and since we have been trying for 4 years your time so I have been technically trying for 28 years and that is a heck of a long time, longer than any of your friends who just waited, right?

3. Have you tried prayer. I will be sure to pray for you. ……..Thanks, but why ask God, he couldn’t even get Mary pregnant and had to use immaculate conception.

I was really getting good with my delivery of this wit and then we switched to adoption. Now I need to come up with another stupid list of stupid things stupid people stupidly say so I can respond to them and strut away to give myself a high five for being so awesome.

So, here are some responses I am working on, but they all lack the sharp, sarcastic wit of above and most are really just mean & stupid. Please help me develop a response. I am begging for some snark.

To the question: “When you bring your baby home from Ethiopia, you are going to give them a good name…right? Not one of these hard to spell and pronounce foreign names?”

My proposed responses…..

1. Well, your name is …….. I find that kind of boring and hard to pronounce so it just depends on your perspective.

2. Actually, my husband and I are planning on changing our names also to better fit with our child’s Ethiopian name. The problem is that I cannot decide if I want to be Ang.eli.na Jo.lie or Ma.donna. He is obviously Br.ad Pitt, but I kind of prefer Ma.donna. See our problem?

3. The jerk store called. They are out of you.

Help, please help.

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Note: to figure out how we do feel about name changing in adoption, please check our adoption site….. (this should motivate me to actually get the post proof read….)

Today I ran my first marathon. It was one of my goals by the time I turn 30. The other two were to complete my master’s and have a baby. I tried so hard on one that I totally missed the other. Oh well, life is a crap chute and sometimes you are standing in the wrong place. I am content with 1 for 3.

I trained for a 4:15 finish. I finished in 4:45. Off by 30 minutes, but it was 82 degrees with 70 percent humidity. I am happy. I enjoyed every moment. It is truly a high. One of the best moments was about 5 miles in when I see Mr. Jitter’s standing next to a very familiar face not ever see by me without a Bowtie and a smile. Dr. Bowtie still had a smile, from ear to ear, but ditched the Bowtie for a Sunday wear t-shirt. I jokingly told him to look for me at Twin Cities at our exit appointment, knowing he lived relatively close to the marathon route. He did look for me and he made my day.

This man is amazing. As soon as I spotted him, I ran into his arms (he can now add sweat to the list of other body fluids of mine that he has handled) and yelled that I loved him. I meant it. I adore him. He could retire. He could make more money. He easily could have looked at our test results and turned us away. But, he didn’t. Not only is he an amazing and award winning fertility specialist, but he is human.

Mr. Jitters waited until the end of the race to tell me that as I ran away he wiped tears from his eyes. I know he wanted so badly to help us get pregnant and he feels our frustrated as much as us. His wife was with him and I know I told her thank you for sharing him with us all – he is amazing. I want her to know how much I do really appreciate it. He works almost 7 days a week – long hours – and he took part of his day off to support a patient in another less traditional way.

After 4 years of trying to get pregnant, I didn’t reach my goal, but I didn’t stand still either. Believe me, Dr. Bowtie will be getting an invite to our Champagne Toast when we return from Ethiopia with our baby. Not only was he part of our process, he is family now.

I want to scream.  I am in the process of composing my adoption self-study and I caught a pretty bad case of writer’s block.  It is nothing you all can help with since it involves my life and I should be able to answer questions about my life, yet I am at a loss for words.  I guess I will be pulling an all nighter since Mr. Jitter’s and I made an agreement that this paperwork will be dropped off at our agency tomorrow morning.

Since I am so spent and I can hardly compose this post, I need to switch directions.

About a pressing fashion debate that is unfolding at our house……

Now that it is fall, I want to break out my jean jacket.  It is cropped and shows off my shrinking marathon training (5 days away is the big run) bottom.  I bought the acid black denim so I could wear it with many things from work to weekend.  The one thing I refuse to wear it with is denim.

Now, Mr. Jitter’s, who is usually a fashionable man in his pocket squares, layers, & event the occasional ascot, insists that I can mix the denims.

I disagree.  Strongly disagree.  Very, very strongly disagree. In fact, I have a one item per outfit denim limit.  With the exception of a denim jacket, the denim item must be on my lower quadrant.  In other words, no denim button up shirts, no denim vests, and absolutely no denim scrunchies.

So, please, tell me, would you mix or double up on the denims???

It is artistic talent from the canvas of DD. That is her photo of me & my poodle at my house when she was visiting. Can you recognize me from my thighs? I am also wearing one of those maternity style shirts that I swore I would never but & even have a post drafted about, but since she caught it on film I will admit I do love them.

Quite cool, huh!

Who would have know that I would find one of my best friends on the internet. Here’s something even better…… she is even cooler IRL.

I just got back from recruiting in IA and I have a whopper post drafted so check back soon. The internet was “out” so I could not post it, but I did not want to loose the moment so I drafted it in word.

I am grateful to be home and back in 2007.

Just got a call from Mr. Jitter’s. 

FIL had his 18 month cancer scan today and it came back clear. 

I am so happy I am shaking.

Please join me in a celebratory hoot n’ holla.