And She Wore Purple Pants

My husband and I recently attend the annual ACONE Conference.  We attended several workshops, caught up with frineds from support groups, purchased books in the well stocked bookstore (hard to believe there are some books on adoption that I haven’t read yet!), and just enjoyed being around others who were just like us – touched by adoption.

I had to smile when I saw our agency’s booth.  Not only did our social worker have the standard ’social worker hair’ (my husband was amusing himself conducting an informal poll of the social workers at the confernece,) there was a small crowd of people at the table.  All looking longlingly at the photos of children that had been placed, talking earnestly to the director – ‘oh, we will take twins’ – and sneaking chocloate from the candy dish.

Just over 3 years ago my husband and I went to meet with the director of a small adoption agency in Waltham, MA.  She came to the door talking on her cordless phone, and wearing purple jammies – kind of.  Maybe more like balloon pants – remember those?  It was definitely a home office, or a home she works out of anyway; a Waltham townhome jammed up against another, but with plenty of parking in the back.  Snow-clotted walkway, and an invitation to take our wet shoes “there,” please.  So we did.

She anticipated our questions.  She acknowlodged a vibe she had about me from a call over a year ago.  The same vibe carried through to our meeting.  Domestic infant adoption was for us!  She laid out some fees, and general timelines and couched all of her comments with ’but anything can happen.’  Oh those inevitable exceptions!  She showed us the “Birthmother” books from the couple in the Caribbean, the Graphic Designer couple, the scrapbook queen.  She told us that adoptions are generally too expensive, and she has structured her agency to combat that; we would work with a team.  Us.  Her.  A Social Worker.  A facilitator (mostly on the west coast), and the Birthmother they find for us.  That they get to like us from our book.  A book highlighting our hobbies.  Hobbies?  Holy crap, we don’t have any hobbies.  At this point in our life, our hobbies included crying, driving back and forth to the clinic and other various doctor visits, eating out in restaurants, and petting our dog.

That’s ok, she said, because there are 3 things Birthmothers tend to shy away from.  Older couples.  Ugly people.  And sometimes homosexuals.  (her words, not mine)  So young hot straights have it made – hobbies or not?   She kept telling us we would have NO PROBLEM getting picked.  It’s a guarantee; and it would be under or about a year.  And cost only slightly more than 2 cars.  Or half of a luxury car.  Or a garage addition.  Or ten plasma TVs.  But worth every penny.

Thinking about wanting/getting/having a baby/child was so abstract in those days for us.  A fucking week has gone by, and the feeling sinking in then was of purpose and forward momentum and building.  Now behind the salt-rimmed headache of too much crying there is just mist.  Hard to focus.  Are we moving forward?  A GUARANTEE.   We will be parents?  We were so ready to hear those words, just then and from her.  The home study itself costs just about a years’ worth of car payments.  Or 1 and a half plasma TVs.  But it is entirely worth it.

She laid out a scenario where we could get the home study, while working on Donor Egg cycles.  If a cycle works well, we can put the adoption on hold.  Having to “update” our home study once a year, for about the cost of a storm door.  Or half a snow blower per year.  Happy donor cycle works, child comes along.  We can adopt for #2.  More happiness.  Who wouldn’t want that?

The costs have our heads spinning, and my uncle generally somewhat distant, has made a very generous offer to help us with some costs, through my father.  Wouldn’t it be better to allow a family member to extend a generous offer, helping provide for your family, than to bankrupt yourself in the process going it alone?  At the risk of sounding totally obnoxius, I stronly felt at that point that I was due for someone or someting to make this whole process of growing my family a bit easier.

The lady in the purple pants said things were going to be ok.  And I had to belive her.