Rapidly Reaching the End of My Rope

What is turning out to be the most hideous part of the adoption process is what, for "most" people, would probably be either the most fun/interesting/enjoyable aspect. And yet, I find myself wishing that there was a way to simply opt for another interview or comprehensive exam of some sort if it would just get me out of having to actually put together 8 - 10 scrapbook pages that are somehow going to encourage birthmothers to think, "Gosh! I want my child to be raised by these people."

Sadly, the "portfolio" is a requirement. So I have spent the last two months scouring the house for photos of us that are semi-recent and, if at all possible, don't make us look like we're suffering from some sort of mental challenge. Sadly, whenever there is a bright light, like, oh, a flash, Tim closes his eyes. It's a Pavlovian response, I think, and so the majority of our "action" shots (read: photos that are something other than everyone in the room seated in nice, orderly rows, looking at the camera and smiling big) have Tim grinning with his eyes shut. Either that or he's manfully attempting to give everyone else in the photo bunny-ears but managing to mis-judge the height needed for said bunny-ears creating, at best, devil horns and at worst, the impression that he just really likes to have his arms extended. And then there's the fact that while for most people the camera adds ten-ish pounds, for me it seems to add about fifty. Either that or I am seriously deluded about how I look. Thus, after putting aside all of those photos, I was left with a whole pile of photos of the dogs. And wedding pictures.

I considered making the portfolio pages consist only of photos of us from our pre-infertility days, but then considered that, should we go on to meet the birthparents in person, they would be rightfully confused at the discrepancies.

Thus I called my mom, who harasses us at every turn with her camera, refusing to see that while in her mind's eye my sister and I are both still cute little four-year-olds, in reality, we have both grown and grown and grown in all dimensions. She was happy to send me photos, some of which were kind of ok.

At this point, I had approximately 1 page of the 8 to 10 required pages. I figured I could do one page of wedding photos. Another page of the dogs. But that still left a minimum of 5 pages unaccounted for - with nary a photo to even begin to create some sort of theme.

And then, like a little ray of sunshine directly from God, we got a random call out of the blue indicating that there was possibly a birthmother who was going to choose us on the merits of our letter alone. So, even though I walked around chiding myself not to get my hopes up and reminding myself that we've been down this road two times before (or 3, depending on who you talk to and how they count), and how it's not a done deal until, well, until the adoption is finalized honestly, but at least until the revocation period is over and certainly not before the baby is born, I still managed to inflate my hopes quite high. Because, well, if she chose us I wouldn't have to finish these wretched profiles.

Thus commenced another of the longest ten days of my life. Where you jump every time the phone rings and you think that you really need something to keep your mind off of things. And, God is faithful and proceeded to give me plenty to keep my mind off it like a sprained foot and the stomach flu and so on and so forth. Sadly, even though she had at first wanted a young couple with no kids she ended up deciding on an older couple who already had children. But before I could get too upset about it, I was pummeled by the reminder (literally, pummeled - via the radio and my own personal reading and, well, just about everywhere I turned someone was saying it) to "Be still and know that I am God."

And so it hasn't been as heartbreaking as the first two times when we weren't chosen because I don't scrapbook or because the birthmom misunderstood how interstate adoptions work even though we tried to explain it, her parents tried to explain it, and her lawyers tried to explain it. At the end of the day, this has and will continue to work out for the best.

Except that now I have to finish the dang profile pages.

So last night, simply ready to just! be! done! already! I threw together three more pages - made Tim come away from his homework and set up the camera to take a "please don't let this look posed" action shot of us here and there. And I printed them out and put them in the book as a mock up and had Tim look them over. Tim, who I have been begging for input. Tim, whose constant reply is "It looks fine." Tim, who surely by now should understand (if for no other reason than the constant muttering under my breath last night as I worked in paint shop) how ready! to! be! done! with these ridiculous things I am.

And now all the sudden, Tim wants to audition to be on "Scrapbooking with Betty". And he thinks this should move here and that should tweak this way and the other thing...

The doctor says he'll be fine in a couple of weeks.