Our pregnancy woes (or really, lack thereof) have been decently chronicled on this blog. I mean, I don't exactly shout it out when I think I might be ovulating but that's mostly because my brother can be found reading here and I just don't think that is information he feels like stumbling upon. I've been much more open about it this time around though. Last time I wanted to move to another planet. My very skin felt foreign and angry and the last thing I wanted to talk about was the albatross in my womb, where a baby should have been. This time I put on the emotional armor I purchased a few years ago. It's only every so often that anything penetrates that bullet proof vest. I don't know if it's necessarily a healthier alternative, but it's definitely allowed me to be a more functioning member of society.
For fifteen months we've been trying for offspring number two. For those of you who aren't keeping track, that's a month longer than it took us to conceive Garrett. And I'm finished. Spent. Over it. If, like last time, some miracle is bestowed upon us I will ecstatically celebrate. For now we are actively pursuing another adoption. A few weeks ago we sent our background check information to our homestudy agency. On Monday we had our fingerprints taken and today my phone rang.
Apparently something is fishy. Our fingerprinting could not be completed because we have unresolved issues. (I think we all have a few unresolved issues but that's not really the point of this little story). I was asked if I had any unpaid tickets or if I'd tried to smuggle a nail file onto an airplane. No and no. She said this kind of thing is fairly common when people have popular last names. Our does not fall into that category. I asked how we go about resolving our issues if we don't know what they are. She told me she would do some research and get back to me. A couple hours later I needed to leave so I called to see if she needed my cell phone number. She'd been unable to get a hold of whoever might help us but assured me it would get taken care of. She then mentioned something about "criminal" and "abuse" and how she thought I would probably remember if there was something criminal and/or abusive in our backgrounds. You think? I'd bet the farm, if I had a farm, that my husband is not a serial killer masquerading as a pastor. If he is, he has me fooled. And unless I have multiple personalities, in which case I have more problems than a questionable set of fingerprints, I'm not your average, every day, pedophile nor have I thrown a lamp at anyone or tried to run over someone with my car.
Do you want the plain truth about me? I've never smoked a cigarette. Not even once. My drug of choice is ice cream and I never had a wild stage. My number is one and I'm proud of that figure and the fact that it doesn't matter that I'm too old for Gardasil. I ditched high school one time. During my senior year my friends and I had parental permission to go to Disneyland for the day. I went to a Christian school for college. I had a curfew during my freshman year for heaven's sake. I married a pastor straight out of college and had a stint teaching high school. Now I spend my days raising our young son. I don't sit around eating bon bons much less smoking crystal meth. I can probably count on both hands and a foot the number of alcoholic beverages I have consumed in my entire life and most of these would have the words wine and cooler in them. I've been fingerprinted several times and never had a single red flag pop up in the air. I'm pretty much so clean I occasionally squeak.
I know adoption isn't easy. I know that I'll hit a lot bigger bumps than this along the way but come on already, give a girl a break. In a way, though, it is funny. Troy says it's so out of left field that he'd be less surprised by an elephant showing up at our front door. I think I'd prefer the pachyderm.