I’m not complaining. I’m really, really not. Because I truly love my life.
My days are totally schizophrenic swinging wildly from that early morning half hour of near silence with my husband TO the frenzy of waking the grumpy girl TO the lip-chewing frustration of watching her pick at her breakfast and eat only three bites TO the fist-clenching madness of listening to her complain about her jeans and her shirt and her socks and her shoes and her coat.
“Where’s my guitar, Mama?”
This is followed by a short commute where I get to listen (and sing along of course) to random kid’s songs on Pandora and drop the Princess at school. Then I have Metallica to drive back home. Sometimes, SueBob stops by after her carpool and we solve the world’s problems on the back porch. Sometimes, I dive right in to the mountains of laundry we somehow create. Sometimes, I zone out and play Scrabble online or go back to bed. Oh. Yes. I. Do.
And that’s just before lunch.
I’m not including the 721,000 errands that I run or meals I prepare or miles I cover like a heavily accented, turbaned NYC cabbie.
But I’m not complaining. Really. I just want you to understand my so called life a bit before I share my big surprise.
You see, I’m expecting.
Actually, I’ve been expecting for almost three years.
Expecting, yes. Pregnant, no. Obviously.
We decided to adopt again nearly three years ago, and I’ve dragged my feet with anxiety and had my feet kicked out from under me by stuff that life has dumped in my lap. I’ve changed my mind and waffled and rejoiced and fretted and worried and waited. And waited.
Did I mention the waiting?
With the Princess turning seven this year, we decided that a preschooler would be an excellent fit for our family and our adoption application says that we will accept any child under three. I fully expected that other people were wrapped in the red tape of infant adoption and three year olds would be in plentiful supply.
Two weeks ago we finally got the word that the agency has a child for us. Giddy and heart racing, I opened the email as I talked with my social worker and found an adorable picture of a beautiful baby girl! A baby? Really? To say I was (am) stunned is the understatement of the decade.
And thrilled. And busy. Really busy. Like redoing paperwork and getting it notarized and apostilled and fed-exed busy. Like applying for visas busy. Like trying to buy plane tickets around the holidays kind of busy.
But I’m not complaining!