Anne and I are adopting.
This, I’ve found, means meeting interesting people, attending classes, and filling out paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork. So much that I’m going to go to every red state and pitch Rev. Rakunas’s Sure-Fired Pregnancy Prevention Method, which entails making kids fill out so many forms that they lose all interest in sex. Look for me on Dr. Phil later this year.
We’re going through an agency called Vista del Mar, and the experience has been very educational (have I mentioned the paperwork?). So far, we’ve got one class down, with three more to go (including water safety, which Anne and I find funny as hell seeing how we swim in the ocean for fun). Then a social worker comes to our place and studies us and our apartment (which we’ll likely have to cover in several layers of protective foam), and, if we’re deemed worthy, we wait until VdM matches us with a birth mother. It could take eighteen months. It could take a few days. We get to be expectant parents, though I get the feeling I won’t stop holding my breath until the whole thing is finalized.
(This is the point where my parents pipe up and say, “No, you won’t stop holding your breath *ever*, smart guy.”)
I will be writing a little bit about this, but it will mostly be from a nuts-and-bolts process point-of-view. Somewhere along the line, this will stop being our story and will become our kid’s, and it’s not my place to tell that story here. I trust that you’ll bear with me.
Right. That’s all from me for now. Back to the paperwork.