This Child

There are three types of plans in foster care, reunification, concurrent, and preadoptive. Reunification plan means that all efforts will be used to improve and support the birth family and the child will be returned to his birth family. Preadoptive planning means parental rights will be terminated because of neglect or abuse and the agency will focus on finding an adoptive family for the child. Concurrent planning means strangely the agency has to do both reunification and preadoptive at the same time. Four weeks ago, our social worker encouraged us to get all of our outstanding paperwork in because an 18-month-old African American boy had come on to her service. The boy had been severely abused and he had been through so much that she really wanted to find a forever family for him. Fast forward to yesterday, our social worker left a message again about this same boy. He needed to be moved from his current foster home (his fourth foster home) and our social worker had Kevin's federal fingerprint clearance form in her hands and all she needed was mine so that we could be placed with this child. I left her a hurried, excited message. I spent the rest of afternoon on pins and needles. Writing my parenting column distractedly, answering stupid emails stupidly. A few hours later the social worker called back. She was dejected. The social worker had been sure that the child's judge would have ordered that a preadoptive plan be implemented due to the severity of the child's injuries, instead the new judge was "family-friendly" and ordered a reunification plan. The social worker apologized for getting our hopes up. We discovered that my fingerprint clearance form had been in her office all along, simply misfiled. She apologized again and rang off. That was it.

It would have been worse if my form had been found earlier and we had had the little boy in our home for a week only to lose him. Maybe God willing (parent willing, really) the reunification will work out and this little boy will be okay.

I hope.

I grieve.

I hope.

Crying over my new Ipod Nano

My ipod mini finally went the way of all flesh and after much deliberation I settled on a new nano. Settled is the perfect word because I really had my heart set on a Creative Zen but they did not sell the 8 gb Creative Zen at Target and I chickened out over losing my music library on iTunes. Kevin was convinced we could have burned them all to discs, but he was also convinced we could grow tomatoes in the backyard and we all know what a wilted yellow stem fiasco that turned into.
So long story short, my new nano arrived today. The mailman left it on the front step in the rain, but it was fine. Or at least I thought so. Plug and play, my ass! I spent two hours trying to get my computer to recognize my device (two hours of restoring and resetting and re-everythinging) before it finally dawned on me that my new USB cable must be damaged and the new nano was barely charged after over two hours.

I am distraught and angry. I am legitimately angry at Apple for delivering a cool looking but obnoxious device with a cumbersome, murky, and remarkably unhelpful online help section. I mean Steve Jobs has 2 gazillions dollars and he cannot spring for a decent frequently asked questions section. Come on! But as I ascend from the five rings of hell that comprise the 5 R's of Apple help section and charge my pathetic, but still cool looking nano on my spare AC adaptor I realize I am not this upset about my ipod. I am upset because I went to the OB/GYN yesterday and he thinks my crippling period pain is a symptom of endometriosis. It is a sad day when you find yourself rooting for a diagnosis of uterine tumors. You see, the treatment for tumors is surgical embolization, but the treatment for endometriosis is simply going back to birth control pills. Now intellectually I know I have about as much chance of getting pregnant as I have of growing hair on a bowling ball, but going back on the pill ( or in this case the NuvoRing) is the final nail in my fertility coffin.

I should be fine with it. I know with my scar tissue and advanced maternal age my baby-making years are gone. And the monthly pain has become devastating. Yet just looking at the Ring package makes me cry. I tried explaining it to my husband but he doesn't get it. For him this is all ancient history and for me it is all painful present. Luckily, I have k.d. lang and some cheap white wine.

I also know the waterworks are a sign my period is around the corner. Tears, moodiness, and that tell-tale pimple on my forehead are all harbingers. Soon I will take my first dose of the Ring and hopefully not spend the next week doubled over in pain. At least not physical pain.