Home Sweet Homestudy

Being a writer, there are some things that people assume come easy to me. Like writing, for instance. But it doesn’t. For me, there’s nothing more intimidating than staring at a blank screen with that cursor blinking, blinking, blinking. It’s like every blink is taunting me and waiting for me to throw out my first sentence. And then once I do, inevitably the sentence is crap, so I delete it and try again. And again. And again. It’s torture.

Writing is damn hard, and I’ve never been so reminded of that fact as when I sat at the kitchen counter of our Tahoe house trying to answer 32 autobiographical questions for our homestudy application. There I was, with the snow falling down outside, a fire roaring inside and a cup of hot cocoa in hand, staring at the first question: “Briefly comment on the relationship of your mother and father (a) with each other, (b) with you, and (c) with your partner.”

Ummm… I’m sorry, but isn’t that three questions? All I could think was… this isn’t fair. Here we are, two good people who just want to be parents and because we can’t do it the old-fashioned way or even the high-tech way, we have to jump through hoops and put our lives on the chopping block so that strangers can decide if we’re parent material.

I’ll be honest, I sat in that puddle of self-pity for a good hour. I thought about the fact that we had to be fingerprinted for FBI clearances and have physicals to prove that A) we’re not criminals and B) we’re not going to drop dead in the foreseeable future. I lamented the idea that a social worker was going to come into my home to make sure it was suitable. I was pissed and annoyed and frustrated and sad and angry and consumed by negative thoughts.

But then, as the answer to that 3-part question started to flow out of me, I thought about the child that would surely come into our lives someday and realized that these questions weren’t meant to be fun or easy or entertaining. They weren’t designed to make me feel all warm and fuzzy about myself. In fact, they were meant to be difficult and time consuming and intimidating because they were designed to protect an innocent child. Plain and simple.

So I put on my writer’s hat and stared that cursor down until all 32 questions were answered. And then I spent two hours typing out the MR.’s answers because he types with two fingers. And yes, that was the one thing I said I wished I could change about my spouse in response to question #20.

So far so good

If you were going to give $30K to a stranger, what questions would you ask before you handed it over? That's exactly what the Mr. and I have been trying to figure out as we interview adoption agencies and attorneys. And yes, that is the average price tag on adopting a child in the U.S. Actually, it can go up from there depending on the "situation", like maybe the birth mom doesn't have medical insurance. Or maybe she changes her mind once the baby is born and we have to start the search all over again. Good times.

It's been a rough month. I'm not gonna lie. For starters, I've turned to self-grooming to try and save a few bucks where I can. Feeling really resourceful, I bought a $20 facial trimmer to solve the overgrown mustache and eyebrow problem. I'm not sure, but I may have created stubble on my upper lip and potentially my trimmed-up brows make me look like Spock's sister. Sexy stuff.

Besides coming to terms with the cost of it all, the Mr. and I have had to engage in some pretty honest conversations about what OUR vision for OUR family looks like. Because the agencies ask. Point blank. So basically, we have to say out loud to complete strangers, "We want a white baby." Talk about feeling like a horrible, selfish, racist person. I mean, what we really want is just a healthy baby with ten fingers and ten toes. But if you're going to ask and we're going to be honest, then yes – we'd like the baby to be white like us. And the next thing you want to say is: "Please don't think we're bad people."

And then there's the home study application that's packed with 32 questions that the Mr. and I have to answer. Separately. Like this little gem: How do you think parenting will affect your current lifestyle. Is that a rhetorical question? Or how about this one: Describe yourself. Okay, that's a little open-ended, don't you think? And my personal favorite: If you could change anything about your partner, what would you change? How about nothing. I love him the way he is.

Mixed in with what sometimes seemed like dark clouds of reality, the Mr. and I have had some beautiful rainbows, too. Like seeing our friends with their adopted son and realizing that it's not a matter of IF we'll be parents. It's a matter of WHEN. Or standing in the room that will one day be our child's nursery and planning how to decorate it. Together. Because really, these hurdles along the way aren't meant to keep us from adopting a child, but rather they're designed to bring us that much closer to meeting the child that is truly ours. So far so good.