# 62: "YOU NEED TO CALL HER FROM A DISPOSABLE PHONE"

PAGE # 62
Monday

12/19/11
Morning hours

We sign in at the pediatrician's office.  When the receptionist sees our name, and then Baby Lily in our arms, she looks more confused than surprised.  

"We're adopting her," Tom says quickly.

There is too much to explain so I just stay quiet.

When Lily's name is called, our pediatrician, Dr. Shine, greets us with a hug. 

"I had no idea you guys were waiting to adopt!"

"We weren't," I say.  "It was kind of a sudden opportunity."

Dr. Shine examines Lily and the thought occurs to me:  Should I ask if she sees any signs of fetal alcohol syndrome?  But then Dr. Shine is all smiles, saying that Lily is perfect and good luck/congratulations/I'm so happy for you guys.

I'm relieved that Lily's appointment has gone well.  Tom didn't seem worried beforehand, so there's no sign of any subsequent relief on his face.  Actually, he's been occupied with the concrete task of Lily's health coverage--fighting with our insurance company--so he hasn't time to worry about Lily's actual health.  Our insurance doesn't want to cover Lily until she's officially adopted, but that will be at least another six months from now.

So, as we're driving home from the pediatrician's, Tom calls Shelley, our attorney.  He needs her help--some kind of document from her--so that we can prove to our insurance company that Lily is a real baby, in our care, in need of medical insurance, until she is legally adopted by our family.

But the conversation does not go as planned, because Shelley immediately informs Tom that Kendra is not doing so well.  You need to call her.

I take the phone from Tom.

"What's going on?  Is Kendra alright?"

And I'm thinking I knew it!  I knew it all along!  Of course Kendra isn't okay.  Of course Kendra wants her baby back!

But Shelley doesn't say that.

"Kendra is okay, and she's really happy with you guys," Shelley says.  "But she's having a hard time not knowing where the baby is, not knowing if the baby is okay, so you should probably call her.  Today."

I can call Kendra?  Kendra wants to talk to me?  To us?

This is great news.  I am thrilled when the attorney tells me she will email me Kendra's contact information.  But then she says:

"And make sure you are real nice to her.  You know, we want to keep her on our side."

Our side?  What is the attorney talking about?  

"And you should buy a prepaid phone to call her from.  Don't use your cell or home phone," she says.

As soon as Shelley hangs up, I hand Tom back his phone.  Then with my own cell, I dial the social worker's number.  When Paula answers, I tell her about my conversation with Shelley.  And I ask her opinion about the prepaid phone.

"Oh, I think you can call from your cell phone.  Kendra doesn't seem like she's going to bother you with a million calls all day long.  She really thought this adoption through.  I think it's fine to use your own phone."

I want to call Kendra immediately!  But Tom is holding a a finger up, a gesture indicating that I should wait.  He's back on the phone with Shelley, he called her  again as soon as I hung up, he still needs to work out the medical insurance problem.  I am looking through my emails to see if Shelley has sent me Kendra's contact info yet, which of course, she has not, because she is on the phone with Tom.

When Tom finally hangs up, I tell him what the social worker said, that we can call Kendra from our own phone, no worries.

But Tom shakes his head no.  Shelley reiterated to him that "we really should use a disposable prepaid phone."

This seems pretty insulting to me, insulting to Kendra, who did just give us her baby.

Tom points out that Kendra won't know that we're calling her from a prepaid disposable phone.  

"Look, Jen," he goes on.  "Shelley says it's important to retain our anonymity at this point.  If Kendra learns our identity through caller ID...that kind of info spreads quick.  And according to Shelley, if the birth father finds out who we are, there's no telling how he might respond.  Even if he's not interested in parenting Lily, he might be interested in bothering us, in trying to shake us down for some money."

"Okay, okay," I say.  "We'll buy the disposable phone."

To Be Continued...

# 61: CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATION

PAGE # 61
Sunday

12/18/11
Just After Sunset

I am guilty too.  

I am no better than Sam or Diana, for I too am prejudiced toward adopted persons.  In fact, I am far worse.  At least my in-laws would never have brought home some other person's baby in the first place.

I make this discovery about myself while seated in the living room.  I'm feeding Baby Lily, watching the sky turn a bright pink--no orange--until the outside is dark, dark dark!  There is nothing to watch through the window anymore; the night has come and forced me to look elsewhere.

I shift my gaze down to the baby on my lap--What a beautiful baby!--that's what all the neighbors have said.  Congratulations!  No, really, you guys deserve her--how lucky for your family!  

All these exclamatory remarks.  They are well-intended.  Our neighbors, our friends--they are so happy for us.  They are celebratory.

I am not.  

Instead, I catch myself studying Lily's face, inspecting her, looking for something.  A deformity?  Some sign that she is somehow damaged?  There must be something wrong with her. 

I wonder if she has fetal alcohol syndrome.  That must be it!  Perhaps Kendra, during the time she was separated from her husband and during the time she conceived Lily, perhaps she had been drinking and partying daily?  It seems plausible.  She'd been married young.  She'd already had two boys.  She missed out on all the inebriated fun that is youth in America.  So when she left her domesticated life, where did she go?  To bars?  Perhaps she started to drink.  And perhaps she kept drinking.  Non-stop alcohol consumption.  Then, upon discovering her pregnancy, thought:

 I can't keep her now.  

I throw this theory away almost as quickly as it forms in my mind, but I don't stop looking for some flaw, some defect.  I'm like a crime scene investigator looking at a dead person's body, trying to find clues.  Trying to find some evidence.  Trying to find a motive.  Except this is no lifeless body; no, this is the opposite of death.  This is life at the very beginning--infinite potential!--there is no corpse to bury.  But it feels very much like a death, like someone has died, and I cannot make sense of such incongruity.  My emotions do not match what one should feel when holding a sparkling brand new baby.

Of course, I cannot find anything wrong with Lily.  But maybe the flaw--the explanation--will show itself at some later date?  I don't want there to be anything wrong with Lily, but I cannot wrap my head around why?  I remember there were reasons.  Kendra had reasons.  But none of them really make sense anymore.  Usually, things make more sense in retrospect, not less!  This is so outrageous to me--it seems to fly in the face of the laws of physics.  I feel mocked, played with.  The universe is testing me.  Perhaps everything is mere illusion?

I'm looking down at this beautiful baby girl and I cannot fathom why her mother has given her to me.  My feelings of unreality are deepening.  I worry I might have a panic attack.  Nothing feels real.  

I wonder if Lily will do this too someday--look for defects.  I can already see her as a young girl, looking into a mirror, trying to find the hideous reason: why?

I might have cried then, thinking this, thinking about Lily's future psychological challenges, but the feeling of unreality has grasped me too hard.  There is numbness and there is shock and there is the fear of going crazy.  I feel like someone has died a terrible and shocking death.  Yes, this sense of unreality.  I have felt it before--in the past, when people close to me have died.  Especially suddenly. 

I find myself wanting to speak to Kendra.  I am desperate to speak with Kendra--as if my own sanity demands an immediate and secure connection with Lily's natural mother.

To Be Continued...

# 60: AIRING THE DIRTY LAUNDRY

PAGE # 60
Sunday

12/18/11
All Day Long

I did laundry all day long.

Our washing machine was still busted.  I had called for service the morning after the great flood, but was unable to schedule a repairman for days.  The piles of clothing accumulated at an unprecedented rate.  Fortunately, Jim and Tracey invited me to use their laundry room, but there was so much wash to do, I ended up lugging half of it down the street to Tom's brother's house.  In case I've failed to note the proximity of Tom's extended family members in previous posts, please note that my brother and sister-in-law, Sam and Diana, live only four houses away. 

There was something awkward about bringing my dirty clothes into the home of my in-laws.  This had less to do with the embarrassing odor of it all (it really had been left unwashed for too long), and more to do with the fact that neither Sam nor Diana had come to meet Lily yet.  The rest of my neighbors had and they weren't even family.  I was surprised by the extent of my anger over this.  I expected myself to be more understanding.  Ambivalence was twisting through my insides.  It was unpleasant to say the least.

Only a year and a half prior, Diana had been pregnant with twins following a round of IVF.  Her body had already naturally yielded one son, our nephew Max, but the rest of her reproductive history was punctuated by miscarriages.  A whopping total of six.  Diana could get pregnant easily; staying pregnant was another story.  IVF seemed superfluous given her ability to conceive, but Diana expressed her desire to have twins.  Sam was planning on a vasectomy as soon as they were able to have another child (he wanted to put all the years of reproductive angst behind them once and for all), but Diana dreamed of a much larger family.  IVF was their chance for more than one more baby, given the higher chance of multiples with reproductive technology.

Diana did indeed become pregnant with twins.  They had done gender selection also and this too worked according to plan:  Diana was pregnant with one boy and one girl.  Unfortunately, at 28 weeks gestation, one of the twins suffered a placental abruption.  This obstetrical emergency resulted in the death of their little girl, whom they named "O", and had to bury.  The other twin, a little boy they named Jack, was delivered a whole trimester early weighing a mere 1.5 pounds.  His health at the present time (he is currently about 2.5 years) remains challenged.  He does not eat or drink but is fed through two surgical feeding tubes, one that runs directly into his stomach, the other into his intestines.  He vomits regularly, despite the fact that nothing is ingested orally.  He does not walk.  He does not speak.  While no medical professional can give an absolute prognosis, it seems likely that Jack's future will forever be compromised by his tragic beginning.  We pray that time and therapeutic intervention will prove otherwise.  There is still hope.

So, I could understand why Sam and Diana did not come to meet the newest member of the family.  Perhaps they had become too damaged, too pained, too worn out, too bitter, too tired to come meet Lily.  It made sense.

Nevertheless, my heart pained for this little girl and her also tragic beginning.  I couldn't help but wonder if Sam and Diana considered Lily an inferior family member.  Perhaps they would force themselves to welcome a new baby if she were our biological child?

There was some historical evidence to support my interpretation of their neglect as discriminatory:

Upon meeting Ricky for the first time (Jim and Tracey's adopted son), Diana told them:

"Congratulations.  Good for you that you could adopt.  I would never want a baby that wasn't mine.  But good for you that you guys are the kind of people that do."

Jim and Tracey had been offended.  At that time, Diana had not yet suffered the dual tragedy of "O" and Jack.  There was no excuse.

I could not help but consider the possibility that Diana and Sam simply would never accept an adopted family member into their hearts.  And the more I thought about it, I recalled numerous other instances when I heard them each express negative sentiment toward adopted persons.  Their shared position was not anti-adoption due to a concern for biological family preservation; on the contrary, it was a point of view that lacked empathy for adoptees.  I've even witnessed Sam crack jokes about adopted persons--and under this guise of comedy, I believe, is a hostile and demeaning view of those not fortunate enough to reside with their genetic kin.  As if he is somehow better than them.  

Forgive my detour from the story for a moment, but it occurs to me that when people speak of marginalized sub-groups or disadvantaged populations, adopted persons are unlikely to come to mind.  But when I think about it now, adoptees are unfairly depicted in our popular media all the time.  If an adopted person commits a crime, it's often blamed on their adoptee status.  There is, I think, an undercurrent of devaluation toward adopted folk, as if their status as genetic outsiders somehow renders them less valuable than everyone else.  As if they are unworthy of love, having been rejected by their very mother in the first place.  I could cite a variety of examples from movies or television at this point, but I am not trying to prove an argument here.  I am merely trying to illustrate the possibility that some people are actually hostile in their deepest feelings toward adopted persons.  Whether unconscious or not.

I am reminded now of a story a close friend once shared with me.  She is the mother of three children:  two adopted, one biological.  But her relatives refuse to allow the adopted boys onto the official family tree.  "Only blood relations," they've told her.  

And so that day, watching the laundry spinning round and round, my thoughts existed in a parallel condition--messy, endlessly looping, all mixed-up.  I couldn't tell if I felt angry or sad toward my in-laws.  And I couldn't tell whether I was insane, over-sensitive, or on to something that resembled a dirtier truth:

Perhaps our extended family would never regard Baby Lily as a true family member?

When would they come to meet her?

Why hadn't they yet?

I was too afraid to ask.

To Be Continued...

# 59: HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY!

PAGE # 59
Sunday

12/16/12
Baby Lily's First Birthday


Happy First Birthday!

I hope that wherever you are in this world you are loved, happy, and healthy.  

Is your birthday cake made of ice cream or did you get the fancier fondant kind, complete with your own little smash cake?  What presents did you receive?  Did you have a party with a super girly party theme?  Or maybe your "final" family is pink-averse and went with some trendy brown owl decorating scheme?  

I imagine you are walking now, if not yet, then very soon.  When I am out and about and notice little girls toddling around, not quite with the hang of it yet, I always look closely at their faces--just checking to see if the universe will grant me that lucky coincidence.

But that is unlikely.  And even if possible (it is of course possible), I'm not sure I could recognize your face now.  It's not like we have the genetic link that would make you stand out as a relative.  And although I study your newborn pictures sometimes, just in case I do come upon you someday, you were still in that snuggly, sleepy baby phase.  Not even the smiling phase yet.  So, it's hard to know whether I could ever know you, now changed.

And Kendra...

She must be thinking of you too today.  I am sure this is a painful day for her.  I hope she will be okay.  I have no doubt that you will be reunited with her someday.  She already has you registered in our state's adoption registry--I have checked.  17 more years to go!

I, on the other hand, don't know if you will even know about your time with us. Ever.  And I don't mean to sound envious of Kendra's potential to be in your life someday; it's simply a fact, a strange twist of fate, that you spent time with us, never to know us.  I doubt your "final" parents even know of our role in your first month of life.

And...I hope your paternal first family finds peace this holiday season.

As for us, we are okay.  And we hope that you are okay too.

Happy First Birthday to the little girl we called Lily, who was first called Holly, and whose cake today probably reads some other name altogether.

I don't know how to reconcile that part at all--that you kept getting renamed, like an object, like living property.

I am sorry that I didn't fight harder to keep the name Holly.  That would have been the right thing to do.  I am not sorry I didn't fight to keep you.  That would've been the wrong thing to do.  It was the hardest choice, but it was the best choice.  Of course, our decision couldn't force other persons to act ethically concerning your fate (or did they?).  But.  We did what we could given the knowledge we had (and didn't have).  

Happy Birthday little girl.

Wishing you a lifetime of love, health, and happiness,
Jennifer

P.S.

After I finished typing, I selected a birthday cake picture to use for this blog post.  I had just inserted the image when I heard Sara calling me.  She was finally awake after a long afternoon nap.  I lifted her up, hugged her close, and she told me:

"Look over there.  Look at that birthday cake."

She was pointing to the back wall of her bedroom, a wall we have decorated with pictures of flowers and ballerinas.

There is no picture of a birthday cake.  Not even close.

# 58: SHOPPING FOR BABY, SEARCHING FOR REALITY

Maybe I was stuck in some bizarre dream?

PAGE # 58
Saturday

12/17/11
Approximately 8:45 pm

There was something therapeutic about going up and down the aisles at Babies "R" Us, rushing to find everything before the store closed for the day.  The sheer physicality of it all--running back to the first aisle for a bottle brush, lifting the heavy pack n' play into the cart, sorting through a rack of onesies for the right size--it was good for my mental health.  I needed the distraction; otherwise, I thought constantly of Kendra and felt nothing but anguish.

TJ, who had been happy to accompany me initially, was growing tired.

"I'm beat.  Can we go now?"

"Not yet.  I don't want to have to come back tomorrow," I explained.  "Why don't you look for some Christmas presents for Sara and Lily?  I'm gonna be a bit longer."

TJ sighed, then headed in the direction of the toy department.  A text came in from Tom that read:

"Lily ate more than an ounce and then went to sleep again."

I smiled reading this, mostly because I was happy not to be breastfeeding.  Tom could wake up at night and do half the feedings.  At least that would be easier this time.

Feeling satisfied that my cart contained all items essential to newborn care, I spotted TJ pacing around the front of the store by the check-out line.  He saw my approach and applauded.

"Finally!" he exclaimed.

"You didn't pick any gifts?" I asked, noting his empty hands.

"I'm not in the mood," TJ explained.

"Christmas is in a week.  There's not much time left."

"I was thinking about Christmas," TJ said, "and I think we should invite Kendra and Lily's brothers over for Christmas Eve or something."

We were standing in line, waiting for another customer to finish her purchase.

"I'm not sure how Kendra wants to proceed with things," I said.  "But I think that would be a really nice gesture."

TJ and I started placing our items on the counter.

"Don't you think she misses the baby?" TJ asked.  

"Yes, I think she must."

"Do you think she wants her back?"

"I don't know."

"I think she's probably crying right now."

"Probably," I agreed.  

The drive home from Babies "R" Us took nearly a half hour, and when we pulled into the driveway, I told TJ to carry the bags in and I would walk the dog.  I let Jersey out and put him on his leash without bothering to go inside first.  I needed to cry, I needed privacy, and I couldn't hold in the tears for much longer.

I took Jersey for a long walk that night.  I felt as if someone had died.  And in the darkness, alone with no one but my little dog, my terrible sadness began to collide with feelings of unreality.  I felt as if I were trapped in a dream; perhaps I would wake to discover that there was no baby.  

No Kendra.  

No adoption plan.

I clutched Jersey's leash too tightly.  My other hand was clenched into a fist, with my nails digging into the softest flesh of my palm.  If I could just feel the discomfort--if l could actually feel the jagged force of my fingernails pushing into my own skin--maybe, just maybe, things would start to feel a little more real. 
     
To Be Continued...

# 57: I DIDN'T LOVE HER LIKE MY OWN

Protecting My Heart?

PAGE # 57
Saturday

12/17/11
Approximately 5:45 pm 

"Oh my God," Tracey muttered, "she's the most beautiful baby ever!"

Jim and Tracey were staring at Lily, who slept peacefully in the bassinet.

"She's amazing," Jim said.  "This is all so amazing.  Congratulations, guys."

"Well, she's not ours for sure yet," I quickly reminded them.  "The birth father has another three weeks to contest the adoption."

I was exhausted but still managed to ramble on about our uncertain future.  Jim and Tracey sat down across from us and shared their opinions:

"I doubt he will do that," Jim said.  "If he wanted the baby, he would have said something weeks ago."

"Seriously," Tracey added.  "And even if this doesn't work out, Shelley will find you another baby.  You end up with the baby you are meant to end up with."

I knew Tracey was trying to be supportive, but I still shook my head, indicating my disagreement with what she had said.  Tom squeezed my hand.

"Look at us, look at Ricky," Tracey continued.  "We were paired with a totally different birthmother at first, and it was devastating when that didn't work out, but that turned out to be part of the path that led us to Ricky."

I tried to be sensitive to what Tracey and Jim had been through.  After spending nearly $25,000 on the living/medical/legal expenses of a pregnant woman with an adoption plan, medical tests revealed that she was abusing narcotics.  The baby still had another trimester till birth, and Jim and Tracey opted out of the adoption plan.  They had been devastated at the time, but did not want an infant who had been exposed to drug abuse.  They had lost a lot of money, sure, but they had also invested time and emotional energy in a birthmother they felt had deceived them.

"What you guys went through was terribly disappointing," I said.  "But actually having a baby here at home, well, if it doesn't work out, I just don't think I'd feel like another baby could replace Lily."

Tracey pressed on:

"Three weeks is not that long.  If the adoption falls through, yes, it will be horrible, but you won't be that attached yet."

"No and yes," Tom said.  "No, it won't be that horrible because if the adoption gets contested, Lily goes back to her mom and her two big brothers.  And she'll be with a perfectly great family and we'll be happy for her.  The yes part, though, is that yes, I get attached real fast.  I'm so in love with her already."

Tracey laughed a bit awkwardly.

"I guess I'm the weirdo then!  It took me like six months to bond with our first one and he was biological!"

I did not identify with what Tracey was saying.  My experience as a new mother, both other times, was quite the opposite:  the intensity of love I felt for my newborns was so intense, it was primal--almost animal like.  I was never even comfortable with friends or hospital staff holding my babies. 

Still, I am aware that the experience of falling in love with one's children varies for everyone.  It's highly personal and not something one can judge another for.

"You are not a weirdo," I said to Tracey.  "You're just more honest than most people.  I'm sure tons of other women take time to bond, just most don't admit it."

And in that very moment, I was keeping my own secret:  I could not announce, as Tom had just done, that I was in love with Lily.  I could not state with honesty that my feelings for her were identical to the ones I had felt for TJ and Sara at first.  But perhaps it was easier for Tom to fall in love with a baby he had not carried for nine months?  It's a condition of parenthood for all men.  Each and every time.  

Or, perhaps I was just better at protecting myself against the inevitable loss?

Or maybe, I worried, maybe adoption was just completely different?  And maybe I wouldn't be able to love this child as much as I loved my other two?  

Then again, it was also possible that I would love her just as much as my biological children eventually.  It would take more time--it would be a different process--but there would be love in the end.  

I looked up and saw tears streaming down Jim's face.  

"I'm just so emotional," Jim said, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.  "This is such a touching situation."

When they left a little while later, and we told TJ over dinner how Jim had shed real tears, TJ said:

"Maybe he is upset he didn't keep Lily for himself?"

I felt my heart drop.  Not for Jim, or us, or even for Kendra--but for this baby girl who seemed to be thought of as an object that could just be transferred in and out of families, whether for real or just in theory.  

I worried that I would never be able to love her enough.

To Be Continued...

# 56: WELCOME HOME BABY LILY!

SARA WITH BABY LILY

PAGE # 56
Saturday

12/17/11
Approximately 5:00 pm 

"Where's Baby Lily, Mommy?" Sara asked.

"Shh...she's sleeping, honey," I said. 

Sara ran straight to the bassinet and climbed up over the side. 

"Careful" I warned.  "We don't want to wake her--she's really tired."

"Look!" Sara beamed.  "She's dreaming!"

"What do you think she's dreaming about?"

"About Jersey!" Sara declared, referring to our dog, who was resting just beneath the bassinet on the other side from Sara.

Since we had returned home from the hospital, our little dog refused to leave Lily's side.  I had been worried that Jersey might resent a new baby in the house, but I was so wrong.  Our dog loved Baby Lily and acted like her private guardian.

Whereas Jersey was inseparable from the baby, Sara would come and go, running back and forth between her toys and Lily.  She'd play a little, but a few minutes later, she'd be back, looking for Lily.  We hadn't been sure how to explain Lily's presence to our toddler--the biological father still had another three weeks to contest the adoption--but we ended up telling Sara that she was a big sister now.  It seemed like the simpler explanation at the time.

"I'm a big sister!" Sara had proclaimed, and we reread the "Big Sister" book that our friend Jim had lent us a week earlier.  I tried to lure TJ over to the couch too, teasing that I'd read him the "Big Brother" section of the book.  But our teenager rolled his eyes at me, kissed Lily's forehead, and started back toward his bedroom.  "I'll be on my computer."

Now, Sara remained perched over Lily in the bassinet.  

"I want to cuddle her," Sara said.

"Maybe later, when she wakes up.  And you can help me feed her too," I promised.

"Okay, Mommy," Sara replied as she climbed back down and ran out of my bedroom.  

I was resting in our bed, exhausted not from the physical labor of childbirth this time around, but from all the emotional devastation that adoption brings with it.  A terrible sadness filled the pit of my stomach.  Even though the baby herself brought us so much joy, her tragic beginning of life was almost too much to witness.  It was all starting to make me feel physically ill.  I closed my eyes, tried to sleep for just a few minutes, but instead, I heard my mother talking to Tom in the kitchen.

"She really is a beautiful baby," my mom said.  "She has such delicate features.  Do you think she looks like her mother?"

"I can't tell," I heard Tom say.  "I kind of think she looks like me," he joked.

I heard them both laugh a little, but I wondered how we would answer inquiries about Lily's appearance as life went on.  People were bound to search for family resemblance--would we constantly be explaining that Lily was our adopted child?  And how would this impact her development?  Especially with our other two children being our biological offspring?

As for similarities, Kendra and I share similar coloring, and she had been glad about that.  

"I don't want her to grow up feeling like she doesn't fit in with her family," Kendra had told me.  "So I'm glad she's ending up with you guys and not Jim and Tracey.  She would have been the only one in their house without red hair!  With you guys, she'll blend in better."  

But hair and eye color hardly make for true family resemblance.  And all the searching for family traits starts immediately at birth.  In fact, conversation about a newborn is mostly dominated by the topic of family resemblance and who the baby does/will look most like.  Let's face it:  there's not much else to say about a new baby, other than the eating, sleeping, pooping bit.

I heard a text message come in.  It was from Jim and Tracey--they were on their way over to meet Lily.  I got out of bed and started rolling the bassinet as gently as I could toward the living room.  Lily did not wake up.  She would prove to be a real heavy sleeper--something I was not accustomed to with my own gene pool--and really, she would be the easiest newborn I'd ever care for, if one wants the full truth regarding the eating, sleeping, and pooping parts.  Baby Lily was, indeed, a great little baby.

Tom joined me in the living room while we waited for Jim and Tracey.  I was actually a little nervous to see them.  

"Did I tell you what Tracey told me before on the phone?" I said to Tom.

"What?"

"Well, Tracey forwarded Lily's picture to some of their friends.  And now, some of them are asking if they regret not taking her for themselves.  If they regret passing up this opportunity and handing it over to us."

Tom shook his head.  "That's ridiculous.  Tracey wasn't even remotely interested in this adoption.  She's sick as hell with her pregnancy."

"Yeah, but Jim wanted her.  Tracey told me so," I said.  "I just can't imagine how Lily will feel someday if anyone ever says anything to her about how our next door neighbors were her original birthmother's pick.  I don't know, it just makes me feel like we're talking about an object or something getting passed around.  It makes me uncomfortable."

Tom wasn't worried:

"In a few weeks, everyone will be so used to Lily being our baby, they're not even going to remember that part of the story.  And I'm sure Jim is over it."

To Be Continued...