Lola, I appreciate the support, I really do. I know that you are speaking from your good, kind, loving heart full of sympathy. And I am very glad that the woman who wrote the NY Mag story is happy with the way her situation has turned out. I am not sitting in judgment on anyone whose conscience does not object to these things - although I think it is a sad reflection on our culture that we have gotten to the point where so many people's consciences do not object.
As for me, I am morally opposed to IVF, let alone surrogacy. It isn't simply that I take seriously my obligation to form my conscience by educating myself as to the Church's teachings -- although I do. It so happens that on this subject, what the Church teaches matches up with what I have always thought and felt. Life should not be created in a laboratory (... or destroyed in an exam room for that matter. People struggling with infertility wouldn't feel like these measures are necessary if women with unwanted pregnancies were given the support, resources, and encouragement they need to pursue adoption instead of abortion. But I digress). Just because science has developed to the point that we can do something doesn't mean we should do it.
Surely God will love a baby however it comes into being - that's not what I'm worried about. I'm not going to abandon my moral principle now that my circumstances are making it inconvenient.
On a more practical note, there is no reason to believe that IVF would work for us: we don't have the conditions (low sperm count, irregular ovulation) that it is able to ameliorate. And while adoption is evidently going to be a huge hassle and expense, I can't envision any less of a hassle or expense in finding an egg donor, and/or a sperm donor, and/or a surrogate to generate a baby who won't be genetically related to us and whom I can't nurse. I'll just have to find one who is already out there and needs a family.
Unlike the woman in the magazine article, Mr. J and I don't have age issues or medical issues that will interfere with adopting. And if we do have issues -- or if we never get matched with an adoptive child -- I guess we'll chalk it up to God's will and learn to live with it, hard as that may be. My conscience simply is not OK with ordering up a baby like take-out.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Julep: 2011 is off to a great start!
So I talked to my friend who adopted from one of the two non-profit adoption agencies in our town and is now on its board of directors. I learned that adopting with them will cost us a minimum of $27,000 in fees (maybe more), with a projected wait of two years, and a 25% disruption rate, meaning that the birthmother changes her mind before the adoption is final.
The $27,000 is actually a bargain. If we go with a for-profit national agency, while the waits are shorter, the fees go up to about $50,000. I checked some websites and notice that none of the national agencies will say how much they charge. Evidently if you have to ask, you can't afford it.
My friend said that when they left the hospital with her adopted daughter, the agency worker warned her, "Don't fall in love with that baby - she's not yours yet." In Kentucky it takes 30 to 60 days to finalize an adoption. Since I am terrified of tiny infants as a general rule anyway, I can imagine what success I will have at bonding with a newborn whom I can't nurse and must be prepared to relinquish at any moment.
Did I mention the $50,000?
Mr. J talks so little about how he feels, and I know it's because he wants to be strong for me. But his good friend who now lives in Chicago stopped by yesterday with his wife and 6-month-old, and when they left, Mr. J said, "I almost teared up looking at that baby and knowing we aren't going to have our own."
God sucks. That is all.
The $27,000 is actually a bargain. If we go with a for-profit national agency, while the waits are shorter, the fees go up to about $50,000. I checked some websites and notice that none of the national agencies will say how much they charge. Evidently if you have to ask, you can't afford it.
My friend said that when they left the hospital with her adopted daughter, the agency worker warned her, "Don't fall in love with that baby - she's not yours yet." In Kentucky it takes 30 to 60 days to finalize an adoption. Since I am terrified of tiny infants as a general rule anyway, I can imagine what success I will have at bonding with a newborn whom I can't nurse and must be prepared to relinquish at any moment.
Did I mention the $50,000?
Mr. J talks so little about how he feels, and I know it's because he wants to be strong for me. But his good friend who now lives in Chicago stopped by yesterday with his wife and 6-month-old, and when they left, Mr. J said, "I almost teared up looking at that baby and knowing we aren't going to have our own."
God sucks. That is all.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Julep: Unexpecting
Well, it's official. The fertility specialist has struck out. Three turkey-baster procedures, accompanied by copious comments about how good everything looks, but no baby.
I've called to make an appointment to talk to the doctor about any other medical measures, but I'm not optimistic. I'm sure he will offer IVF, but (leaving aside the fact that it's creepy and my Church forbids it) it really doesn't make sense for us. Mr. J has a high sperm count, I ovulate like clockwork and my fallopian tubes are squeaky clean. They don't have any idea why the minimally-invasive procedure failed three times, so why would I sign up for a majorly-invasive procedure? (Particularly one that's colossally expensive, not covered by insurance, and has a 20% success rate.)
Mr. J and I had a long talk this morning, and agreed that we are going to start investigating adoption. We don't really have any idea what that will entail, but I guess we'll figure it out. I've called a few friends who have adopted to ask if we can talk to them about the process and the experience - I want to talk to other friends who were adopted, to get their take on things. And of course there's Google. But frankly the whole thing is kind of a mystery, and it's hard to get up the motivation to wade in and figure it all out.
For the first time in my life, I really feel like a failure. As St Teresa of Avila once said to God, "Lord, if this is how You treat Your friends, it is no wonder You have so few."
I've called to make an appointment to talk to the doctor about any other medical measures, but I'm not optimistic. I'm sure he will offer IVF, but (leaving aside the fact that it's creepy and my Church forbids it) it really doesn't make sense for us. Mr. J has a high sperm count, I ovulate like clockwork and my fallopian tubes are squeaky clean. They don't have any idea why the minimally-invasive procedure failed three times, so why would I sign up for a majorly-invasive procedure? (Particularly one that's colossally expensive, not covered by insurance, and has a 20% success rate.)
Mr. J and I had a long talk this morning, and agreed that we are going to start investigating adoption. We don't really have any idea what that will entail, but I guess we'll figure it out. I've called a few friends who have adopted to ask if we can talk to them about the process and the experience - I want to talk to other friends who were adopted, to get their take on things. And of course there's Google. But frankly the whole thing is kind of a mystery, and it's hard to get up the motivation to wade in and figure it all out.
For the first time in my life, I really feel like a failure. As St Teresa of Avila once said to God, "Lord, if this is how You treat Your friends, it is no wonder You have so few."
Monday, December 27, 2010
Julep: Now I've Done It
Y'all remember that way back in early October, I went shopping with Mr-Mama. As you know, I am not much of a shopper, and I keep my wardrobe fairly limited as a philosophical preference. This was not a shopping trip for a bored rich woman to while away a morning: I needed those clothes to wear to work. Mr-Mama offered to hem or shorten sleeves on several items, most notably a brown pantsuit, a black skirt-suit, and a black dress. It is more than 2 months later, and I have not seen a scrap of my new clothes.
I tried to tactfully mention at the Mr-Family brunch that I knew she was awfully busy during the holidays, but it would be really great if I had my new things to wear, especially that brown suit ... what with the very cold weather lately, and a lot of my old things not fitting anymore (hence the shopping trip). She promised me that she would at least have the brown suit finished before she and Mr-Papa head off for ten days in Florida, leaving tomorrow.
I should have known better, I really should have. But I was so looking forward to my new brown suit! I decided this morning that I would wear it tomorrow on my birthday, so I called her a few minutes ago to ask if Marc and I could stop to pick it up tonight on our way home from my mom's. "It's not ready," she said, "but I promise I will work on it the minute I step back in the door from Florida."
I couldn't help it. I asked her if she could just pack up all my things that she hasn't had time to work on so that I can hem them myself or take them somewhere to pay a tailor to finish them. She got mortally offended, and huffed about how she did make me an entire dress at Thanksgiving - and she did! and I thanked her! And I realize that she is doing all of this as a favor to me, and I don't want to be ungrateful ... but y'all, I need my clothes! I really do! So even though she kept pushing the offended meme, I kept asking her to gather my clothes so I can come and get them, do what I can myself and take the rest to a tailor. She finally huffed not to stop by tonight, she will bring them over tomorrow.
She has had the dress my mother gave me as a birthday gift last year for a whole year - and all it needs is a hem. She didn't do it all last winter, and then it was warm weather and I stopped asking about it, and she found it again this fall - I had forgotten all about it, what with never having worn it even once. I told her how great it would be to have for when Mr. J and I went to Seattle. Nope. Here it is a full year since I took that dress over and she still hasn't hemmed it. I can't afford to wait a year for my work clothes. I need to wear them; I don't have piles and piles of nearly-identical clothes to browse through and select from every morning. I need those clothes, or I wouldn't have bought them in the first place!
I am really sorry that I hurt her feelings, but if you don't have time to do me a favor, don't offer. And don't promise to have my suit hemmed before my birthday when what you really mean is, I'll get around to it sometime in the next decade.
UPDATE: Mr-Mama having left town for her vacation, I went by her house to collect my things. She had finished the work on the brown suit and the birthday dress before she left, which I appreciated. I took the other suit and the black dress to the tailor tout de suite.
CON: "That will be $45." PRO: "You can pick them up next Friday, ma'am."
Definitely worth the money.
I tried to tactfully mention at the Mr-Family brunch that I knew she was awfully busy during the holidays, but it would be really great if I had my new things to wear, especially that brown suit ... what with the very cold weather lately, and a lot of my old things not fitting anymore (hence the shopping trip). She promised me that she would at least have the brown suit finished before she and Mr-Papa head off for ten days in Florida, leaving tomorrow.
I should have known better, I really should have. But I was so looking forward to my new brown suit! I decided this morning that I would wear it tomorrow on my birthday, so I called her a few minutes ago to ask if Marc and I could stop to pick it up tonight on our way home from my mom's. "It's not ready," she said, "but I promise I will work on it the minute I step back in the door from Florida."
I couldn't help it. I asked her if she could just pack up all my things that she hasn't had time to work on so that I can hem them myself or take them somewhere to pay a tailor to finish them. She got mortally offended, and huffed about how she did make me an entire dress at Thanksgiving - and she did! and I thanked her! And I realize that she is doing all of this as a favor to me, and I don't want to be ungrateful ... but y'all, I need my clothes! I really do! So even though she kept pushing the offended meme, I kept asking her to gather my clothes so I can come and get them, do what I can myself and take the rest to a tailor. She finally huffed not to stop by tonight, she will bring them over tomorrow.
She has had the dress my mother gave me as a birthday gift last year for a whole year - and all it needs is a hem. She didn't do it all last winter, and then it was warm weather and I stopped asking about it, and she found it again this fall - I had forgotten all about it, what with never having worn it even once. I told her how great it would be to have for when Mr. J and I went to Seattle. Nope. Here it is a full year since I took that dress over and she still hasn't hemmed it. I can't afford to wait a year for my work clothes. I need to wear them; I don't have piles and piles of nearly-identical clothes to browse through and select from every morning. I need those clothes, or I wouldn't have bought them in the first place!
I am really sorry that I hurt her feelings, but if you don't have time to do me a favor, don't offer. And don't promise to have my suit hemmed before my birthday when what you really mean is, I'll get around to it sometime in the next decade.
UPDATE: Mr-Mama having left town for her vacation, I went by her house to collect my things. She had finished the work on the brown suit and the birthday dress before she left, which I appreciated. I took the other suit and the black dress to the tailor tout de suite.
CON: "That will be $45." PRO: "You can pick them up next Friday, ma'am."
Definitely worth the money.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Julep: Can't Hold Back
One of my co-workers, whom I quite like, told me over lunch today that she is getting divorced - as in, the papers will be final on Monday getting divorced, so this is hardly news. In fact, it seems they separated in September (immediately after their return from a 13-day trip to Europe with another colleague and her husband, in fact - and I wish I had the nerve to ask for the details on that trip.) I hadn't heard a word of it before today, and she said she has been sort of keeping it under wraps at the office. Fair enough, as her soon-to-be-ex worked here back in the day.
I asked how she felt about this development, and she said, "Good," so I said, "Congratulations." And we talked briefly about her living situation and the conversation moved on.
What I did not say, and must now say here ... although I disapprove of divorce in principle ... is: good riddance! I never liked him. I could never understand what a smart, tall, attractive, well-paid, gregarious woman in her mid-20s (at that time, now 31) wanted with a guy who is dull, short, unattractive, at least ten years older than she, not making any more money than she can earn for herself, not particularly pleasant company, who walked out on his first wife of 10+ years and two small children (both under five, one not even mobile yet). She can do so much better. So, so much better.
And I hope she will come to our upcoming party in January, to which Evite I added her immediately after learning that I could invite her without including him. (I hope you girls are coming too!)
Twinks, I want to hear about your trip to the CT in-laws. I didn't realize (but judging from your tweeting I now gather) that this out of town venture involved the entire Mr Twinkle clan. Do tell.
I asked how she felt about this development, and she said, "Good," so I said, "Congratulations." And we talked briefly about her living situation and the conversation moved on.
What I did not say, and must now say here ... although I disapprove of divorce in principle ... is: good riddance! I never liked him. I could never understand what a smart, tall, attractive, well-paid, gregarious woman in her mid-20s (at that time, now 31) wanted with a guy who is dull, short, unattractive, at least ten years older than she, not making any more money than she can earn for herself, not particularly pleasant company, who walked out on his first wife of 10+ years and two small children (both under five, one not even mobile yet). She can do so much better. So, so much better.
And I hope she will come to our upcoming party in January, to which Evite I added her immediately after learning that I could invite her without including him. (I hope you girls are coming too!)
Twinks, I want to hear about your trip to the CT in-laws. I didn't realize (but judging from your tweeting I now gather) that this out of town venture involved the entire Mr Twinkle clan. Do tell.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Julep: Just Call Me Scrooge
Got a phone call yesterday from Mr. J's Judgy Grandma. She wanted to make sure we knew we are supposed to come to their country club on Sunday morning for the annual Mr-Family Christmas brunch.
In theory, they do this every year so that Mr-J's youngest aunt (the one who got drunk and made the scene at our rehearsal dinner) can come in town with her husband and kids and see everyone for the holiday, since they live a few hours away and spend Christmas with her husband's family. Mr-Mama told me today that Young Aunt is not coming this year because of some long story about getting their kid's stuff home from college before he goes on foreign study. So it will be only the Mr-family who live in town - the Mr-Grands, Mr. J's immediate family, his older aunt and her family (Stripper Boots Cousin and Baby Mama Cousin plus hubby and baby) - exactly the same people we'll be seeing on Christmas day for dinner at Mr-Mama's house. One might think we could skip the country club this year (particularly since I don't much care for these people). But no, Judgy Grandma will not allow it. She wants the brunch, so brunch there will be.
The other thing she wants is a gag gift exchange. This is not for the older generations - just for the grandkids, all of whom are over 21 and none of whom really enjoy this little ritual. It's never entirely clear whether it is supposed to be a white elephant/ something you have around the house gag gift, or a go out and find something funny for $10 gag gift. One year I received a bar of soap and a roll of toilet tissue, which was at least useful - unlike the stuffed mouse in a kimono that danced to "Kung Fu Fighting," which Mr. J got.
I don't want really someone else's junk cluttering up my house. If this were a beloved tradition that everyone got a kick out of - and everyone participated in, not just the younger generation - I'd deal with it. But it isn't. Mr. J's cousins half-ass it every year. It's annoying. I told Mr. J he is welcome to play along if he wants to, but I intend to group myself with the grown-ups this year. I'm not bringing a gift or participating in the exchange. And boy oh boy won't Judgy Grandma be passive-aggressively mad about it.
Mr-Mama is admiringly envious that I don't kowtow to Judgy Grandma. It's hard for her to flout Mr-Dad's mother - as much as she would love to. Fortunately Mr. J isn't the least bit worried if Judgy Grandma is mad at me. And I couldn't care less.
In theory, they do this every year so that Mr-J's youngest aunt (the one who got drunk and made the scene at our rehearsal dinner) can come in town with her husband and kids and see everyone for the holiday, since they live a few hours away and spend Christmas with her husband's family. Mr-Mama told me today that Young Aunt is not coming this year because of some long story about getting their kid's stuff home from college before he goes on foreign study. So it will be only the Mr-family who live in town - the Mr-Grands, Mr. J's immediate family, his older aunt and her family (Stripper Boots Cousin and Baby Mama Cousin plus hubby and baby) - exactly the same people we'll be seeing on Christmas day for dinner at Mr-Mama's house. One might think we could skip the country club this year (particularly since I don't much care for these people). But no, Judgy Grandma will not allow it. She wants the brunch, so brunch there will be.
The other thing she wants is a gag gift exchange. This is not for the older generations - just for the grandkids, all of whom are over 21 and none of whom really enjoy this little ritual. It's never entirely clear whether it is supposed to be a white elephant/ something you have around the house gag gift, or a go out and find something funny for $10 gag gift. One year I received a bar of soap and a roll of toilet tissue, which was at least useful - unlike the stuffed mouse in a kimono that danced to "Kung Fu Fighting," which Mr. J got.
I don't want really someone else's junk cluttering up my house. If this were a beloved tradition that everyone got a kick out of - and everyone participated in, not just the younger generation - I'd deal with it. But it isn't. Mr. J's cousins half-ass it every year. It's annoying. I told Mr. J he is welcome to play along if he wants to, but I intend to group myself with the grown-ups this year. I'm not bringing a gift or participating in the exchange. And boy oh boy won't Judgy Grandma be passive-aggressively mad about it.
Mr-Mama is admiringly envious that I don't kowtow to Judgy Grandma. It's hard for her to flout Mr-Dad's mother - as much as she would love to. Fortunately Mr. J isn't the least bit worried if Judgy Grandma is mad at me. And I couldn't care less.
Monday, November 29, 2010
No Thanks-Giving: Dibbs
As a warning, Julep, you've heard every bit of this. Feel free to skip.
I knew things were awry when my abstaining Southern Baptist mother called and told me to stop at the liquor store. Boy Cousin had a change of plans and decided to bring his new girlfriend--and her two-year-old--to our house for lunch. Funny, Breeder's Cup weekend he wanted me to fix him up with a friend. I'm ever-so-glad he found love, as none of my friends are interested in riding four-wheelers on his farm. I guess true love knows no time. But I digress...
After a 30-minute wait in the rain for Dutch Apple Caramel Pie and two wrecks on the interstate, the liquor and I were home. Crazy Girl Cousin I awaited. I heard, "So they're dating..."
"Who's dating?" I wondered aloud, emerging from the loo. Four hours, don't forget.
"Crazy Girl Cousin II and Hot Guy From High School," my mother answered, tentatively.
"Shit," I replied, and made a cocktail. Yes, I was on my way to a high school basketball scrimmage for Golden Child. All white trash mores have been violated in our family by now. Who cares?
Not a week before, Hot Guy From High School had joined Facebook and made his friend requests. On Friday, he went on a date with Crazy Cousin II, fresh from the psychiatric hospital and faux paralysis (more on that later.) On Monday, he moved in. Apparently, he "sold his business" in Knoxville and moved home to his mother's house in our hometown. Sure. That's what we all say when we're fired or bankrupt.
Crazy Cousin I was not to tell of this to my mother or to me, as I had a major crush on Hot Guy twenty years ago. Yes, what I want is an unemployed Hot Guy taking up room and finances in my house. Bring it.
Cue Thursday: Drinking starts at 11:00. Because it can.
Boy Cousin pulls in the driveway. I spy the new girlfriend. She has: wet, curly red hair hanging stringily to her chin. She has crooked yellow teeth. She wears brown K-mart Uggs. I warn my dad, "Boy Cousin's girlfriend. Get ready." This becomes a joke. If your girlfriend comes with a warning...
Her baby is asleep. We let him sleep in a back bedroom. Baby Shagari arrives, bearing Chicken Pox and energy. Not to be outdone, scary girlfriend goes to wake her baby. (So he can catch Chicken Pox? I still don't get it.) He never wakes, even when Baby Shagari shrieks. She says he has ADHD. Nope.
Boy Cousin says, "Dibbs, there she is." Well, yes, she sure is sweet... She asks about every dish. "What's this?" Broccoli casserole. "What's this?" Macaroni and cheese. I drink wine from a football game cup so as not to be caught in the act.
My father summed it up, "Boy Cousin didn't have to run very fast to catch her."
Friday: Playa Brother brings home a girl. She goes to his room. She never comes out. Never. Not to eat. Not to go to the bathroom. Not to shower. Nothing. I guess she peed in a cup? Two days...
Baby Shagari went in once, but he can't talk. He came back with jellybeans. We don't know anything else.
Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all.
I knew things were awry when my abstaining Southern Baptist mother called and told me to stop at the liquor store. Boy Cousin had a change of plans and decided to bring his new girlfriend--and her two-year-old--to our house for lunch. Funny, Breeder's Cup weekend he wanted me to fix him up with a friend. I'm ever-so-glad he found love, as none of my friends are interested in riding four-wheelers on his farm. I guess true love knows no time. But I digress...
After a 30-minute wait in the rain for Dutch Apple Caramel Pie and two wrecks on the interstate, the liquor and I were home. Crazy Girl Cousin I awaited. I heard, "So they're dating..."
"Who's dating?" I wondered aloud, emerging from the loo. Four hours, don't forget.
"Crazy Girl Cousin II and Hot Guy From High School," my mother answered, tentatively.
"Shit," I replied, and made a cocktail. Yes, I was on my way to a high school basketball scrimmage for Golden Child. All white trash mores have been violated in our family by now. Who cares?
Not a week before, Hot Guy From High School had joined Facebook and made his friend requests. On Friday, he went on a date with Crazy Cousin II, fresh from the psychiatric hospital and faux paralysis (more on that later.) On Monday, he moved in. Apparently, he "sold his business" in Knoxville and moved home to his mother's house in our hometown. Sure. That's what we all say when we're fired or bankrupt.
Crazy Cousin I was not to tell of this to my mother or to me, as I had a major crush on Hot Guy twenty years ago. Yes, what I want is an unemployed Hot Guy taking up room and finances in my house. Bring it.
Cue Thursday: Drinking starts at 11:00. Because it can.
Boy Cousin pulls in the driveway. I spy the new girlfriend. She has: wet, curly red hair hanging stringily to her chin. She has crooked yellow teeth. She wears brown K-mart Uggs. I warn my dad, "Boy Cousin's girlfriend. Get ready." This becomes a joke. If your girlfriend comes with a warning...
Her baby is asleep. We let him sleep in a back bedroom. Baby Shagari arrives, bearing Chicken Pox and energy. Not to be outdone, scary girlfriend goes to wake her baby. (So he can catch Chicken Pox? I still don't get it.) He never wakes, even when Baby Shagari shrieks. She says he has ADHD. Nope.
Boy Cousin says, "Dibbs, there she is." Well, yes, she sure is sweet... She asks about every dish. "What's this?" Broccoli casserole. "What's this?" Macaroni and cheese. I drink wine from a football game cup so as not to be caught in the act.
My father summed it up, "Boy Cousin didn't have to run very fast to catch her."
Friday: Playa Brother brings home a girl. She goes to his room. She never comes out. Never. Not to eat. Not to go to the bathroom. Not to shower. Nothing. I guess she peed in a cup? Two days...
Baby Shagari went in once, but he can't talk. He came back with jellybeans. We don't know anything else.
Happy Thanksgiving, Y'all.
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