On Irrational Adoption Fears

Sometimes, I don't know how Barbara puts up with me. Last night was one of those times.

For some reason, I have been desperately craving a baby recently, and not in that edible way. More in the Elvira hug-them-and-squeeze-them-and-love-them way. What with it not being something we're able to do soon for many reasons - some legalities, some financial - the question of "To Carry or to Adopt" has arisen. Last night, driving home, I was contemplating adoption. I was clearly low on medicinal dosage because my train of thought decided that, because I'm a little messed up, physically and mentally, it would be best to adopt. Besides, there are < insert huge large number here > of children who need love, and we have plenty of that to offer. With just a small side of insanity. And beetroot.

But - and here's where I flew off the rocker - I have a fear. I am irrationally afraid that I will have stupid expectations for our child, and when he or she falls short of those expectations, I will decide that we picked the wrong child. And want to take that one back and get the 'right' one.

I know, it's ridiculous. I even asked my girl last night what we would do if we got the name wrong. Like, 3 years down the line, we adopted another and decided that actually, this one fit the first one's name better. Thankfully, she only laughed until one side split, so the sutures were minimal.

So tonight, I'll be laying off the cheese/caffeine/crazy pills and trying not to think. I think that'd be best for everyone.

Tick Tock, Tick Tock

My biological clock, that thing I never really believed existed, has been running on Duracell recently. And by recently I mean the last 2 years, with the batteries getting stronger every day.

In hindsight, heading over to the baby section in the local Halloween store was a bad idea.



Say it with me now: Uter-Yoink!

Old Lady Hands

It's bizarre and I think it's gross. I think it might be from working 10 years as a deep tissue massage therapist, add to that my prior years working as a sous chef in kitchens and burning my hands all night, add to that the millions of small house jobs where I titter around with my hands and usually end up almost losing a digit or two and it makes them look kinda, well, old.

I am not saying I have the permanently clawed hands, or that I have a million liver spots. no! Not by a long shot. But ever since I began at CoffeeLand; digging into soaking coffee grinds, taking insanely hot steel things from the sanitizer that singe my hands and leave searing red marks, hands constantly being in water; I drag myself home at night and my hands feel weird. I look at my fingertips and it's like they aren't really there. So, I tested myself at work today by rolling my own finger prints on the digital screen. It was worse than I thought. I have okay prints on my #1 and #6 fingers. Even #2 and #7 are passable. The rest, however, are nothing but undetectable markings. These are the same prints I lament when I'm printing a 70+ year old woman with a lifetime of scrubbing bare-handed with bleach and smoking filterless Pall Malls. My prints have worn down so far that when I tried to take them again, this time in a special ink, using a ridge raising compound, the results were the same unreadable blobby smear.

Why, oh why didn't I just marry into money and be done with it? Then I'd have pretty hands that would be manicured and perfect.

More LisaBiology 101

While still laughing heartily at the picture in my head from Lisa's assessment of what biological forces create the human ear, I almost had an aneurysm.

Lisa: (on how ears developed)... and over time, the sun made the skin stuff dry and shrivel up and get crispy crinkly. Like bacon. Bacony Goodness. (she seems convinced and pleased - both options frighten me)

Me: Like bacon? Like a Pig's Ear?

Lisa: Yeah! Like the Pig Ear toy you give to a dog. We used to give them to Becky and Murphy all the time.

Me: Um, That's not LIKE bacon. It kinda IS bacon.

Lisa: No, they are just pasta. Lasagna sheet type pasta.

Me: What the hell are you talking about? It's a pig ear.

Lisa: Not, not a real pig ear.

Me: Yes... pig. ear. (I oink at this point, not sure if she's kidding)

Lisa: (in a high pitched and horrified tone and matching face) That's awful!! (waits about 3 seconds) But it does explain why they loved those things. Are you sure?

I feel like I keep shattering her really sweet illusions, but I can't stop. It's too damned good.

Pillow Talk - 1st Installment

Welcome to the newest feature of She². Here, I'll be posting the highlights of the bizarre communication Lisa and I share as the haze of sleep descends upon us. I have taken to keeping paper and pen at the bedside to capture some of these gems, because if I have to suffer through them, so should you.

Lisa is a brilliant woman. I admit that. However - she is completely inept when it comes to any subject involving the human body and it's inner workings. We've adopted a term for it - Lisabiology. The following is an exchange involving the subject from the other night:

Lisa: You know, I always thought the bone system and the muscles were two independent things, you know, like not connected, because the pictures in the books show one skeleton standing there, and one set of muscles standing there, so I figured the muscles just kinda slipped on over the bones or something. Then it's all held in by the skin coating.

Me: You're kidding, right? They are interconnected and movement involves both, and the connections of tendons, ligaments, and bones and muscles. The skin is a covering, but it is connective tissue as well.

Lisa: Oh yeah, that EndoMuscle System?

Me: (incredulous) No, the Musculoskeletal System.

Lisa: Well, not the ears.

Me: Yes, the ears too!

Lisa: No, I always figured that the ears were just funny pieces of skin that dried up in the sun and got crispy and crinkly.

Me: Oh. My. God. You are insane. Go to sleep.

Lisa: That isn't right?