A sea of drop-down boxes floated in front of me on my computer screen.  All I needed to do was complete this form to sign up and become a member of a new local resource group for parents in my neighborhood. First name, last name, birthday and address; I typed away, eagerly filling in the blanks. Password: check. Home phone: yup. Children: uh-oh.

There it was, an entire section devoted to describing my progeny in detail. Name, gender, and birth date with empty boxes waited for my information. Of course, if I wasn’t “with child” quite yet, I could opt for “Still Expecting?”  Going this route, I’d fill in my due date and whether I’m expecting “singleton, twins, triplets, quadruplets or quintuplets.”

I searched for the “other” category, always a safe refuge for those square pegs trying to fit into a round hole. I felt like I was back, pre-1997 U.S. census, when the category “Some other race,” was your destination if American Indian or Alaskan Native, Asian or Pacific Islander, Black, and White did not fit the bill. Unfortunately, “other” was not an option now and the red asterisk by ‘Children’ meant completing this section was required if I hoped to click on the “Save and Continue” button.

The uppity woman in me wanted to check off “Yes, not here yet!” in the “Still Expecting?” box and then click on “quintuplets” in the “Multiples?” drop down box. I figured I’d at least get an interview with Fox news. “Fifty-year-old woman expecting quintuplets!” the headline would read.

It was hard to fathom why “quintuplets” or even “quadruplets” was there for the checking whereas “adoption” was not. I’m willing to bet the odds are there’s nary a family with quints within a hundred mile radius. In comparison, adoptive families are hardly a rarity.

Ironically, just a few hours ago, I’d been sitting in a coffeehouse with ten other women from my neighborhood, talking about getting this group off the ground and ways “we” could be more inclusive given the diversity of our neighborhood. I ventured that my attendance was a small step forward as I was the oldest in the group and the only adoptive-parent-to-be (I did find out later there are two members who are gay couples with adopted children). One of the women said, “Yes, that’s why we’re hoping to get a few sub-groups started, like 40+ moms.” Fantastic. I’ve only been to my first meeting and I’m already being marginalized to the periphery. When I shared this story with Big Papa, he tried to put at a positive spin on my experience: “Just think of it like you’re getting special attention.”

Yes, I know, sometimes the adoptive mom chip-on-my-shoulder could use a bit of softening. Still, I am continually surprised that in the year 2010, living in a large progressive city like Seattle, a parent group didn’t consider there would likely be families with adopted kids in the mix when they put together the online form to join their organization. I’m sure the exclusion isn’t personal and is most likely unintended. Birth moms all, it never crossed their collective minds.

I ended up picking the “Still Expecting?” box and listed my “Due date” as August 15, 2010. Of course, I hope our little bundle of joy is months “premature!” Meanwhile, I emailed the administrator for the group and told her I thought it would be great if she could find a way to tweak the content on that page to include adoptive parenting in the selection of choices available to describe parenthood status.

Sometimes the best route to getting invited on the road trip is to be a little  more vocal, raise your hand a bit higher and say, “Hey, I’d like to ride along with the rest of you.” After all, if I want my kiddo to grow up feeling like he’s a confident trailblazer, what kind of role model am I if I just sit on the sidelines and pout? I’d rather stand up, show my pride in being an adoptive mom and join the game.

“When life gives you lemons, throw ‘em back.” That’s what my spinning instructor has been saying for the better part of the week. I couldn’t agree more. Making lemonade feels far too sweet for the space I’m in.

Our adoption agency told us that in the eight years they’ve been in business losing a referral, in the way ours was lost, only happened once before. What are the odds, I wonder?

Then I remind myself that Big Papa and I are all about “beating the odds.” Heck, the fact we “found” each other in our mid-late 40s is a miracle in itself. And don’t forget, we are the couple whose officiate bailed out three hours before our wedding and yet we managed to find a fantastic replacement merely an hour before we were slated to say ‘I do.’

We’ve experienced setbacks before, and while I’d rank this one in the top five, I know we’ll rally.  Like Big Papa says, “Together, we’re a force to be reckoned with.”

In the meantime, all we can do is take care of ourselves and each other. So we spent an afternoon working on getting the Urban Cabin’s yard and garden back in order. We made a delicious dinner together and enjoyed it with a good bottle of wine. We took a walk in a nearby garden park and smiled at all the trees brimming with pink springtime buds. When life gives you lemons, you have to summon a bit more inner courage, brush yourself off and get back on the bike.

My mind snaps back to my cycling class. I’m riding hard and fast, breathing deeper with each minute that passes. Take it out on the bike, I say to myself. Edge yourself through this tight space and life will open up again.

My legs are strong and I feel grounded. My heart is invincible. The disappointments we’ve experienced on our path to adopt may test our patience and but I know we’ve got plenty of endurance left.

After class, I head for the shower and let my sadness wash down the drain with the sweat. I am one lean, mean, gonna-be-a-mama-no-matter-what fighting machine. I’m putting up my dukes on this one, and my heart is singing out loud and clear.

Hit me with your best shot.
Why don’t you hit me with your best shot.
Hit me with your best shot.
Fire away!

~Pat Benatar

Lately I feel like I’m standing in the path of an avalanche. A wall of snow crashes on top of me and before I have a chance to stand up and pull myself together, then next mass comes thundering down.

Someone I know who is wise and whose counsel I respect told me that one of the challenges in front of me is getting to the point where I stop counting on the lull in the storm. It’s true this is the source of some of my greatest disappointment. I hold on to the hope that peace will be mine once the external ‘noise’ quiets down, when the truth is the respite I crave might be better found within. The world isn’t going to stop spinning just so I can catch my breath.

Barely two weeks after “the call” we received another email to contact our adoption agency early Tuesday morning. This time we were met with sad news. We “lost” our referral.

Although this is a rare occurrence, it happens on occasion. When adopting from Armenia, referrals aren’t “official” until a child is registered to us in the municipality where he came from. In our case, before that step in the process was finalized, someone in-country stepped up to adopt this little boy.

Welcome to our world, the manic and frustrating world of adoption.  My “we’ve got a referral” post is still wet with “ink” and here we sit, back to where we were a couple weeks ago…waiting. What can I say? Our story is a cliffhanger, potboiler and drama series all rolled into one. I’m right there on the edge of my seat with the rest of you wanting to know how it’s all going to pan out.

I will say that the stress of having one’s hopes and emotions go through a proverbial whiplashing at the frequency ours has is intense. This is one of the reasons I occasionally clam up when family and friends ask, “How’s the adoption going?” Sometimes it seems like the best thing is to keep my five cents in my back pocket.

So for all of you faithful readers, waiting for “news” right along with me, these past few weeks are a ‘sampler platter’ of what Big Papa and I have been up against for the better part of the last couple years. Some mornings are mountains.

If you know an adoptive mom or an adoptive-mom-to-be, give her a big hug. The journey is long and the road is steep. Most of us who choose adoption, do so after dealing with infertility, family inherited disease, no partner on the horizon or some other significant challenge to getting knocked up. Then we hop on the adoption roller coaster and strap ourselves in for the rollicking ride that it is.

While the events of this past week have really thrown us for a loop, Big Papa and I are not quittin’ kind of folk. We will do whatever it takes within ourselves see this through. If conquering adversity demands character then we’ll build character of steel.

Big Papa reminds me that we’re close to the summit. We made it all the way to Camp V before a dense fog blew in and obscured our path. The day will come when the clouds clear, the sun comes out and we set out to finish our climb.

There are other Annapurnas in the lives of men.
~Maurice Herzog