The consumer-parenthood continuum

Do you know what I just did? Just moments ago - just before clicking over here to tell all of you about it?

I just finished ordering some winter essentials for my daughters.

Buttercup has serious need of some cold weather pajamas, as well as some dresses that have, at the very least, long sleeves. (Pants are evil garments of torture that, judging by the reaction they usually get, burn her skin like battery acid. Do they make snowsuits with skirts?)

As I was perusing the sale options on a couple of online catalogs and wondering if it would really be so bad to get Bee a set of blue camo PJs two sizes too big, I saw a snowsuit on deep discount, but it only came in infant sizes.

Hey - wait just a minute! I know an infant who will need a snowsuit this winter!

I bought it.

And I bought more things. Fleece pajamas in two different sizes. Two-packs of tights in two different sizes. A big girl dress for Buttercup, and a little girl dress - same design, different pattern - for her little sister.

Now, I know that if thousands of people were to read this blog, I would be running the risk of serious criticism for talking about shopping for my future child. Just ask this mom.

Therefore, I won't discuss any specifics. I won't tell you about the snuggly adorability of the fleecey PJs. I won't tell you about the matching footie pajamas. I will not even mention that the tights? They are striped.

But I will tell you that while this is not the first time I've bought clothes for the baby girl we've been thinking about, working toward and waiting for since December 2004, it is only the second time.

Honestly, I can't explain it.

When we were waiting for Bee, my Hot Shot Husband and I would linger in the baby section of every store we entered. Tears would spring to my eyes at the sight of plaid holiday dresses. A 3-pack of terrycloth bibs would cause my voice to crack when I tried to speak. And those teensy patent-leather shoes ... no, I'm OK. I just have something in my eye. It must be allergies. Yeah. Allergies. They've been acting up all week.

But the clothing and other shopping-related excitement is only one small facet of all the things that are different this time around.

When we started this process, we thought the wait would be about half as long as last time. It has been twice as long. Last time I fretted and sweat and agonized over every bit of paperwork and watched the mailbox like the Unabomber's middle school bully. This time, I've been more confident, less hurried, more relaxed.

At the same time, things have been harder. The move has complicated some of the bureaucracy. But there have been all these little unforeseen hassles along the way. Several letters had to be redone - one of them three times. I made the four-hour drive to Tallahassee three or four times because I couldn't get all my documents certified in one, easy trip, such as the trip we made during our first adoption.

Last time, we travelled to China with a group of other families; this time it will be just us.

Last time, my father-in-law died just before we submitted our dossier. Last time, my mom died just a few hours before we got our referral. Last time, I threw up for a week thinking about all the ways my life had suddenly changed, and ended up on an IV for five hours.

So, yeah. Things are different this time.

And I think that my negligence in preparation lack of shopping is a result of

a.) the incredibly hectic life I have led for the past year what with the cross-country move, the real estate drama, the attempts at self-employment and - oh yeah - already having two children who demand much attention and

b.) the general feeling of holding my breath for so long that not thinking about (what?) adoption has become a reflex.

And then there is the possibility that, deep in the most underdeveloped portions of my bird brain, there is this glimmer of superstition that if I were to get all giddy and excited and weepy over baby shoes - just like I did last time - some seriously fucking terrible things will happen. Just like they did last time.

I read with great glee a lot of women (and a couple men) who are waiting, and I get caught up along with everyone else in the jumping-up-and-downiness with which they write. But every once in a while, I pause momentarily for a psychic system diagnostic. Am I running too low on excitement for my own re-motherhood? Have I been putting it too far out of my daily thoughts? Why aren't I carrying around 24 revisions of a packing list?

I don't know the answer.

But I do know that my girl will have a snowsuit waiting for her. And some tights. Tights with stripes.

Comments

[angela marie]

Tights with stripes are awesome.

I constantly compare my reaction to THIS THING as to how I reacted to the OTHER THING. Did I overreact with excitement last time and then it all went to hell? So this time I tone it down...like Fate is watching and waiting. Ack, no. It's all good and it is what it is. This little girl is just waiting for you. Waiting for striped tights. :) Congratulations!

[ppolarbear]

stripey tights are the cootest widdle things in the whole wide world. Especially if the widdle legs are at least a little bit pudgy

[stepblog]

"But I do know that my girl will have a snowsuit waiting for her. And some tights. Tights with stripes."

and, quite obviously, buckets and buckets of love