Just Call Me LeBron

I don't know if I'm supposed to make some grand announcement. I certainly won't be going on ESPN for an hour-long special. But I have made my decision. (For those of you who don't follow sports or have any clue as to what I'm referencing, here's the background.)

Nearly six years ago, I called my brothers and sisters and told them, "I'm starting the process to get pregnant!" I told my closest friends, far and near. And I started shopping.

Three years later, I "came out" as a prospective adoptive parent.

After the Takesha nightmare, I took a break. I said I needed a year. But even then, even when I said I needed a year, I think I knew. I think I was letting it sink in for everyone else.

I've done all I can. I've done more than most would have. People tell me that, and in the moment I waved them off, but now....I realize it. I have done more the most.

When a blogger friend -- also single -- was going through the last stages of getting her daughter, she was telling me about the "courtship" with the birth mother. The back and forth, the worrying about saying the wrong thing that might offend, that might make this person change her mind.

I may have been 90% sure leading up to that moment, but in reading that email, in feeling that feeling in the pit of my stomach, I knew. It's not that I can't do this, it's that I no longer want to go through all those fucking hoops.

I don't want to have the second phone line. And the business cards. And the website. And do the advertising. And have the conversations with the attorney. And have the conversations with the birth mother, and worry about every. single. word. I say. Will she like me? Will she think I'm worthy?

And beyond that, I don't see myself as single mother to an infant at 43. When I started this process, way back when, the goal was to be a mom by 38. Certainly before 40, not three years into my 40s.

Over the summer, before my move, I gave almost all of my baby stuff to my friends Molly and Jill, who were both due in June.

They ended up having their babies on the day I left Ithaca (Laila, in my right arm) and four days later, on my second day at my new job (Emily, in my left arm).

And when all of that stuff was out of my house, I was left with one Rubbermaid bin. And that night I slept great.

There was some closure.

Last month, when I pulled my Christmas stuff out of the storage closet, I saw the baby bin. I asked Molly when I saw her a few days later, what should I do with the quilt that I made? And the blanket that my mother made?

I've come to decide that they will go to my next niece's to have their first babies. I'll just hold onto them. But everything else in the bin? What to do with it all?

When I left Ithaca College, I gave "gifts" to people I worked with. It was sort of a tradition there. The knick-knacks that accumulate in your office go to other people. And I was thoughtful in who I gave things to. Peter got my candy dish because he always came into my office, would take a piece of hard candy, put four pieces in his pocket and then take another before leaving. Tina got my Staples "easy" button because as an amazing administrative assistant and friend, she made things easier. And on and on...

And so I pulled the bin in and took everything out. Some may find what I'm doing heart-breaking, but as I wrote to one friend, I'm finding joy in the process of thinking about who gets what. And so one friend who lives in Baltimore and just adopted a little girl from Ethiopia is getting the "my first O's cap" baseball hat and my Princess Tiana Hallmark ornament. Another single mom with one child is getting my Hallmark ornaments that are of a momma and baby snowman (not daddy, just a momma).

There are still a lot -- A LOT -- of Yankees onesies in all sizes, but I think a dent has been made.

And not quite as sad as the Ernest Hemingway story. He once won a bet by crafting a six-word short story that can make people cry.




















And so I'm done. No more baby momma drama. No more advertising. No more buying things, which I admit is a hard habit to break.

I find myself in Target or Kohls and see things on the clearance rack and for a brief moment, think I should get it. And then walk away.

And I can still be a mom someday.

Wanted: professional, handsome, kind and funny man, sports fan a must, preferably a widower with two small children.

The Power of the iPad

My niece Tiffany got married two weekends ago. The entire family was descending on the greater Richmond area -- from as far away as Alaska. It would be the first time my brothers and sisters, eight of us in all, would be together since my parents' 50th anniversary in 2005.

Some were flying or driving in on Thursday, the rest of us were to arrive on Friday. That was the plan at least.

On Wednesday, I got a text from my oldest niece: "Andrew has been throwing up since 1am. I'm so afraid we won't be able to go."

It was touch and go. I checked on my great-nephew throughout the day. It seemed to be a 12-hour bug. Rather than leave on Thursday from north of Syracuse and split the trip up, they decided to give him one more night's sleep in his bed and drive straight through on Friday.

I started my trek on Friday morning, with a brief stop in Baltimore to visit former co-workers. Halfway to Baltimore, I called Jenny's cell to see where they were. "Still in Central Square. Ryan's been throwing up all night."

And then the tears -- from both of us. And the inevitable realization that they would have to miss Tiffany's wedding.

I stopped in Baltimore, pulled out my iPad and checked flights from Syracuse to Richmond. On my way to Richmond, I talked to Jenny again. "Fly down tonight. I'll pay for your ticket."

I knew it was a long shot. She didn't want to leave her sick kids. I talked to her a couple times throughout the day. And as each new sibling arrived at the hotel, more tears, a few "doesn't it suck." And then sometime Friday night, I realized that Jenny could be at the wedding.

I texted her. "Is your Skype hooked up?"

At 1:30, Saturday afternoon, a half hour before the wedding, I was wandering in the empty church with my iPad, hoping my 3G would work within the walls of the brick building. It worked. I "walked" Jenny and the boys around the church so she could see all of her aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents.

"I'll call you in 30 minutes."

Thirty minutes later, my beautiful niece, all grown up, walked down the aisle and waved hello to my niece and great-nephews 500 miles away.

I watched Jenny and the boys watching the wedding. We cried at the same time, and I smiled as I watched -- but couldn't hear -- Jenny explain things to the boys as they were happening throughout the ceremony.

And then when the priest said, "let us pray," Ryan and Andrew went in praying mantis mode. Sometime during the prayer, Ryan's arms must have gotten tired and he put his right hand to his heart, like he was saying the Pledge of Allegiance.











Another wave from the bride, going back down the aisle













The first dance (and crying one more time as we were missing Jenny and the boys)

It wasn't the ideal situation, but in a pinch, it worked.

Thank you Apple, thank you Skype -- for bringing my family together, in all one place, for this very important, once-in-a-lifetime event.

The Many Phases of My Moon Face

One of the worst side effects of the past five years of my life -- besides the obvious -- is what it did to my body.

The fertility treatment, along with the roller coaster of emotions, caused me to gain 43 pounds. And then, even once I was off the drugs, I was still on that roller coaster. I had no motivation, I was so focused on this other little being I wanted in my life, that was all I could concentrate on.

Sure I still went to the gym, and half-heartedly counted points, but I knew I wasn't in it for the long haul. I lost the first 20 pounds as the drugs left  my system. And then, I lost and gained and lost and gained the same 10 pounds. The last 23 of "baby" weight was hanging on for all its worth.

And with each loss and gain, my face became as round and full as the moon.

Case in point, me on my 40th birthday. Fertility treatment done for about two months, paperwork for Ethiopia was almost complete and a whole new sort of waiting and wondering and torture was about to begin.

Sometimes I would get motivated. I ran a couple 5Ks in the past few years, but I was never where I wanted to be, never felt as healthy as I had before I started shooting all those drugs into my system

And then I was offered my new job. Any diet and exercise plan went out the window, because I had to find a place to live, I had to pack, I had to finalize things at my old job, started preparing for my new job, and there were endless lunches and dinners and happy hours as I embarked on what was truly the "farewell to Ithaca" tour.

And so by the time I was ready to leave NY for PA, a whole new phase of the moon was appearing on my face.

I tried when I got here to get things in check. I've done this before. I know what to do. But my entire life was upside down, and so I joined a gym where I had to make appointments with a trainer. There was accountability. There was no not feeling like going. I had pre-paid for the next year. Three times a week, I go and lift weights for a half hour. And then do cardio for a half hour. And they push me. And I love it. My body is remembering this feeling of working out, of being tired when I go to bed, not because my brain is mush from work (which is usually is) but because I actually worked my body as hard as my mind.

I gained 10 pounds between finding out about my new job (in early May) and the day I joined the gym (early August). In two months, I've *almost* stopped drinking diet Pepsi. I treat myself to one or two a week, and whereas before when I was drinking one a day, I wasn't really tasting it. Now, I enjoy every single sip. I eat high protein and good carb.

About two weeks ago, I hit 10 pounds. All my "new job" weight was gone. And this morning, I hit 14 pounds -- making a definite dent in the "baby" weight. My moon face is gone and I'm actually starting to get a dimple in my cheeks.

Change....is good.

The Case for Skipping Church

I went to church last week for the first time in months, probably the first time since New Jersey. And it will be a place I will not be going back to for a while.

While I sat there, my mind wandered to the last time I was in church. To every week that I was in church over the last five years. I thought about how I prayed. And how praying became wishing, and wishing became hoping, and hoping became begging, and begging became pleading, and pleading became making ridiculous deals to sell my soul.

And the bitter barren woman inside of me came out. And I was miserable and couldn't wait for the 45 minutes to be over. And my mood carried over several days, and only ended with a trip to McDonald's for a Happy Meal, under a blanket, in cold, rainy, dreary weather.

The next day the sun was out. I had had some greasy food and was good for a while.

As Lesley says, like any good relationship, sometimes you need a break.

And I need a break. And so when fall kicks in, as is my usual time to become a good, Catholic girl and regular church goer, this year I will not be heading back to church.

I think the big guy will understand.

Summer's Over

I love my job, but I'm feeling completely over-whelmed right now. I want the day to go by without anyone calling me, emailing me, or needing me. I had one day like that and I got sooo much accomplished. Unfortunately, it was a Saturday, and I ended up being in the office for five hours.

I love my friends. And their kids, but I'm done with Facebook for the week. Done with the pictures of everyone's child going back to school, holding up signs as to what grade their in, waiting for the bus. Over reading my friends lament about how quickly their children are growing up and how it is possible that little Hoosey is in the 5th grade.

And so summer's over, and with the beginning of fall, I got a case of the crankies.

Going Back Home, Babies, and the Last Box

I headed home to Ithaca this weekend, to meet Laila and Emily -- babies born four days apart to two of my dearest friends. These lucky girls were the recipients of all the baby stuff in my house before I packed and moved.

It was a whirl-wind weekend of holding babies and having them sleep in my arms, going out for drinks with former work friends, getting frozen yogurt in a Porsche, and celebrating Hope's birthday in exactly the way we would have if I still lived there -- Hope, Heather and me at Viva.

Saturday afternoon with Emily...

 the yumminess that is the "pancake" shot -- Jameson's and Butterscotch Schnapps, followed by a shot of orange juice. De-lish!

...and Monday morning with Laila.











At Emily's "welcome to the world" party on Sunday, her grandmother hugged me tight and said, "you'll have this too someday." And right then, I knew. "No I won't." And I won't. I said I wouldn't make a final decision for a year -- and I won't -- but I think I know in my heart, that I don't want to be a 43-year-old single mother to an infant.

It hurt to say good-bye to Emily, and hurt to stay there and continue to stare at her beautiful face. And when Jill's cousin hugged me and said, "this must have been such a hard day for you," it was nice to have someone acknowledge that it was. I hadn't thought about it being hard, but it was.

And so I got out of there, and took a shower back at the hotel, and washed the day away, and waited for a friend to come visit me. We went for a ride in his Porsche and got frozen Greek yogurt with Reese's Pieces and rainbow sprinkles on top.

And when I went to see Laila the next day, there was much less hoopla, much less "all about the baby" talk, and it was very enjoyable, even as I put her in the sleeper rocker that I had bought for New Jersey.

In a lot of ways the weekend was too short -- I didn't get to see everyone. And it was too long -- I'll just leave it at that.

Today, on my bonus day off in PA, I finished unpacking. Finally. I didn't think I would need my over-the-toilet shelf I had in Ithaca, but with a two-bedroom apartment, one does not get the storage space of a two-bedroom townhouse, and so my former neighbor got it out of my place in Ithaca and I picked it up this weekend. My bathroom is "my bathroom" again. 


And I was stretched to the limit with my organizational skills, but once again, came out ahead. The closet doors in the second bedroom close, there is a space big enough to buy a full-sized futon for guests (though I had hoped for an actual queen-sized bed), and all the boxes are unpacked. The very last box, which I will use to send a proper baby gift to my friend Kim in Georgia.

Happy birthday, America.

I spent the day doing very American things -- I worked out this morning (more on that later), laid in the sun and took a dip in the pool (my new favorite thing to do on days off), shopped at Target, made peanut butter and jelly for lunch, watched the Yankees on the MLB Network, and took a nap.

I've really been enjoying the pool at my new complex. I'm using SPF 30-50 and limited myself to 90-120 minutes a day. Slow and steady, I might actually get a tan this summer. Either that or my freckles will just join together to give the appearance of a tan.

I started Jillian Michaels Body Revolution on Sunday. It is kicking my ass. It's kind of like P90X, but I'm guessing not quite as intense. Although, I will say that after the first two workouts, my inner thighs were sore. We'll see where things are in 90 days.

The apartment is slowly shaping up. And I bought a bird feeder for Casey today. I'm hoping that a little more nature activity on the patio will lift her spirits. It's tough moving when you're 16, and I'm not quite sure she's loving the new homestead.

I'm looking forward to weekend visitors this month and next -- some girlfriends coming to visit and we can really do up Doylestown.

Work is going great. I'm busy, and energized, and already feel like I'm making a difference. This week, I published my first blog post about the work my office is doing.

Well, Hello There

Hi....remember me? I know I've been a bad blogger of late. I will try to summarize that last month of craziness.

May 6 -- ran a 5K in DC, drover to Doylestown that night, sweaty and smelly. This is an important date because it was pretty much the last time I had a "Laurie-style" workout

May 7 -- clean and showered, met with the president one more time. As I was driving home, got the call with the job offer.

May 8 -- gave my notice at IC, did not go over well

May 9 -- formally accepted the position after some slight negotiations

May 10 -- told the staff I was leaving

From that point, it was starting to pack, starting to purge, finding a place to live long-distance. The baby's room was the toughest. Jill came over and went through a bunch of stuff. Some things I held onto, others I left her choose if she wanted it or we put it in the Molly pile. And some stuff, I specifically wanted her baby to have from me. Two nights later, Molly came over and got the rest of the stuff and about 40-50 packs of diapers and wipes. And I will tell you that that night was the best night's sleep I had gotten in a long time.

It didn't last, because just as quickly as there was baby closure (for now), there were spinning thoughts about wrapping up projects, being included on emails at the new job and trying to figure it all out. My farewell to Ithaca tour started about two weeks after I gave my notice, two weeks before my last day.

There were lunches. There were dinners. There were drinks. Memorial Day weekend, I pretty much packed all I could pack and still live in my house for another two weeks.

It was sad to say good-bye to people, and in most cases, I didn't. I'm going back in a couple weeks to meet the babies that were born after I left. And so I didn't say good-bye, just farewell.

A few highlights of my farewell party on campus, and the farewell tour:

Me in my party dress for my party day

I couldn't have asked for better teams -- the MCMs (top) and Sports Information. 

They, along with a few others, made it very very hard to leave.

My awesome co-directors being photo-bombed. 

Hope and Heather 

(and Tina in the background, annoyed that someone snapped a photo of her)

How awesome is this cake! Baseball on top, my new athletic logo on the second layer and the newly implemented logo at IC, with a mini-me made of Rice Krispies and fondant.

With Jen, the proprietress of Ithacake, the amazingly awesome cake lady who made the above cake. Not only with love, not only with sentiment, but yummy too.

With Claudia, who doesn't believe in willy-nilly hugging, only when appropriate. Moving away falls into that "life changing event" where hugging is appropriate.

Next up: Life in PA, and fitting a two-bedroom townhouse into a two-bedroom apartment

Not giving up.....just moving forward

As I'm getting close to five years on this journey to be somebody's mom, I've been trying to grasp the difference between giving up, moving on and accepting.

Five years ago, I thought that trying to have a baby on my own meant giving up on finding my "person." What I've come to realize over these years is that I already have a "person" -- and my person comes in the form of many people. Lesley. Jill. Kris. Jenny.

Not exactly what I had in mind when I thought about that one person -- but I am so lucky and grateful that I don't get just one person.

Through my baby track -- whether IF or adoption -- they have been supportive, caring cheerleaders. And then things shifted. Door after door closed. And then finally a window opened.

I peaked through half-heartedly, and then finally all in. In February, when I was still getting through my Takisha turmoil, a friend and former colleague told me about a job opening at his college. I applied at the time because that was the only way I could change my mind. If I didn't want it, I could say no thanks. But if I didn't apply and I did want it, it would be too late.

And with each step along the way -- phone interview, on-campus interview, follow-up phone calls and emails, follow-up on-campus interview -- I got more and more excited. 

While it's scary, it's also exciting. After eight years, I'm leaving Ithaca for Doylestown, PA. After three years of IF and 13 fertility treatments, after 24 months on the ETH wait list, after 12 months with my domestic adoption attorney, I'm moving on.

Not giving up.

I'm going to focus on my new job. My new life. I'm going to take tennis lessons. I'm going to paint pottery. I'm going to rebrand an amazing little college in a beautiful part of Pennsylvania. I'm going to force myself to eat out by myself and talk to people. And being only 40 minutes from Phillly, I'm going to baseball games.

We'll see where I am in six months. Nine months. Twelve months.

I get a do-over. I get a fresh start. Right now that excitement is over-riding any sadness for leaving my home of the last eight years, my campus family, my circle of friends.

The nervousness I feel over my new job -- that awesome combination of oh-so-excited and terror that makes you know your heart is still beating -- is over-riding any trepidation I have about packing up or giving away the baby stuff.

Anything I bought in the last year has gone to my expectant friend, to a garage sale, to Craigslist.

The things I've been buying and holding onto all these years, including the Derek Jeter t-shirt I bought in 1998, will stay with me. Packed away and hopefully to be pulled out someday.

I've done all I can to make my dream come true. And in that time, I've lived in limbo. No long-range plans because I might be pregnant, I might have to go to Africa, I might have a baby.

Now I get to make a new dream, a new life. I get to not worry about pinching pennies because I need to save for the adoption. I can plan a vacation/trip -- and not just driving to Richmond to visit my brother and his family. I can buy a house.

I'm going to work my ass off the next six to 12 months getting acclimated to my new job and all I have to accomplish, but I'll be in charge. I won't be at the mercy of my uterus, the Ethiopian government or some crazy bitch in New Jersey.

Here's to my new life, one step at a time.

Baby Steps

All I have to do is take one baby step at a time, and I can do anything.