My left arm hurts. Actually my right arm does too. Reason…because in order to adopt a child, the government needs to know that I don’t have TB. And that I’m free and clear of sexually transmitted diseases. And that my urine is clean as a whistle. And they need a list of all prescription drugs I’m on at the moment. And then the mother of them all…the Tetanus booster. And while we’re at it, might as well throw in a swine flu, I’m sorry, H1N1, vaccination. So they hacked up my arms yesterday with a series of needles that have left my arms black, blue and sore as the dickens. Then I drove home so my husband could go do the same thing. He was lucky enough to have one additional test done that isn’t possible in my female state. I’ll leave that one to your imagination.

On Wednesday we finished our home visit. Our railings were inspected, smoke detectors tested, the two fire extinguishers we own were verified, the homemade evacuation plan I scribbled up was reviewed and we were interviewed about every aspect of our life you could dream up. The only items we failed on were owning an evacuation ladder for the bedrooms, plugs for all our 159 outlets and written proof of fire drills. Yes. I’m sure all of you do regular fire drills at home with your children. We will need to do two or three before we’re approved to parent again. Our case worker was lovely and very sensitive, so that did make what could have been an interrogation much more pleasant.

Today we’ll call in to make a $1,500 payment. Our agency is more than gracious with their patience in our payment delays. They know that the typical adoptive family doesn’t have $20,000 hanging out in their junk drawer and have been incredibly sensitive to that. This current payment will bring us up to about half of where we need to be on the payment scale. And we’ll keep saying prayers that the rest will reveal itself to us in the near future.

All this may sound like whining. It’s really not. Well, partially it is. Half of me says, “I’ll do whatever I need to do to add a member to our family. It’s all worth the end result and I’ll do it with a smile.” The other half of me says, “Really? I need to prove my capabilities to parent when 16-year-old babies can pop out children with no questions asked? Where is their CPR and First Aid requirement and their proof of no sexually transmitted diseases? Where is their home study visit, proving that there are no emotional issues preventing them from successfully raising a healthy, well-balanced child?” Most of the time I take the mental high road. It’s just weeks like this past one where your personal space, physical being and emotional well being are invaded that bring out the bitter adoptive parent in me. I’ll get over it. The second I see the face of our new son or daughter, this all evaporates and becomes a part of the journey. I just need patience in getting to that point.

Guest Blogger Gwen is expecting…for the second time. And once again, no baby bump or stretch-marks will grace her with their pending bambino. Step inside their world of growing a family through adoption. Follow along here at Mile High Mamas and her blog and get a candid feel for the ups, downs, highs, lows and surprises that go hand in hand with the struggles of infertility and the miracle of adoption.