Ah, but!

..it turns out the due date was really not accurate and the Lady is to be induced on the 6th. It seems she hasn't been in touch with the agency, (they heard this through the doctor they arranged, I believe) so it's hard to know what her plan is. 

Sending her good thoughts. Do what is right for you, Lady. 


Ug, I've been meaning, I've been meaning. [Insert rambling commentary on how I get so tired of myself and the way I go back and forth between perfectionism and half-arsed-ism, in relation to this blog and, indeed, everything else too.] Same old, same old.

I was away at the weekend. It has been busy. I always say that. It is always so. YAWN, me.
And while with one part of my brain I did know it was the end of August, I still managed to be surprised to see the big kids in their school uniforms, navy and plum, in their squeaky new shoes, walking home from school. It's really September.

Neither do I have any clue what has gone on with The Lady and nor has the agency, as of the last time we were in touch, anyway. (I do trust them to let us know.) The Lady was due on the 22nd August, so presumably she has had the baby, and perhaps has decided not to go forward with her adoption plan? Her choice, after all. I just hope that all is well for them both and her circumstances have changed in a way that makes life easier for her, because it has not been so far, from the little I know. Maybe things have improved somehow for her - this would be wonderful.

You know, I do see it's strange how I am not at all depressed about this. Here's the thing of it: sometimes I get feelings about the future. [Insert lightning and thunder sound effects.] Do you? I just get the feeling that things will work out in a certain way, and they do. This feeling has been missing for oh. So. Long. Years. But now I feel it again; like the old me, I feel becalmed and ready. Maybe it's hope? Or optimism? Blind faith? I don't know, but I feel more like myself than for a long, long time. I feel brave, friends. Me! The ostrich. Maybe all this embracing of my emotions lately has helped, my life has certainly expanded. Maybe I have simply moved on out of the rut. Can it be?

Also, while I am sticking my ostrich neck out, over the parapet, in the interest of having a record and to test if my psychic abilities are in fact hogwash, let me also say that the vision that always leapt unbidden to mind of our child, for oh ten years, was of a little black boy. I can see him now, sitting on our kitchen floor. And the Lady's child is white. So, for what it's worth, eh. Let's see what happens; what will be, will be. 

The JB in the meantime, has gone off to San Francisco, the lucky divil, so I am in solitary mode, lord of the remote control, occupier of the middle of the bed, alone but for the cat (my familiar, you understand) and my psychic visions. 

I hope you're well, all.



What? Where am I? How did I get here?

Apologies for allowing so much time to pass, which it sure did; I fell into a trade fair vortex. There has been no news, as you might well guess. The All New Not Running Away from the Bad Feelings Thing is still in operation and is having some modest success. Also! We had a meeting with the Agency last weekend which was really very reassuring. The agency founder seemed very intelligent, kind and practical. Real, if that's not too Oprah. We watched interviews with birth mothers; it talked about the typical backgrounds they come from and the kind of problems they might have, the support and care they get from the agency, how much time and counselling they take over the adoption plan, and it seems like a good, compassionate organisation. She told us if we keep our paperwork in order (this is a part-time job in itself) she's sure it will work out for us, if not with this Lady, with Another.

Sure, I'd like to know if we'll be jumping on a plane in a week or two, or not, but this is okay, I'm not obsessing. I am fine, notwithstanding the inevitable 3am wake-and-panic. (Why do things seem so bleak at 3am? A universal bio-rhythmic low-point?)

Lads! (sort of local equivalent to "Oh boy") as we say here. I have to go! Again. There will be more to say, there's always more, so talk soon.

Hope you are well.

no news is no news

Just a quick note to say there has been no word yet. Coping strangely well here. What will be, will be. 


(I ask myself if someone's slipped me some Valium.)

It is possible that the Lady will choose us at the last moment, or maybe even after the baby is born, or not at all, and we'll handle whichever of these it is.. is my current state of mind. Who knows what tomorrow might bring? But I've been feeling much less moody, and less avoidant of difficulty. I am trying to embrace what is, as opposed to running away from what is. I'm so tired of being afraid; it takes so much energy.

(According to my blood test results, I was low in B12 again. This time I am determined to continue to supplement as opposed to sort of losing interest after a while and forgetting. Maybe that's helping. A deficiency can cause anxiety, sleeplessness and the famous lemon-tinted complexion. Nice.)

Thanks for the support, everyone. You're really kind.
Till soon,

the wait continues

Thank you for all your lovely comments. It is so comforting to know you are still there, ready with offerings of humour and succour. Thank you, truly.

We are back in Dublin and there has been no word from the agency about the Lady. I don't know what to think about this, although looking at the Lady's profile it is not entirely surprising; it seems she has a tendency to put things off and Heaven knows it can't be easy. In the meantime, it's as if my adrenals have decided to put up a sign on the subject saying "Stress about this later". Which is working reasonably well, oddly enough. We have no power in this situation, as the JB and I were saying earlier; we might as well at least try for a modicum of good grace. 

We'll see how that works out.

The JB is already five steps ahead, sourcing documents we'll need if this time doesn't work. (The US agency requires yearly medicals, police clearances and whatnot). I can't help worrying how he'll take it if it's a no. (Must stop trying to manage his emotions, am being co-dependent. Oh, bleah. Does this working on yourself and your relationships never end? Will I ever learn?)

I have a small mountain of work waiting, but will keep you posted.
I look forward to your posts.
Till later,


Lovely patisserie photos:




Note from Kerry

A note painstakingly typed on Shiny Thing to register that we have not heard from the agency. The Lady, as the JB calls her, has not made a decision, it seems. While this is fair enough of course, the situation is provoking some Feelings. (They're odd, actually, but what else would they be? I Have To Be Different, my mother says.) I am very sleepy and nervous at the same time. I'd really like to know what the immediate future holds, though so I can calm myself with Plans. The JB is enjoying the hopefulness, a thing I'll never understand. (The Lady is due at the end of August.) (Quite soon, really.) We are in Kerry, fixing up JB's house for the imminent arrival of my cousin, husband and aunt. House was full of dust, unopened issues of Time magazine, and stopped clocks. It is now satisfyingly fairly habitable. Good enough, anyway. The JB has gone off on his bike and I have discovered an actual patisserie in town. That's where you'll find me. T


Screwit unto the very ends of the earth, I knew there was a reason for updating more often, otherwise, you don't know where to start. Also such not able articulate to do.

I had the Betty-head a lot in the last few weeks. The usual weird veil over my vision and weird sleep-walking sensations and weird feeling like someone else. For instance, I have no anxiety at all when in Betty mode. Zero. I am unflusterable. Betty is. I am not in my body. Weirdness. So last Wednesday I overcame my deep aversion to doctors long enough to give mine a potted version of this. ("I don't feel myself" being the acceptable version of "I am Betty", in case you wondered; the latter might attract a undesirable diagnosis of Dissociative Personality Disorder or whatnot.) The doctor took some blood for testing for food allergies and iron.

As so often, I felt instantly better. Asking for help is good, it turns out, it opens things up. Doctors don't mock you or tell you you are a moaning minnie; I don't know why I thought they would, mind you.

And then on Sunday morning we got a email from the agency in the US. Would we like to show our profile to a birth mother due end of August along with some other couples? Yes we would. Yes, yes. Yesness. It was a straight-forward decision; the circumstances the birthmother finds herself in are sad, but not otherwise dramatic or complicated.

It's really hard not to let your mind go skittering torturously ahead, it transpires. It's such a uniquely, drastically on/off situation, a thing we are all well acquainted with from TTC days. But one attempts to stay in this here and now. I have a lot of plans for September/October, for instance, which I am  seeing as a good thing.
Road 1: BABY! Plans out of window! Book me on a flight immmmediately!
Road 2: No baby. But nice distracting plans? Yes, those. Oh, okay.

No-one will die either way. It simply means this is not our baby. (Still, though! BABY!)

Oh! The BP explosion of universes has now been canceled until further notice. I am almost disappointed, and yet, on the other hand, OH! HAPPY! DAY! It seems the Non Trembler must now make it his business to scour the United States of America for a house that meet his rather stringent purchasing criteria.

Ah. I've run out of time.  I see I am hitting a not impressive average posting rate of ONE a month, so I will publish.

I hope all is well with everyone. Your status update is always of interest.


I know this theme is dull but it works on all devices. Anything for your convenience, reader!

stuff happens

That huge BPD collision is scheduled for the August Bank Holiday, on which day, keep eyes trained on the relevant horizon, where we might expect a mad puff of smoke to appear. In the meantime, some stuff happened:

  • I meant to follow up: do you remember Meet-up Friend? I did write to her, as you suggested, back in February, but heard no more until she came to our event a couple of weeks ago. She seemed quite well..? Hard to tell of course, and really just functioning at all after such a trauma is itself a fecking walking, talking miracle. People are truly extraordinary, and yet, of course, what choice has she? It was so good to see her surrounded by her friends, working away. I was glad she felt comfortable to be with us. 

  • The JB has failed his driving test. It transpires this centre has a failure rate of 60%, so this was to be expected, though this did not prevent his feeling offended by it. And thus I am condemned to be his practice partner for another few weeks. I hate to whine ( - well, actually, I enjoy the whining, but I prefer to delude myself that I am not a whiner. It's a conundrum.) I mean, I realise I am not going down the mine or anything, It's Not That Bad, but this supervisory stuff brings out the worst most picky, bossy and impatient side of me which I find deeply unflattering. I remind myself (cue thunder and lightning sound effects) of MY FATHER. Of all people! URG. Apparently I also have to admit I am very vain about these things, which is another uncomfortable truth I could have done without uncovering. Bleah. 

  • If he gets his licence next time, it would be excellent. If he doesn't, screw it, I think we should get an automatic. Those things are so wonderfully easy, it's basically a bumper car, as far as I can see.

  • Or we could wait until Google brings out a driverless car. Where is the future, Google? Come on, hand it over.

  • Other than this, I feel sort of scrambled, today, and in general, sort of inept and thick. I can't sleep, can you? If there is the slightest deviation from the regular bed at 11, up at 7 schedule, I am reduced to a quivering wreck.

  • Quivering, I tell you.

  • On the other hand, things aren't so bad. There are sparrow nests in the garden. (Luckily cat is an inept hunter, only catching very few small and ancient or possibly suicidal creatures). Some sweet rocket came out. I glow with pride when I consider I planted it two years ago. How mature of me! See that, deferred pleasure. No need to dwell on the rest of the garden which looks like it's been abandoned some years ago.
  • I babysat the niece and nephew last week. Babysat is the wrong word. I sat with them in the kitchen drawing pictures with my niece while the nephew misspent his youth on minecraft. 


  • And! Our little country isn't so backward after all. We have a lot more work to do, of course, but 62.07% in favour of marriage equality is good. It was a beautiful day; the sun shone, actual rainbows came out as if a sign of approval from the universe, and we were so happy and proud to be us.

Hope you are well, folks. What stuff is happening with you? Stuff, anyone?

*dusts off blog in perfunctory manner, pounds keyboard*

Ooof. I wish I never invited Aunt and cousin to Kerry, now. I say to my mother, one Sunday. I know with my rational mind that it will be fine, but at 4am I am assailed by dire doubts.

Last year, in a restaurant, filled with bonhomie and excitement, I unwisely told my (lovely) cousin from London that she and her husband, the genius, were always welcome to spend a few days in the JB's family home in Remote Kerry. It is very majestic and beautiful there, I said. And it might not rain the whole time! I declared.

In January I get a fb message to say they'd take up the invitation. Oh, well, great. I thought. We'll go down beforehand and dust and fix frantically (house has been unoccupied for years now), Lovely Cousin and Genius Husband will like it, I think determinedly. They'll have a nice, quiet time. They can read! Have a rest! Go to the beach! This is what someone who lives in Central London actually needs. It'll be fine! I read on: The plan is to bring Mum and Dog and come in the car.

Oh. The aunt. The person who inspires me to make infuriated searches for Borderline Personality Disorder whenever she visits. Still! That's okay. There won't be room for us to visit too, but this is fine. The JB is quite nervous of dogs, anyway, and Dog is a over-protective rescue who makes runs at people. Fine, fine. 

The JB is persuaded to run this plan by his brother, the Non-Trembler (ultra-touchy resident of Boston, remember him? The only OTHER person in the world who ALSO inspires in me BPD related googling (the one that threw out the fridge and ranted like a madman at the JB on the phone, then cut him off for a year) out of politeness. Might possibly BPD Non-Trembler be in Ireland at that time, surely not?

YES, actually he does have plans to come home at that time but after the "state the house was left in the last time", he wouldn't risk it. (OUTRAGE. The JB spent ages cleaning and painting! Weeks! There was however some mould in the fridge. So he threw. It. Out.) He'll stay in a hotel in town, or with a friend. The JB can lend the house to whomever. Non-Trembler will not be staying there. 

And so.

Now I lie awake at 4am with lurid scenarios running through my head. Frosty meetings on the doorstep of the house! The BPD Aunt's dog biting the BPD Non-Trembler in a global BPD collision outside the local shop! BPD Non-Trembler barges in on BPD Aunt while in the bathroom! 

And from there a mere step or two to THE END OF CIVILISATION, IN WHICH WE ALL DIE OF THIRST.

I don't know whether to be amused or terrified. Oh fer feck's sake, it's just too perfect. 

Ah, I feel better. Thanks for the therapy, internet. Maybe I can make a comic about it.

How are you? 

for posterity



  • My niece has given up FISH and WALKING for Lent
  • Not sure how much of a sacrifice is involved in this. (She can still run and jump, I hear.)
  • My nephew is TEN. 
  • Every time I see him, his proportions have lengthened and his features are at once the same and different. His face gets longer, and his legs, he has large adult teeth. I see him only once a month or so; it's like seeing a very slow stop-motion film. He has reached whatever developmental stage is the one where you are intrigued by adult conversation, and everyone has to be careful to be 10-year old appropriate. 
  • He's still a kid, though. We have invented a complicated game in which the carpet is sea, furniture and cushions are islands, and the object is to retrieve objects from across the room without getting "wet". Add stop watches and sharks as required. Also required: fairly big rooms and patient, non-house proud host.


  • My mother and I finished this magnificent 2000 piecer. Sample of cheery conversation during which: 
    Me, referring to an article in the paper: Those wicker coffins look nice. 
    Ma: Yes, don't they? They seem a bit nice for me though. Cardboard will do me fine.
    Me: Really, Ma. I think we can stretch to wicker.

    This from the woman who also wants Rachmaninov and black horses with plumes. 
    (This was not a gloomy conversation, by the way, although I have very little interest in my own funeral beyond the wicker. I mean, I won't be there to enjoy it, will I.)

  • Work is very worky. I am preparing some books for another exercise in excruciating embarrassment comic fair next month, which involves long, tedious hours cleaning pages of specks in Photoshop. Bah. Sometimes I wonder why I am doing this. Can I not just get a-job-like-normal-people?

  • The JB continues to be a super-nervous (albeit paradoxically a technically competent) driver. This is a pain. Skills you can teach, but confidence? Urg. We have had some moments, shall we say. Some are funny. 
    The JB: You're right, I'm using second gear as a crotch!

  • That's between you and the gearbox, pet. 

  • "Our" (my parents') two paddocks are empty for the first time in 25 years. Our final equine, Jenny the jennet, has departed, to be a companion to a big horse. She's a 11h (runty, some would say) mule (mother: Shetland pony; father: rogue jack donkey) who has been with us for 20 years. And what a twenty! So many Jenny adventures. The time she got out in the barley field, and all you could see were the big ears, gleefully roving. All the times she'd search your pockets for carrots and make mean faces at you when she'd eaten them. Ah yes. She is a strange animal, with her donkey feet and her pony head, her half-whinny, half-bray. She didn't like people, other animals, or other horses; indeed, was a cranky rogue in many ways, but you had to admire her spirit. So wily, such a survivor, and when my horse died, she stood over his body for hours:

    She loaded bravely into the trailer today and went off with not even a backward glance. Go forth and pester, Jenny. 

Have great weekends, all. Animal stories and all comments welcome, folks.
(Or just have a nice rest, that is fine too.)