We finalized the adoption of Cam this past Friday. It happened a lot faster than we had anticipated, Rob was just hoping to have it done by the end of the year, so we are pretty damn pleased to have it done. I really didn't think I would be that emotional about the finalization, because let's face it: the kid has been here 8 months and is my daughter in heart, mind, and spirit. But when the phone rang two weeks ago (I know...FAST!) and Rob asked me if October 8th was okay, I was all "Shit yeah!". Then I got all trembly and my heart started racing.
So here we are, in the judge's chambers:
To get us to that smiling point was a long haul. The court we chose to finalize in is a good 40 miles away, and we live in an area that has bewildering, awful, truly shitty traffic. So that meant I had to have my ass up and ready by 0645. Being an insomniac who takes drugs to catch a few Z's makes getting up at that hour not fun. Add to that the nervousness and my problems with anxiety, and you have a recipe for disaster.
I cannot state how much I love my husband. Or appreciate what a great husband and father he is. But. BUT. The man may drive me back to the bottle at some point. To illustrate, I will have to digress a bit. I hate dressing up, therefore my closet is sparse on the dress-up clothes. Example: I was married in an Old Navy linen pant "suit". Got the picture? Knowing that I wanted to look nice, and not at all like the schleppy, but comfortable, I went shopping at Talbot's. It took me 40 minutes of wandering aimlessly for me to acquiesce and ask for help. Asking for help in Talbot's is akin to saying "here, just take my credit card and charge $400." I knew Rob would want to throttle the ever-living shit out of me, so I started rationalizing that I really did need "adult" clothes. Even if that meant that kind of money for one outfit. So the nice lady picked out a "not too dressy, but not so casual" outfit and had me ready to go in under 10 minutes. Pants, jacket, ruffle-y shirt, belt, shoes. THAT kind of shopping was fun. I'd like my unlimited funds now, please.
So that was last Monday, fast-forward to Friday morning. Rob is hopping out of the shower, and something told me (okay, experience) to wait and see what shirt and tie he was going to pick to go with his suit. Rob has gained a bit of weight in the last year or so. He used to be a cook for twenty years, always moving around, stayed pretty skinny. He quit that job to work in the tech industry. On his ass all day. So he got a little pudgy. Pudgy enough to make his suit pants look like the button might blow from all the pressure put on it. He stood there, gut over-flowing, telling me he would suck it up (I guess literally). No way martyr man, no way you are going to bust out of your drawers in front of the judge. So we quickly decide that he is just going to have to wear khakis. Which haven't been dry-cleaned or pressed. None of his shirts will fit aorund his thick-ass neck, so he tells me he will just leave the top button undone, and "the tie will cover it up". Before my head could explode, I hopped in the shower to mutter to myself about having to dress TWO children.
I get myself all gussied up in my new clothes, while Rob dresses Cam. We decided that since we had a long haul, we'd take both cars one with me, Cam, my sister-in-law, and best friend. Rob would take his Dad. As I was busy getting all the stuff we needed together, I didn't bother to make sure what the rest of Rob's outfit looked like. Probably, my brain knew subconsciously that I really DID NOT want to know, so he left to pick up his Dad. Two hours later we meet back up, and my husband looks like a teenage boy who attends prep school. Tie all askew, shirt barely tucked in, black SUIT shoes, brown belt, and a navy blazer. At least his fly was zipped.
Now, I have been trying to adopt a healthier attitude, one that over-looks imperfection. This Type A has a hard time with that, but I managed to remember that while my clothes were fabulous, my hair looked like I put a bowl on it and had cut it myself. Stupidly, I waited until the day before to get my hair done, when I know it takes a week to grow in "right" after a cut. Because I am, really and truly not a girly-girl, my expertise in doing my own hair is limited to blow drying upside down, and letting it fall into place. The haircut my lovely hair dresser gave me was awesome. What I did to it the next day should be considered criminal.
So, to get that picture with all of us smiling, there may have been some gritted teeth and a dollop of resentment. Except for Cam, who just thought being in that judge's chambers with all the attention on her was the bee's knees.
Welcome to the family (officially) my little Munch. May you please learn to dress stylishly, despite having us as parents.