Cock-Eyed Optimism

Get you mind out of the gutter, this isn't that kind of blog.

We are turning in our dossier to The Agency tomorrow. My dearest, G, spent quite a bit of time today, when he was already busier than a one-legged man in a ass-kickin' contest, copying the damn thing times 3. We've spent the last 6 1/2 months slaving over every detail - filling out forms just right, having other people fill out forms just right (harder than you would think), getting just the right wording on the notarizations, repeat medical forms from the doctor who couldn't follow instructions, several hours waiting in the secretary of state's office for certifications, and getting the authentications from the Chinese Consulte in Chicago (which I can't read, but look real purty).

So, why can't I go downstairs and do one final check of this absurdly important stack of papers, then confidently go to bed knowing that all is right with the world and on Friday we will be DTC?

'Cause I'm nuts. I keep putting that last final review off, because I know, I JUST KNOW, that if I go look, our financial statement will have gone AWOL. Or my birth certificate will suddenly reflect the birth of Elvis, or Garfield the Cat or anyone other than moi. Or one of the dogs will have puked on our homestudy and rendered it stinky as well as illegible.

By the way, the point of all this paperwork is to convince The Agency, the State, the US Federal Government and the Peoples' Rebuplic of China that I am a healthy, mentally stable individual to whom they should hand over the care and nurturing of a defenseless, adorable baby. 'Cause that would be SUCH a good idea.