Late-Breaking Update

So I emailed Ruth this morning to tell her about the pregnancy and also be just generally chatty; Nora has just emailed Mr. Book to find out whether I’m really pregnant. This is actually one I didn’t anticipate! I told him to feel free to either pretend not to know what they’re talking about or leave them in suspense for awhile, but that’s just my intense irritation talking.

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Can’t Stop Blogging

But seriously, just wanted to drop a note saying that my sister coaxed me into sending Ruth the “little visitor” email. I guess I just want to get it on the record that it went out this morning so that I can see how long it takes for me to hear back. She pointed out that their reaction is unlikely to be worse than the one I imagine, everyone in the world finds out in two days, and the uncertainty is making me more anxious than even a fairly rude response would. So now it is done.

I Didn’t Start the Fire

Mr. Book and I have been participating in an adoption study since last May, when Cricket was tiny—so far we’ve each had two long interviews in person and one short, mail-in interview in between. The last one wasn’t long ago, and I’ve been waiting to write about it mostly because I wanted to see whether I’d feel differently about it after a couple of weeks. Not so much, it turns out.

Ruth, Nora, and Cricket also are taking part; from what Ruth tells me, I think they mostly have Cricket play specific kinds of games in their interviews. For birthparents, the interviews are a little different: we answer insulting personal questions for just over three hours at a stretch. We also take an intelligence test at the end. The questions assume some pretty unpleasant things about people who place kids for adoption, which I really should have guessed when they started each interview by handing me a printout of a couple of dozen crisis hotline numbers; gosh, researcher, now I know where to go if I ever need STD testing or rehab ASAP. Not that those have ever been concerns of mine. But really, thanks for the thought. The questions go in series something like this:

Have you ever started fires for fun or to hurt someone?

How many times have you started fires to hurt someone?

What was the last time you started a fire to hurt someone?

Have you ever been arrested for starting fires?

One a scale from one to ten, how much has your tendency to start fires interfered with: your personal life; your work life; your relationships?

—I probably shouldn’t defend myself, but I haven’t been arrested, committed any crimes, gotten addicted to anything, or otherwise shown myself to be a bad seed. But thanks for asking! For three hours. The other hard part of the interview is that if, say, I admitted to having panic attacks, the interviewer asks how many panic attacks I’ve had in my life. I have no idea, of course—she tells me to make a guess. I say “Twenty,” and then almost immediately realize that that number is way off, that I had more than twenty in a two-month period that one year in college, and how do I answer when she’s asking how many of those are due to: work-related stress; personal stress; no visible cause? Um, I guess I should try to get the proportions correct even though the total is way off! Okay, so…. And so on. The money we got for participating was enough to pay for our car insurance, so I can’t really regret doing it, but being interviewed in the morning really ruined the rest of my day. I was pretty sure that we were done after the last interview, but we got a letter in the mail a week later letting us know that our next contact would be another mailed interview in September. And we’ll each get twenty dollars for that. And we’ll do it.