Monday, December 10, 2007

The Poopy Diaper

I had a nightmare last night. It woke me up. I had a social worker meeting scheduled at our adoption agency (In real life I had this appointment last Monday.) We were told to bring gifts. When I got there their were several other thin white women with brown hair. We were all holding various gift bags that contained presents for our social worker. I said to one of them,"Oh your gift bags are the same colors as mine." She replied,"Yes, they are the colors of the Ethiopian flag." I snapped back,"I know.I know!" A secretary came in and said that unfortunately our social worker was running behind and we would have to wait. In the meantime, she asked us if we would do her a favor. Of course we all eagerly jumped at the chance.

This was the favor. She asked me to take two children to their school. There was an older girl and a younger boy, probably about five and four years old. I quickly grabbed the two of them and started up an escalator. When we got to the top it was a huge shopping mall. I asked the kids where the school was and they pointed to the right. I opened a series of doors. One of them was like a little mudroom or cubby room. It had a small bed and a pair of boots. The kids just kind of grinned at me because they knew I didn't know how to find the school. They were in no hurry to get there. I took them both down a different escalator and ended up in the lobby of a lovely, expensive, private school. "This is it," they said. In the excitement the boy had wet his diaper. I asked him if he had others and he said no. We were already late so I quickly found his classroom and asked his teacher if she had any diapers. She waved me away and the boy took his seat with his wet diaper. The girl had made her way to her classroom by herself.

I relaxed briefly. I thought, "Well at least I got them to school." I was about to make my way back to the adoption agency when that same teacher came up to me and said," You can't leave him in my classroom with a poopy diaper." I asked her if they had any, and if they had a change of clothes because she said that the diaper was beginning to leak. "Nope," was all she said. I grabbed the boy by the hand and we started back toward the mall. We took the escalator back up. I started looking frantically for a supply room or something that maybe the school set up. I couldn't find anything. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally stumbled back onto that little room I had found before. I opened the closet and there inside were diapers, wipes, new underwear and some short pants for my little friend. I got to work on my task. (If you are eating breakfast right now you might want to skip this part). This was a dirty diaper, really dirty. I would wipe and wipe and the poop kept coming. There was poop all over both of us. It was on my hands. I kept cleaning and cleaning but there was more. I reached for another wipe with my poopy hands and in walks the secretary, "The social worker is ready to see you now. How is it going with that dirty diaper? It looks like you missed a spot." She started to write something down on a little note pad. This is when I woke up.

This is either a dream rife with anxieties or an idea for the next great reality show. It really did feel like the other women and I were contestants and we had a series of "challenges" to win if we wanted to remain in the competition.

In real life it is not that bad. The social worker we have is fine. Social workers are on your side and truthfully I have never heard of someone being turned down for a home study. You really do have to tell them everything about yourself and that is a bit disconcerting.

For instance, my social worker said to me," So you have five years right?" "What?" I said. I didn't know what she was talking about. She was asking me if I have had five healthy years following my cancer diagnosis. I guess for most cancers when you reach five years you are doing pretty well- you are a survivor. Well, I have three years almost four. Is that enough? Will I be approved? Will having had cancer preclude me from being a mom? I starting getting a bit defensive,"Thyroid cancer is an easy cancer," I said (and it is comparatively), "I get checked all the time." It is hard enough having cancer. I was getting a bit angry that I had to prove that I am healthy. I understand why they want to know. They don't want to approve me to receive two toddlers and then have me promptly drop dead. But really, what guarantee do any of us have? We could be hit by a bus, shot at a shopping mall, killed in a crash, you get the idea.

Here are some other questions she asked me; Why do you think you will be a good mom? What values do you want to give your kids? Why did you see a therapist in 2004? What happens when you and Steven disagree on something? How did you know Steven was the one? If you get a boy and a girl will they have to share the same room? What kind of dogs do you have?

I guess in retrospect, it would be easier to have a stinky toddler placed on a mat in front of you... Survivors ready? And CHANGE THAT POOPY DIAPER!

Steven has his "individual challenge today," I'd better go prepare the gift bags.


  1. Why can the social worker not just ask me? Well - about some things anyway, things I admire about the two of you: the way you close ranks when the going gets tough; the way you never make a joke at the other's expense. I could mention more, but you are beginning to sprout halos in my minds eye, so I better stop :)

  2. What a dream!

    You know, Freud had a lot to say about poopy diapers. And about poop in general, actually.

    Freud says, "You're either worried about becoming a new mom or you have excessive gout. You pick."

    That Freud...what a kidder...