Risk, Repeat

Having a child is always a risky proposition. Having a child through adoption has additional risks, chief among them the risk that you won’t be able to keep the child you love. That’s true with private adoption or foster-adoption: the mother may change her mind or behavior, and a court may be called on to decide the fate of your family. It is the position of the California foster and adoption system that if possible, children should be with their biological parents. Perhaps that’s good for the kids, which means it’s ultimately worthwhile ... but that doesn't mean it's good for the nerves of adoptive parents.

We just said we’re not interested in taking on twin boys, a couple days old, born premature. They’ve got some health issues – one needs to stay in the hospital while his lungs develop, both had prenatal exposure to crystal meth – but they were so much exactly what we wanted in any other way, we nearly said yes. The problem for us was the risk of having the babies taken away from us, which was pretty high. The mother had drugs issues (obviously), but she was in a treatment center and had been there for a month. She had given up other kids for adoption, but she was visiting these ones in the hospital. The father seemed to be involved as well. All signs pointed towards a mother who had made some mistakes, but was on the road to recovery and was going to fight for her kids. Better to put the little boys in the hands of someone who just wants to foster and not adopt, to care of them until the court decides the mother is ready. We wish them, and the mother all health and happiness.

Damn, though. It would have been great.

Next ones we hope will have a risk level we can stomach.

Editor & Prey

I’ve given my novel to a couple different people since Thanksgiving for their feedback and suggestions, and as I’ve incorporated their suggestions, I’ve given new versions to new readers. My sister-in-law Kelly is the latest to read and review it, and in some ways, has been my most valuable editor.

Of course, that’s not to be dismissive of the feedback from everyone else, but they are all very connected to me biologically or romantically, so Kelly – as close as we are – is near as I’ve come to getting input from a Trusted Outsider. Besides being a great technical editor, Kelly gets a different sense from some of my characters and their motivations than people who have known me longer and subconsciously fill in the blanks.

Of course, Kelly is a sweetheart and all her notes are prefaced with, “You don’t have to worry about this if you don’t want to … This is just my opinion …” and then in the margins “This made me cry” and “I loved this part.”

Noel Coward said, “I can take any criticism provided it’s unqualified praise.” He never met Kelly. Because of her, I have to write a new chapter to my novel to support an alternate MO for the main character’s actions which was implicit but not expressed is given its due.

Nursery Sublime

As I write this, Diego is at work in our spare bedroom, turning it into a nursery. Since we don’t have a child (or children) yet, we don’t know the gender, so we’re doing it in various shades of brown, white, and beige, with bits of orange and red. I did the preliminary (rather amateur) painting pass, and hopefully when Diego adds the chair rail and the crown molding it will cover up the spots where my enthusiastic brush and roller went awry. Then, he’s creating a window seat in the bay window that opens up for storage, since what we have been told over and over again is that a nursery can’t have too much storage.

It should be done by the end of the week. Meanwhile, we’re reading our books (The Baby Book by Dr Sears; What To Expect The First Year; The Happiest Baby In The Block and The Happiest Toddler In The Block), going to meetings (Popluck Club in West Hollywood every month; online and group meetings with the Southern California Foster Family and Adoption Agency at St Anne’s), and getting earfuls of advice from everyone with or without a baby.

We are apparently at the top of the list and could get a phone call at any time. In fact, we got a phone call last week about a pair of siblings, a two-year-old and a four-year-old. We still have our heart set on a baby, so after a discussion, we decided to say no. We hope with all our hearts they’ve found another good home and family.

And I’ve begun serious work on novel #2 while I wait on word from readers of novel #1. It’s going to be a love story.

Now I have to figure out how to upload photos to show the nursery work in progress.

Ring, phone, ring.

At 9:30 this morning, Ian and I signed our final paperwork as officially certified foster parents. I had lunch with my bosses to talk to them about taking paternity leave whenever I get the phone call, be it tomorrow or months from now, and what is funny is, they had no official policy towards maternity or paternity leave, despite the company being around for over ten years now. The reason is easy to understand: I’m in the video game industry, and it is largely dominated by men, and most of those men are single and straight. It’s pretty unusual for them to reproduce, and it’s still fairly unusual for men to take paternity leave, even in this day. So I’m the test case.

I have to say, they’ve been awfully supportive about this, particularly since I can’t tell them when I’m going to suddenly take off for a couple weeks to bond with my baby. We could be in the middle of a busy time at work – in fact, we are always in the middle of a busy time, so that’s guaranteed to be the case. I volunteered to have SVN file-sharing software installed on my home computer and all the editors so I could do work from home, but my boss stopped me and said, “No, if you’re going to take paternity leave off, you shouldn’t be working. You should be spending time with your baby.”

This coming from a straight non-breeding breeder, by the way. Pretty incredible.

Now, ring, phone. Ring.

Safety Last

At 10:30 this morning, an inspector from our foster adoption agency came over to our house to see whether we had a safe environment for a child. We had diligently built a fence around the pool and a screen in front of the filter; we put plastic catches to make it hard to open a dozen cabinets, and magnetic locks to make it impossible to open another six without the right key; we put chains over our liquor cabinet and one across the door to the office cunningly fashioned so the cat could get in to his box but a toddler couldn’t get in or get stuck; we put plastic cushions on every corner of every hard bit of furniture; we put plugs into all electric outlets, and locking devices over the toilets; we put a rubber cushion around the bath faucets; we got a crib and changing table and linens.

The guy took about ten minutes to check it all off and say, “Looks good. Safer than my house.”

So we passed as “suitable for placement.”

We’re not quite there yet. They have to finish a report on us, and we have to go in and sign some papers. But there’s nothing we have to do now.

Ditto the novel. I have it in a dozen different people’s hands, and all I have to do is wait while they read it.

So what do you do when there’s nothing to do?

I’m going to work on the nursery. Get it painted and organized. Since I don’t know whether we’re getting a boy or girl or a set of siblings, and what their ages will be, I can’t finish the job, but I can get pretty far.

I can read books about how to care for a child between the ages of 0 and 3.

I can keep looking for babysitters and daycare centers.

I can go to the Pop Luck Club meeting on Sunday, and find out about all the things I’m too ignorant to be worried about.

I can look for more people in publishing who could look at the novel, and gently nudge the people who have had months to read it so far.

Considering I have absolutely nothing to do but wait, I’ve got a pretty long To Do List.

Pedia Tricks

From time to time, we get to see how the other halves live. Going to Hollywood premieres and parties in gorgeous houses on the beach on one hand, riding public transportation and seeing how medical care works, or doesn’t, for the poor on the other. I’ve been spending the last couple of days trying to get a pediatrician for my imaginary child. While he or she is in foster care before adoption, we will be using Medi-Cal, which is normally what the poorest people use.

Now, most people when they’re having a baby, talk to their friends and family to get pediatrician recommendations: who is the nicest, most experienced, most convenient, most comforting. We go to the website for our insurance carrier, and since we have a PPO, chances are this spectacular doctor is listed. Or we call him or her up, and they say, “You have Blue Shield PPO? Of course, come on in.” If you go to Medi-Cal website, you don’t see a listing of doctors who take Medi-Cal. You are told to click on a couple acronyms – CMC, NDC, NPI, etc. It turns out none of them include listing of doctors. If you call up the pediatricians your friends recommend, I assure you none of these excellent doctors takes Medi-Cal. Nor can they give a reference, because no one they knows takes Medi-Cal. Eventually, it comes down to doing endless google searches to come up with a list of pediatricians who say they take Medi-Cal, but God knows if they are any good.

Through a gay dad’s organization Ian signed us up for, I found one pediatrician who alerted to me to the fact that the Children’s Hospital Los Angeles, only the biggest and best children’s hospital in America … takes Medi-Cal! The problem is that it’s some distance away, and I would really like a pediatrician who is closer in case of emergencies. Still, I feel I’m getting closer.

Speaking of getting closer, the novel is finished and in various people’s hands, some friends and family members, a couple people who might be in the position to help me get it published. They call this kind of thing a waiting game, as if there’s any game aspect to it. Speaking as a professional game designer, I can say with authority that there is no such thing as a waiting game.

Trolling The Ancient Yule-Tide Carol

“Deck The Halls” must be my favorite Christmas carol. There are a lot of funny old words that come out during this time of year (honestly, “manger” is only used in conversation to describe one particular barn, and it always make me think of "A Clear and Present Manger"), but “Deck The Halls” not only have Fa-la-la-la-las, (which are much better than Little Drummer Boy’s morose Pa Rum Pum Pum Pums) and donning we now our gay apparel, but the rather peculiarly worded tradition of trolling the ancient yule-tide carol. But ‘tis the season to troll.

We’re coming up towards the end of the year which began by me deciding to write the novel I had been mulling over. Midway through the year, another project began, taking the home study courses for foster/adoption. And along the way, there was a video game to get out and another one to begin designing, trips to the Derby and the Bahamas, quitting smoking, some political matters to get involved in, and lots of not newsworthy but hilarious and wonderful time spent with family and friends to distract me from these projects.

This time of year is particularly filled with distractions. We’re not going anywhere, but we’ve got all the other activities with cards and presents and decorations and parties and dinners. Last night though I still managed to get twenty pages of rewriting on the latest draft of the novel done. There’s still a bit of paperwork to do for the home study, but the references are done (and, I hope, glowing). We’ll get bids on fencing the pool over the holiday, and the nice thing is that I got a little bonus at work to cover it. All the news today is about turmoil and recession, but my life continues on its lucky streak which has lasted nearly forty years now.

Maybe that’s the story. A cheery guy named Scrooge is visited by the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet To Come to show him that life is actually pretty shitty. I like it. Next book.

Merry Christmas